Perhaps It’s Right in Front of You

A friend recently shared in a Facebook status how she had been looking for her glasses for a good ten minutes before realizing they were on her face. I smiled at the thought and remembered the time my mom couldn’t find her glasses and my dad was helping her look for them—and all the while he was unknowingly wearing her glasses instead of his own. I walked into the scene wondering what they were looking for, and as my mom explained and my dad turned and looked at me, I offered, “Uh…Dad…you’re wearing Mom’s glasses…”

Of course, I found it extremely amusing.* Not only were my mom’s frames pretty different from my dad’s, but her prescription was way heavier than his. I wondered what he must have been thinking through the blur. Perhaps he just chalked it up to a lack of sleep or a rough morning. Whatever the case, he didn’t see that he had the answer right in front of him.

Last week I wrote about listening for God’s whisper, and it reminded me of an analogy that came to me long ago for how God can reveal himself to us.

Think about water.

 

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Scientifically, water presents itself in the three very different forms of solid, liquid, and gas…but this blog isn’t known for its scientific ponderings, now is it? (Not to say this blog is known for anything. It just for sure isn’t known for its science.)

Let’s be a bit more figurative.

You’ve got rain, snow, a babbling brook, blocks of ice, the drip of a faucet, or the crashing of a wave. There is the steam of a hot summer day or the pounding of a waterfall. Water is an amazing creation that manifests itself in numerous ways.

Perhaps God comes to us in such forms, too (though since he’s God and all, his ways are infinite and so much more awesome (literally) than my analogy).

For me, as I bet for you, too, God does indeed show up in various ways. Sometimes in order for him to get my attention, he has to hammer at me in relentless, all-encompassing waves. These God waves are hard to ignore. Just like a real wave, you could get knocked over and even pulled under. (For these last couple years, it kind of feels like this is his go-to form for me. Good thing he offers a Life preserver.)

 

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At other times, there is the diminutive drip of a faucet that offers a steady rhythm that can either be so subtle I miss it…or it drives me crazy in its faint constancy. I think of this way as the little Voice that speaks in the background of my mind. It’s not my little voice, who often needs a kick in the pants, but The Voice (no, not the TV show) that offers me soft reminders of the Way I should be going.

I’ve been blessed to see a few waterfalls in my life, including Niagara Falls. The power is astounding. Even watching from afar, the mist generated from the might of the falls can leave you drenched. There is strength and majesty that cannot be denied. If you, like me, have ever been silly enough to try to stand under a waterfall (not Niagara—I’m not that stupid), depending on the size of the fall, it can feel like a needle-like pelting or a beat down deluxe. (Yes, I’ve done it more than once. I am that stupid. And it’s a safe bet I’ll do it again, given the chance.) No, in the waterfall comparison, it’s not being under the falls that God shows up but the ability to see his glory from afar and remember how beautiful it all is.

 

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I could go on about how rain and snow and steam can each be metaphors for the way God can come to us, but…I think you get the idea. Water shows up in many different ways, and so does God.

 

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Sometimes he is subtle and sometimes not so much. No matter which way it is, though, it IS. And for me, I need to keep my eyes open and understand that the way I think he should reveal himself isn’t necessarily the way he will.

Just like my dad looked all around for my mom’s glasses not realizing 1. he had them on, and 2. his vision was incredibly blurry, I too often miss the answer right in front of me and ignore the signs that are trying to point that out to me.

Thankfully, God is able to meet me where I am and come to me in the way I need…even if my vision is so blurry I don’t know what I’m looking for.

 

*For those of you who know my ridiculous fondness for a certain joke, please know it took a huge amount of restraint for me not to tell my dad he had made a spectacle of himself.

 

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Prejudice Taught

I love looking at babies’ pint-sized feet. Not only are they adorable, but when I have one of those teensies in my hands, I often find myself thinking about how those little soles (and souls) have yet to walk a step…but they will walk countless miles over the course of a lifetime. Their tiny feet are blank slates to the world that they will traverse.

 

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A new life is a blank slate in other ways, too. A baby does not pop out with a favorite football team or political party. Those opinions usually get formed in the environment in which the child is raised. So, for instance, we chose to educate our child that the Chicago White Sox is the baseball team to embrace because we are wise. Others will choose to indoctrinate their kid that it is the Chicago Cubs. (Of course, after last season, neither team has bragging rights, but let me just say one thing: 2005. Enough said.)

My point is that, while little ones certainly have their own minds and personal preferences in life (peas or carrots?), the attitudes that they develop about societal issues can be greatly influenced by what they see and hear around them.

Yes, I am aware that this is a point pretty much understood by everyone, and I’m not saying anything new. But then I wonder…if we do know this, why aren’t we more careful about the messages we send?

I remember learning that the word prejudice meant to pre-judge. It made it easy to remember back in fourth grade, and it still works pretty well. I believe that we all do this to different extents in one way or another. I know I do. If I get into the 15 items or less line at the grocery store and the person ahead of me has well beyond that number, I will immediately judge that some other inconsideration is on the horizon. And darn it if she isn’t going to pay by check…and of course only after the cashier has told her the total does she decide to actually look for the checkbook, and then she can’t find it in her purse, and then there is no pen, and then she can’t find her ID…well, my prejudice seems “justified.” I knew it, my little voice might say.

While I am a flawed pre-judger of some things, I do have a difficult time when people around me speak in a negative, discriminating way—and I may just throw the speaker of those words for a little bit of a loop by claiming to be whatever the person just spoke against. Like, for instance, back in the grocery store (such a happening place!) when the cashier made a derogatory comment about Muslims to the person ahead of me (not the check writer, this is a different day—stick with me) and, even though I am not Muslim, I said, “Uh…I’m Muslim…” only to see her jaw drop and have her stammer out an “oh, I’m sorry,” to which I suggested to her that she might want to think before she speaks. It’s a longshot, I know, but my hope is that the experience may stick with her long enough for her to reflect on her actions.

Plus, I kind of get a kick out of messing with people when they say something like that.

Which leads me to the story that is at the heart of this post and has stuck with me for a long time. Years ago I worked as a waitress to put myself through grad school, and every once in a while, the restaurant owner would bring his nine-year-old daughter to work and let her hang out with us. On one of these days, I was with the girl in the waitress station, and she told an anti-Semitic joke. I immediately said, “I don’t find that funny. I’m Jewish.” This flustered her only momentarily—then she responded, “No, you’re not.” And I again told her that I was…and she again told me that I was not. When I repeated that I WAS and asked her why she was arguing with me, she said “I know you’re not…because my dad would never hire a Jew.”

Now it was my turn to be flustered. And sad. Very, very sad.

That is prejudice taught.

And I don’t understand it.

I guess I could understand this kind of aversion if, say, you live in Nigeria and you were making sure your daughter understood how dangerous Boko Haram is or perhaps Mexico where you hate what the drug cartels have done to your city. Sometimes there is a legitimate reason to loath a wide swatch of people. Sometimes.

But because of your skin color? Your gender? Your faith? Your sexual orientation?

That’s not for me—and I will do my damndest to make sure it’s not for my kid, either. I’m a far cry from perfect, but it makes me smile when my son asks a question about some sort of discrimination he is seeing and as I answer him and tell him why it’s not right, he cuts in with, “I know, I know, Mom: God loves all people.” Message received.

We are indeed supposed to love one another…not some another…which then means I’m supposed to love the people who teach their kids to hate certain kinds of people. There’s where I really need some extra grace. Big time.

And I’m working on it, but like I say…I am far from perfect.

 

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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.

 

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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.

 

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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.

 

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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.

 

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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.

 

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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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Part 2—Can We Crack the Culture of Overwhelm?

In last week’s post, I hit on a few key points from Brigid Schulte’s New York Times bestseller, Overwhelmed—Work, Love, and Play When No One Has the Time that touched on why so many of us feel overwhelmed. This week, I’m focusing on some key strategies that will help “crack the culture” of why we feel this way.

Before I go any further, though, I want to take a moment to clarify something. This book is about helping both women and men make better choices for a more fulfilling life. There is no bias against either gender—just an examination of what is and why, and then ways to help everyone make better use of their time. Translation: Men, this book is worth reading for you, too.

I want to offer some takeaways for you to chew on right now, but I can’t stress enough how worthwhile it is to read the entire book. And as I said in last week’s post, this is not a paid endorsement. I just want to share some of what I found so valuable and maybe motivate you to do your own thinking and searching…and changing.

So…where to begin? As the title suggests, the book is broken down into the three areas of work, love, and play, and Schulte examines and offers help in each.

Apparently I can’t be that structured today, so…in no particular order…the takeaways…

Find your pulse—I keep thinking that if only I had large blocks of uninterrupted time to focus, I would be much more productive…but we aren’t actually built that way. There is a rhythm—a pulse—to our lives. We inhale…and exhale. And we need to spend time working…and recovering. It’s how we will do our best work. Schulte shares research that shows that working in 90-minute stretches and then getting up and shifting gears entirely for a short period of time will greatly increase productivity. Find the pulse that works for you.

Choose your priorities—figure out what’s truly important to you and then live your life accordingly. Realign your time to focus on those choices. If you were to pick only a few things to focus on, what would they be? For instance, if spending time with your family was one of them, does your time focus reflect that?

 

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Push yourself to play more—active play is actually a necessity for your brain. By giving yourself leisure time—time to explore, laugh, try something new—you are allowing your brain to reenergize and function better. Both historically and currently, women need more help than men in this area. We all need leisure time—and we don’t have to earn it first. Do not feel guilty about making time to have fun. If we can knock that stigma off its ridiculous high horse, we will lead healthier lives.

 

Yeah, that's me surfing
Yeah, that’s me surfing

 

Denmark isn’t rotten after all—Schulte spent some time there learning what the Danish culture can offer those of us who are struggling with overwhelm. Let’s just say it is indeed a world away from American culture. The government there offers excellent formal child care, awesome paid parental leave, six weeks paid vacation…you get the idea. In Denmark, every day is meant to be lived well. You don’t live to work, you work to live. So…what if you don’t live in Denmark?

I concluded that while I don’t have the governmental realities of Denmark, I could still strive for my own private Denmark. What does that mean? As Schulte illustrates, gender roles there are very egalitarian. Women and men share responsibility in work, care of the home, and the raising of children. Work is necessary but not everything, and life shouldn’t be consumed with it. I know I am blessed that my husband already sees our marriage as a team, so our goal is to make it be even more that way. When that happens, both partners win. There is also the Danish idea of hygge, which is a lovely approach to life—and something that you can create wherever you live. (Learn more about hygge here.)

On parenting—Yes, this is the generation of the “helicopter parent” as well as the over-achieving parent. We are not doing our kids any favors by giving them so much or doing so much for them. I just love this piece of wisdom that Schulte shares from Kathy Masarie: “Love your kids. Keep them safe. Accept them as they are. Then get out of their way.” Parenting in a nutshell.

On mothers—Mothers need to stop making it so hard for themselves and each other. Stop the cult of “intensive mothering” and stop judging women—including yourself. Support each other rather than compete with one another.

On fathers—Fathers need to be connected from the very beginning to climb out of this culture of overwhelm. Schulte offers some wonderful insight about how important it is for dads to bond with their newborns—creating a foundation for lifelong engagement—and how too often gender roles get solidified when dads can do just as much as moms—and need to. One of the keys for this to happen is that new moms need to give new dads a chance to engage fully—not scoop the baby as soon as it fusses in dad’s arms.

And, finally…

 

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Be still—pause. In the midst of the racing, remember to stop. Breathe. Remember the beauty of the small moments. Remember that life is short and this is all we have.

 

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I hope these ideas I’ve shared from Schulte’s book get you thinking about some changes you can make. I know not all of us are married or have kids, and a lot of the content seems to focus on those “traditional” roles, but no matter where you are in life, you can strive to stop the merry-go-round of overwhelm that so many of us are riding and learn to live a more fulfilled life.

Of course, that having been said, as I write this I am mired in a day of overwhelm. But I am making progress. Every revolution starts with a first step, right?

Can We Crack the Culture of Overwhelm?

We have a cultural epidemic on our hands. Past the auto-response “I’m fine,” ask the average person today how he or she feels about daily life, and see how many answer that life is coming at them at just the right speed. I doubt you’ll find one—especially if you are asking a woman. Most of us would probably have the word “overwhelmed” somewhere in our answer.

 

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How did life spiral out of control on us?

I read a book over the summer that I feel compelled to write about. This is not a paid endorsement or formal book review. This is just me wanting to share some thoughts on what I found to be a powerful and timely book. It’s not my typical type of post, but I ask you to indulge me—I think this will resonate with you and be worth your time.

Bridgid Schulte’s Overwhelmed—Work, Love, and Play When No One Has the Time was one of those reads that offered me new insights while at the same time found me shouting, “Amen, Sister!” on several occasions.

Schulte is a reporter for the Washington Post, and when she recognized her life was leaving her breathless and constantly stressed, she did what any good reporter does—she researched the heck out of it, and then shared her findings.

And just what are some of those findings? Well, the book is a meaty read, and there is so much more to it than I can summarize, but here are some key points:

  • Current society values busyness almost more than wealth. Think about it. If we don’t have ourselves—and our kids—fully booked, then there must be something wrong with us. We wear our badge of busyness on our sleeves, and the idea of having free time for fun or relaxing is almost shameful. If I had a dollar for every time I heard “Oh, I don’t have time to watch TV…” as a response to my asking someone if they watched a particular TV show, I could go on a really nice vacation (if only I weren’t so busy…) We need to stop fostering this attitude and recognize the importance of leisure (more on that later).
  • Our time—again, particularly for women—is all too often what Schulte defines as “contaminated time.” For many moms, no matter what we are doing, the thought process in our head is swirling around what else needs to be done. It’s a form of mental pollution that muddies our present and keeps our stress level higher than it should be. We also need to acknowledge the reality that multi-tasking does not help our stress level and actually lessens our productivity, much as we might like to think otherwise.
  • And on the topic of stress, Schulte offers this upsetting research: when stress is prolonged or constant, it actually shrinks the prefrontal cortex of our brain which can affect the way we think and knock our immune system for a loop. So if you’re like me—frequently asking yourself, “What is going on with me?” or finding it hard to think clearly, then it’s time to assess how much stress is in your world and do something about it. The good news? Reducing the stress can result in better brain health—we can actually undo the damage to the prefrontal cortex by managing and reducing our stress.
  • Even with our ability to work from home and have flex time, the notion of the “ideal worker” hasn’t changed much since the 1950s. Bosses still see face time as critical and billable hours as the mark of success. The US treats its workers a lot worse than almost all of the rest of the world with sparse vacation time and no paid maternity/paternity leave laws. This poses a big problem for both mothers and fathers. As Schulte’s research shows, women suffer significantly—particularly once they have children. Moms are seen as less committed to work than non-mothers. That’s probably no surprise. But here’s something that might be: men actually benefit from becoming fathers…unless they have the audacity to voice that they want to take leave for family reasons. They then get stigmatized and frequently suffer in the work world because of it.
  • The cult of intensive motherhood is a somewhat recent phenomenon that puts amazing and ridiculous pressure on mothers—and it’s pretty much created by moms. We actually give more time to our kids than back in the 50s and 60s (and that includes mothers that work outside of the home), and it’s still not enough. We need to be Pinterest moms and show how super we are. (Seriously, do you remember having themed birthday parties or mani-pedi afternoons with your mom when you were a kid? I bet not.) Intensive motherhood runs on guilt, fear, and ambivalence. A self-sacrificing mother is an ideal mother.

How’s that for a little food for thought? And I’m only touching on a few central points…there is so much more worth delving into. But even with these few facts provided, you can see how it all adds up to overwhelm.

So…is there anything we can do about it?

In next week’s post, I will take a look at some of Schulte’s findings on how we can improve our situation. Yep, it’s my first two-part post…try to contain your excitement…

…and remember to tune in next week for some ideas on how to change this current culture of overwhelm and perhaps stop the madness (or at least put a healthy dent in it.)

Notes to My 17-Year-Old Self

I’m trying to rebound from some bug I was blessed with yesterday and not feeling full of ideas to write on, so forgive me if I pick a familiar theme to dwell on today.

Well into my 40s, I am still a major work in progress—not even close to being “finished,” which I don’t think is even possible—at least before the grave. As I share on my About page, I’ve learned a bit late in the game that being broken open is better than keeping everything sealed tight. At 17, I wasn’t about to let anything get close enough to even risk a crack in my facade.

Boy did I (and do I!) have a lot to learn.

Here are some notes I would share with my 17-year-old self:

Stay away from perms. They are not your friend.

 

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Embrace your body—it deserves more credit than you give it. In years to come, you will look back and shake your head at what you once considered “fat.”

Know that several of the friends you cherish now will still be in your life in years to come. Let them in more than you do. It won’t kill you. In fact, you’ll be glad you did. But you are stubborn, and you won’t learn this for many more years.

 

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There are certain people in your life you will never be able to please. Stop trying so hard. It’s more than okay for your life to be a little bit about you.

Those internal battles you face? Those struggles that mess with your head? They have names. They are called anxiety and depression, and once you understand that they are truly things that you can strive to manage—and it’s not just you—the world will start making better sense.

There is such a thing as being loyal to a fault. You will wish you knew this now rather than later.

Love Dad even more…get as many hugs as you can. He will be gone in a mere four years.

 

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You’ve got such a tight lid on things that you don’t even know the depths of this, but you are a mess—not messy, but a mess—and that’s okay. Really. It will take many years for you to realize that there is no merit in acting or thinking otherwise. And many years for you to embrace your messiness and realize that this is one of the best things that will happen to you.

You will walk many different paths in life. Each will lead you to the next right step, even though it is not obvious at the time. Please don’t feel the pressure to find that one calling in life that defines you. You are meant to live your life in chapters, and each one will have merit.

Brace yourself: you are not in control of things. You will learn this lesson (time and again) through a number of twists, turns, and crises that “you” did not plan. But it’s life. Let it happen. Give over the control you never really had. You will not understand how God works. Which is perfectly okay because if you did understand everything about God, he wouldn’t be God. Surrender to that. Surrender to him.

Let love in.

Start with yourself.

You have and are going to have some really awesome people in your life. You are blessed. Remember that when the really crappy people pull you down. Don’t let them grab hold. The Awesomes will not be defeated.

And, finally, you are a lovable knucklehead. If you could be brave now and learn to be vulnerable, life will be much different for you. Instead, you will wait until you’re a much older woman to face that challenge, and it will be harder to teach the old dog new tricks.

But you are one resilient kid. You’ll figure it out…eventually.

PS—invest in these things that are up and coming called “personal computers.” You won’t be sorry.