to rwanda with love, hope and GIRL power

If you've ever read or heard about the atrocities in Rwanda and asked, "What can I do?"  I have an answer for you!

My dear friend, Jen Lemen, is planning an amazing trip to Rwanda to spread hope and share a wonderful book that she wrote with her friend, Odette! She needs our help. Please visit her blog, learn about the trip and do what you can to support her - $1, $5, a prayer or a wish! If you need a little inspiration about the powerful intersection of hope and girls, here's the video I made from Ellen's hope note party! Just imagine a global effort to empower girls and spread hope!

love thursday

 
I'm home in bed with the stomach flu today. One emotional funk down, one physical one to go. But in the midst of it all; the dirty house, the laundry, the overdue emails, the piles of papers threatening to eat my family alive . . . my kids can always make me laugh. Always.

When we were in Amarillo, my sister, Barrett, bought Ellen some Burt's Bees lip balm. Earlier this week, she was reading the label and her face got all twisted. She made a terrible face and said, "Mom, this stuff has beeswax in it. That's so gross." I said, "Gross? Why? It's great." She replied, "I don't know. I may not be able to use it anymore. I can't imagine how people put their fingers in those tiny little bee ears."

Then, last night, Charlie is sitting on the potty, explaining to me why he likes to tee-tee in the potty and poo-poo in a diaper (yes, we're in that stage).  In my most encouraging tone, I said, "Let's sit here a little longer, OK?" He sat back on his Diego potty seat and put his foot in my face. "Smell it. Smell my foot, mama!" I asked, "Why Charlie? Why do you want mommy to smell your foot?"  Charlie looked at me and explained, "All my poo-poo is down in this foot. It's not going to come out now. Smell and see."

Ellen's lips weren't the only thing parched by the dry Amarillo wind. We both came home with really dry skin. Ellen said that her legs were itching and she needed some special lotion (that's our slang for hydrocortisone). When I asked her where she was itching, she pointed to that weird area behind your knee and said, "Right here. In my kneepit." Honestly, I think that kneepit is totally brilliant. That's exactly what it is.

So this Love Thursday, I'm grateful that my kids are coming to my rescue with beeswax, poop foots and kneepits!

bag art by Ellen! 

amazing. grace.

During my very first session with Diana (the 2007 breakdown therapist), she kicked things off with some variation of the standard, “So, tell me what’s going on?” question.

I said, “I need some more joy, gratitude and abundance in my life.” I had rehearsed it several times and I thought it was a great first line (as far as sexy therapeutic pick-up lines go).  It was honest, upbeat and, most importantly, on the sane side of the crazy continuum.

Who knew that a midlife quest for such simple things would trigger a breakdown, ignite an emotional revolution and spark a fierce and unexpected spiritual awakening? Who knew that searching for joy, gratitude and abundance would mean spending an entire year  walking through fear and vulnerability AND excavating the blame, anger and self-righteousness that goes along with scarcity?

Seriously, why didn’t anyone prepare me for the humbling experience of becoming the kind of person that I’ve made fun of for 20 years? You know, an openly vulnerable weirdo with a soft, mushy heart and a penchant for arts and crafts.

Last week I was consumed by scarcity. It festers and grows and festers and grows. I’m getting better at recognizing it, but, unfortunately, I normally don’t put the breaks on until there’s some collateral damage.

Here’s what it is: In economics, scarcity is defined as the condition of human wants and needs exceeding production possibilities

Here’s the problem: Fear of needing more sleep, attention, validation and alone-time than can be produced by two well-meaning, first-born, rule-following parents with a 2 kids, 2 careers, and too much to do.

Here’s what it looks like:

There's a rhythm to it that always starts the same way:

Me: “Man, I’m tired.”
Steve: “Yeah. Me too.”
Me: “No, I’m really tired. Bone tired.”
Steve: “I hear ya. I’m wiped out.”
Me: Mumbling under my breath, but loud enough to hear, “Perfect. He’s tired too. What’s new?”

The scarcity soundtrack starts playing.

Me: “I need a break.”
Steve: “Sounds great.”  
Me: “Whatever.”

Music is louder and starting to drown out my better judgment.

Steve: “What’s wrong?”
Me: “Nothing. I’m good. In fact I’m just GREAT. I’m going to run to the store, drop off the cleaning, pick up a birthday present for the party this weekend, drop off Ellen’s camp form, take this new contract to the lawyer’s office, answer these 214 e-mails, get my article to the publisher before I miss my deadline; and get my eyebrows waxed. You get some rest.”
Steve: “OK”
Me: “OK???? OK??? Are you kidding me?”

Scarcity music is pounding . . . there’s not enough . . . we can’t both be tired . . . we can’t both have work to do . . . there’s not enough.

Me: “Perfect. Just frickin’ perfect. You’re going to watch TV and take it easy for a 20 minutes?”
Steve: “Yep. I’m wiped. Come sit down. Let’s rest for a few minutes then I’ll split the list with you.”
Me:  “Trust me. We can’t both rest. And, obviously, your rest is more important. So you just make yourself comfortable.”
Steve: No longer paying attention. Rolling eyes and focusing on DVD of “Lost: Season One.”

Scarcity music gives way to the martyr march. Off I go.  

Hup, two, three, four . . . who can always do more?
Five, six, seven, eight . . . watch me suffer . . . I’m so great.

I hate that scarcity grabs hold of us first. Steve is so reasonable. He really would scoot over, hand me the remote, and split the list. I just can’t do it. There’s too much to do. Time is running out. Got to do more. Now. I’m crawling out of my skin.

But here's the rub: when I don't keep my head down and soldier on, things don't get done. Important things. Big things that we both need to have done. Little things that make our family run smoother and work better. This is also part of the messy truth.

If the soldiering and scarcity is bad – like it was last week – it spills over to my friends and family. When I’m in a good place, a friend can have something without me needing it, being jealous or judging it. I can celebrate great things happening to and with other people without wondering when it’s going to be “my turn.”

In general, abundance means people can be different without being better or worse. Scarcity leads me to comparison and, as my friend Laura says, “Comparison is the thief of happiness.”  Who is the most tired? the most sad? the worst off? the best off?

After I posted my Love Thursday truth post, I prayed. Hard. I prayed for the only thing that moves me from scarcity to abundance: Grace. Both prayer and grace are new for me and I feel a little, "Can I get an amen?" as I type this; however, the more I see, the more I believe. And, the more I believe, the more I see.

Amazing. Grace.

On Thursday evening, I found myself in Amarillo, Texas, at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church. I was there for a potluck dinner and a lecture (I was giving the lecture). I left Houston exhausted and praying for grace. I found myself in Amarillo standing in grace and brimming with faith.  My night at St. Andrew’s was a deeply spiritual experience for me. The people were kind-hearted and open. They had gathered as a community to share a meal and learn more about shame, resilience and compassion. They embraced me as one of their own. I arrived tired and left renewed.

Amazing. Grace.

Ellen came with me on the trip so we could spend some time with my sister, Barrett, and her husband, Frankie, who live in Amarillo. There was sewing and giggling and snuggling. We all needed it.

Amazing. Grace.

On Friday morning I took a few minutes to catch up on my phone messages. There was a lovely message from my friend Marilyn. She’s a palliative care social worker, a therpist with a private practice, and a Cantor. She called to invite me to be her guest at a very special Women’s Seder this week. She is an extremely loving person and, for me, song is the most powerful form of prayer. I can hardly wait.

Amazing. Grace.

That same day I received an email from a wonderful Iranian women’s rights activist who thanked me for my work and told me that a copy of my book is finding its way to an Iranian library this week (there are lots of security issues). Iranian women are in tremendous struggle right now and need our support. It meant so much to me to hear from her.

Amazing. Grace.

Friday evening ushered in the beginning of a 3-day retreat for a group of deacons from the Episcopal Diocese of Northwest Texas. I led the workshop and, for three days, we laughed, cried, talked about compassion, burnout, faith, shame and hope.

The retreat was held right outside of Amarillo at a conference center that used to be a working ranch. I learned that coyote is really pronounced KY-OTE (there’s no EEEEE) and that roadrunners are actually called chaparrals. I learned that making eye contact with a mama owl that’s sitting in her nest with her two little babies gives me chills up my spine. I learned that watching the sun come up in Amarillo is a holy thing (see above). And, most importantly, I learned that there are some very special people who are quietly doing God’s work in West Texas. It was an honor to be with them.

Amazing. Grace.

Last, I shared my truth on this blog and you responded with more truth. Truly amazing. Truly grace. Thank you.