Tag: struggle

Straining at the Oars

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 7 Comments

If you’ve ever had the pleasure of kayaking or canoeing, you know how even on the most placid of lakes, after a while, your arms get tired from rowing. And if you’re on rougher waters, fighting against the current brings exhaustion much faster—and progress much slower.

This past summer my husband and I were kayaking when it started to rain. It wasn’t much of a rain, but we pulled off and waited till it stopped. Not a big deal. I would not, however, be a fan of trying to row my way in the middle of a dark storm. Nope. I’m already fearful of being that close to deep, dark water—throw in a storm, and I’m toast. (Just ask my husband how much I love the movie Perfect Storm. Not only does it hammer at a phobia of mine, but I am very frustrated that a “true” story is built around guys who didn’t live to tell the story that is being told. But I digress.)

 

stormy sky_2

 

At times, isn’t life just like rowing in a storm? Aren’t there moments or days or even entire chapters that feel like you’re trying to row your way through a tumultuous storm? I know it’s true for me.

Fighting against the wind and current, I try to go in the direction I think best only to struggle and make little progress. It reminds me of the story of Jesus walking on water. His disciples were in a storm and straining at the oars, and when Jesus appeared, they didn’t even recognize him. They panicked. He had to reassure them and climb into the boat—and then the winds died down.

 

calm waters

 

Go figure. Even the guys who hung out with Jesus on a daily basis didn’t always understand his power. I love that there are so many stories in the Bible of the disciples being knuckleheads—it helps me relate.

Life is a bit stormy for me right now, but I feel like I am at a point where I am ready to put my oars up and await direction. As I write this just now I decided to look to see if there is an actual term for putting oars up while rowing, and I learned that “once the rower extracts the oar from the water, the recovery phase begins, setting up the rower’s body for the next stroke.” So…oars up and the recovery phase begins. I like that. I like that a lot.

I’m ready for my recovery phase.

 

water lily

 

But how will I hear my coxswain? (I can’t help it—I love looking up stuff like this!) Because after recovery, I need to be ready to take my next stroke. If I’m striving to stop fighting the wind and no longer strain at the oars, I need to be still and listen.

I love this passage from 1 Kings 19 where Elijah is to go and listen for God:  The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. It was God’s gentle whisper that spoke to Elijah—not the obvious and fierce wind or earthquake—but a soft whisper.

And so I am listening for God’s whisper—I wish it was easier to hear, but perhaps it is this way because in order to hear it, I need to shut out all the other noise and focus on him. And maybe he won’t bring calm waters at all, but he will help me navigate the storm. After all, there will always be storms. Calm waters come, but they also go. Knowing how to row through the storm is critical in navigating life. I’ve got to listen to my Coxswain!

 

stormy sky

 

Even though I am at a point where I’ve concluded one chapter of straining at the oars and am now ready to listen for my next right stroke, I know the temptation to row my boat my way and strain at the oars will be an ongoing battle for me. I know there will be times that I will exhaust myself and make no progress because I think I have the answer. But I also know that I have a Coxswain who is in my boat waiting to help, forever patient even when this knuckleheaded rower fights the wind with all her might.

 

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Fight the Vortex

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 4 Comments

Thanksgiving used to be a “purer” holiday. No Black Friday. No Cyber Monday. Just family, friends, food, and football—along with being thankful for our many blessings. Commercialism hadn’t dug its talons into Thanksgiving yet—not like it had done to Christmas years ago.

Christmas has so much hoopla and hubbub surrounding it that it is easy to lose sight of why it came to be a holiday in the first place. It seems each year the pressure to have the “best” Christmas pushes earlier and harder.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the swirl of it all.

 

peace

 

Over the last few years, though, I have made a conscious effort to push back. While some of the choices are a result of tighter finances, some are from my desire to simplify and stop the madness. I am fighting the vortex that wants to pull me in and cloud my vision with the “stuff” of the season—rather than the Reason for the season.

A few Decembers ago, the month was jammed—I was either scrambling to get things ready or scrambling to be at whatever it was that I was scrambling to get ready for. I could have easily won the “dog chasing her own tail” contest.

And then a little question popped into my head: why?

Yes, there were the things I was committed to doing—like getting the house decorated and ready to entertain—but what else was I taking on? And why?

Asking why made me opt out of a thing or two. Though the yearly cookie exchange was a tradition, I stepped back and asked myself why was I adding on the additional tasks of choosing the right recipe, shopping, and baking dozens of cookies when time was already so precious. It wasn’t because I love to bake—because I don’t. And while the cookies I came home with were (mostly) delicious and the couple of hours with friends was nice, I realized that it wasn’t worth the additional stress in a month already crammed with stress. (Though February would be a great month for such a thing!)

I realized it was time to say “no thank you” to the cookie exchange. Exhale.

 

joy

 

And then there was our Christmas letter. For years I had crafted the Roach Report, which was a whimsical little newsletter of updates and photos. People always said they loved receiving it because it was fun to read, but it also took time to put together. And, quite frankly, our life events of late were getting a little harder to share in an amusing way: “Another job loss!” or “My mom nearly died!” are not exactly smile-inducing headlines. In my heart, I realized that—at least for now—the Roach Report was on hiatus. No writing, designing, printing, stuffing, stamping, or mailing. Exhale.

Some simplifiers come from necessary belt tightening due to job loss(es. Yes, plural. I told you the Christmas letter would be a downer!) Less money means fewer gifts, and fewer gifts means less to shop for and wrap! Staff parties are no longer on the calendar when you no longer belong to a staff, either! Simplify, simplify! Exhale.

For years, family and friends have come to our house to celebrate on Christmas Day. It’s “my” family holiday. Except for last year. As my sister’s kids get older and have significant others to plan around, coming down to our house on Christmas Day has become difficult. So last year, for the first time…my sister had Christmas at her house. At first, it was hard for me to acquiesce to losing “my” holiday, but…you know what? I realized how nice it was just to BE for Christmas. With the absence of the planning/cooking/doing, there was a whole different perspective to the day. It was so relaxing! Exhale.

Now, mind you—I will be, at least in part, hosting again this year—but I don’t want to forget the lesson of what the reduced stress felt like. There is middle ground to be had—and I’m going to find it if it kills me! (Which would be kind of ironic, given what I’m striving for…)

 

believe

 

I’ve come to truly understand over these last few years how paring down does not mean losing the spirit of Christmas at all. In fact, it actually increases the true spirit behind the holiday. As a Christian, for me Christmas is the celebration of the coming of Christ (or, as Ricky Bobby would say, “dear 8 pound, 6 ounce newborn infant Jesus”)—that is THE reason for the season. Not Santa or decorated trees or ugly sweaters—not even family. Calming some of the chaos of the season only helps me to feel that more deeply. My heart draws closer to the Love that came for me. And you.

I’m not here to preach to you how you should handle your holidays. Nope. But I am here to say that losing some of the insanity of the season works for me and maybe it will work for you, too. I am encouraging you to fight the vortex—don’t let the holiday “spirit” deplete your Spirit.

 

reason for the season

 

Maybe you are already feeling the tug and stress of all of the HaveTos facing you and thinking there is no way that you can realistically stop the madness. If that is where you find yourself, I hope that you are at least able to carve out moments to exhale and feel the Spirit. While stopping may be impossible, let’s at least make it a point to hit a few rest stops along the way!

 

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The Long Goodbye

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 6 Comments

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.

 

memories

 

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.

 

luck

 

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.

 

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The Rhythm of Days

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 3 Comments

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.

 

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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.

 

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Prejudice Taught

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ Leave a comment

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.

 

toes

 

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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Standing at a Crossroads

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 14 Comments

My husband and I have an unspoken list of movies that we see over and again, particularly late at night when we should be mature and get some rest, but instead we watch the last hour of Braveheart or Shawshank Redemption. It’s a codependent sickness—or gift—depending on your perspective.

One of those movies is Cast Away. I’m going to assume most of you have seen it at this point, but if you haven’t and intend to, then…what are you waiting for? The movie is 14 years old. Consider this a spoiler alert, because I am going to talk about the ending of the movie.

After four years keeping himself alive on a deserted island, in large part keeping the will to live by remembering his fiancé back home, Tom Hanks’ character, Chuck Noland, is rescued only to find that his fiancé has moved on…like marriage-with-another-guy and already-has-a-child moved on. Sometimes I want to slap Helen Hunt. All that in four years? As it turns out, she loves Chuck, but she’s not leaving her marriage.

 

map

 

Chuck now has to figure out what this new—and very different—world holds for him, and he drives off not knowing at all what that may be. Near the very end of the movie, he is standing—literally—at a crossroads. It is a wide open space from which to decide. He gets a little bit of a nudge when the beautiful woman who belongs to the last package he delivered stops and lets him know where each road leads. His smile indicates that he just may choose the same one that she heads down.

 

you are here_w dot

 

I was pretty young when I recognized that my life was meant to be lived in chapters, particularly in my work life. I realized it is just who I am. Several chapters have already been written, but now, I, too, stand at a crossroads.

This crossroads was not one I headed toward on my own, and so I can relate to Hanks’ character looking into the vast unknown and scratching his head.

I’m no longer in my 20s with my life ready to unfold…there’s been plenty of unraveling already. But…so what? What does that really mean? I love the quote that writer Connie Schultz shared about a friend of hers who was going into med school at 42. People said to her, “but you’ll be 50 by the time you are a doctor…” Her response? “I’m going to be 50 someday anyway. I may as well be 50 and a doctor.”

Time is all in how you approach it, right?

Of course, there is no promise of tomorrow.

Just last night I was looking over a tribute page on Facebook of those from my high school class who are no longer with us. Well over a dozen—and that’s just the ones that were shared on the tribute page. Lives cut short from what we assume to be an “average” life span. But no one’s life is average.

You really can’t assume you have an allotted amount of time in this world, and that’s why I get so frustrated with myself when I feel as though I am letting it slip away.

 

clock of life

 

Time is the great leveler. Some people are rich, some poor, some quick-minded, some fleet of foot. But everyone gets exactly 24 hours in a day (or 23 hours, 56 minutes, 4.0916 seconds for you literalists out there). What we do with our equal allotment is up to us.

So…which road to take? In fact, where are the roads?

The white noise that floods my head on a daily basis makes it a little challenging to figure out what my next right step is, but I am searching for the quiet in order to better hear the Answer to which path is meant for me.

If God could program my GPS, that would help, but so far he hasn’t worked that way. So far he has given me an internal compass that I need to follow. I just need to pull away from the metal interference that is jamming my reading, and perhaps then I’ll see my true north.

For each of us who face one kind of a crossroads or another, the decisions that must come from it are often not easy to make. The more you have traveled, the more baggage (both good and bad) you carry. The more baggage, the more to consider. The more to consider, the more complicated the choice. But while it is not easy, it is a choice that must be made—otherwise you will simply be left in the middle of the road scratching your head. And sooner or later, you’re going to get hit by a truck and who wants that?

And so I find myself staring at my map and figuring out my direction.

It is indeed a journey—and one I am blessed to travel—even when the path remains yet to be seen. 

 

 “…I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?”

~Chuck Noland (Tom Hanks) in Cast Away

 

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