Friday Feelings

Hi Friends,

I’ve decided to do a new thing here. I need you to know I’m still finding my voice in this space. I write for other people, but I have thoughts of my own AND I don’t quite get the best way to relay my message. I’m learning. Be gentle.

BUT.  I like the idea of tackling how to say hard things.

That’s what Friday Feelings is for. We are going to learn how to say hard things in an empathetic way. These posts won’t be long. Well, this one maybe. Firsts are always a little longer. They won’t tell you exactly what to say but rather, how to say them. Let’s face it: relationships are hard. Can I get an AMEN from the back?

You ready? Let’s go.

Today, I want to talk about talking to your parents about transition.
Hard, right? Our parents have taken care of us, no matter what age you are, for decades. Maybe now is the time that you have to step in and take care of them. Your mom or dad, or both, have set routines. They have lives that are completely separate from your own. That’s good news! But, there may come a time when you have to intervene. Here’s what not to say:

You are old and need my help.

You just don’t understand anymore.

It’s the cycle of life.

Just do it.

I mean…would you want to hear that from anyone, ANYONE? I didn’t think so. Don’t be a jerk and tell that to your elderly parent either. While they may struggle with the internets and wonder how to FaceTime and Zoom, they aren’t imbeciles. Don’t treat them that way. Grace upon grace. Extend the same love, compassion, and grace to your aging parents as you would to anyone else. You don’t get a pass because it is your Mom or Dad. Okay?

My father passed away in January. It hurt. It hurt like hell. It hurt all of us. Now, 6 months later, my mom has decided that she will come and live with my family. This was always the plan, at least for me. When we moved 2 1/2 years ago, we bought a property we can grow into. That growth was meant for our children, our passions, and our parents should the need arise.

The need has arisen.

My mom has now been without her husband of 50 years for over 6 months now. Her friends in her hometown - who are absolute rockstars - are now evaluating the next steps. They will be moving on. They are in the midst of transition too. This isn’t easy for anyone.

I want my mom here. She’s my best friend. But she values independence, and I’m so thankful for this. Now that we are earnestly beginning next steps, it’s been all too tempting to say things like:

Don’t worry.

It will be okay. 

But those words devalue what she’s gone through and is going through. So, I’ve taken a turn. Rather than, “Don’t Worry” I’ve decided to say:

“This is hard. This is new. We will all feel things that we haven’t before. I don’t want you to be anxious, but when you are, pray. And after that, call me just to talk. I can’t make it go away, but I can listen.”

And then actually listen. Speaking is easy. But more often than not, people don’t need your words, they need your ears.

Rather than, “It will be okay.” I’ve decided to say:

“It will be okay eventually, and I’m here until that time comes.”

The truth is, it will be okay in the end. We serve a God who takes the long view. Of course, I think my words are wise and need to be heard. But, at this moment it’s not what I say but how I receive.

I love words. I believe they matter. When we enter into hard conversations with those we love, the words we choose last much longer than the moment they leave our mouths. I encourage you to be gentle. I'm learning this lesson too.

Sunday's are hard

Do you have a day of the week that just seems to get to you? I never did until my dad passed away and from that first week on, Sundays just plain suck. I don't know if it's the juxtaposition of planning for the next week and worship on the same day. I don't know if it is because a Sunday marks the first full day without my dad here on earth. I don't know if the fresh start that Sunday represents is a painful reminder that the newness of the coming days also brings with it a sadness that won't ever be filled up.

I just don't know.

And here's the thing: I don't think knowing why would make any difference. 

There is a clear line of demarcation that sets Sunday apart from every other day of the week for me. I don't dread the day. Sundays are great. There is rest. It is the one day of the week I allow myself to nap. For those of you who know me, you might recognize how different that fact is from years past. These days I let myself sleep on Sunday alone. Full on, no clothes, sleep in the bed even if I don't feel tired. Somehow, I always crash for a glorious 2 hours solid. Today, in fact, there was even sunshine after a long week of rain and snow. But then the day darkens and the tears come and often it is all I can do to keep trudging along until I can sleep again.

On Sunday I plan. I set aside time after the kids are asleep to plan the week ahead. When will I write? When will I exercise and what will I do for said exercise? I prep meals for the week. I stop.

Maybe it's in the stopping that I feel the grief. 

Today, this Sunday in particular, the grief started well before noon. You see, I have a worship playlist on my phone, music that gave me the strength to cry when my dad was so sick and then passed, music that gave me life when one of my own was taken. Today on the way to church, I played that music for the first time since funeral week.

Probably wasn't great timing.

By the time the boys and I arrived at church, the grief was settling like a heavy blanket. It hurt and my fingers tingled and I was hot and it felt like I was seeing the world sideways: a panic attack.
A panic attack that I could not stop in spite of being in a room full of people. I did the things I know to do when panic sets in. I looked for things I could touch. I anchored my body. I did the breathing, but the walls closed in and I had to escape. Thank God for sunshine because the moment I left the church and made my way outside, something settled. I prayed. He answered (God, not my dad but who's to say that my gentle giant wasn't there with me too. I can't say with certainty that he wasn't so I will choose to believe he was with me there too).

Calm came. Until it didn't again. 

The bizarre sensations that only those who suffer from panic attacks will understand became my companion this morning.

I'm not quite sure why I'm sharing this with you all. Maybe you are suffering too. If so, you aren't alone. If not, I hope this is a window into grief through which you can see what it might be like for someone you know. Either way, writing about it brings my clarification.

It's Been 2 Weeks

My oldest son Maddox is not showmanship. If anything, he prefers being in the background. Today, he made 3 baskets IN A ROW at his basketball game. This is no small feat. He doesn't play hard. He doesn't put himself out there. But, as of late, he's found his "basketball voice." He's learned the difference between assertiveness and aggressiveness (something I wish I had learned at his age).

And as he made his baskets, I wished my dad was there to see his triumph. Not because of the score, but because Maddox looked so joyous. These are the moments I want/wanted him to see. I can't speak to the very nature of Heaven, but I hope he took time away from fishing up there to see his grandson step into his own.

Grief, two weeks out anyway, hits at random times. I didn't expect it today. Yet, it came.

I'm currently learning lines for a show at Theatre Huntsville called "Silent Sky." Think Hidden Figures but in the 1900s when women definitely had no voice. My dad loved the sky. He loved nature. This is just one of the many things he imparted upon me. He also thought I was the best actresses around. Honestly, what parent doesn't think their child is the best at whatever they do, even if that's far from the truth.

As I've studied the character I will play and watched videos on the show itself, I cannot help but think that God knew I would need this show at this precise moment. Isn't His timing perfect? I get to be a part of a show that portrays scientific revelation as it relates to the skies,  something my dad was so inspired by. Not only that, performing is innate to who I am. It's just one of the ways I was created to exist. It's like God knew I would need something to soothe my soul during this time, and long before my earthly father passed, he gave me this gift. Blessed be.

Friends, not much in life is a coincidence. You were created with a purpose. You may not understand why now is happening, but I pray that you will eventually Know that on this road called life, you are not alone. You matter. Your desires and dreams matter.

It is well. Blessed be.

My Gentle Giant

Somewhere within grief is a great joy. I do not believe I could have said this with such reassurance had I not experienced it so overwhelmingly this past week.

I had the honor of being with my father as he passed from this life to the next and I can unequivocally say that it was the most profound moment of my life thus far. It was horrible and wonderful all at once.

I also had the honor of writing his eulogy. For those of you who knew my dad, take comfort in these words. For those of you who did not, you missed out. He was a delight.

I hope these words comfort you. I hope they make you laugh. I hope they nudge you to reach out to your people now and from now on. Time on this earth is limited.

Until I write again - Lauren

There once was a woman who died and went to heaven. When she got there, God said it wasn’t her time. She had 33 more years left to live, so she went back to earth and lived it up. She got plastic surgery, died her hair, got new teeth, and bought fancy clothes. One day she was tragically hit by a bus and died straightaway. Once she got to heaven, she told god, “I thought I had more time.” God said, “I didn’t recognize you.”

Probably not the most traditional way to start a eulogy but my dad wasn’t traditional. He was a fantastic mix of quiet strength, compassion, and quirky.

One thing you may not know about my dad is how funny he was. When he was department head for his Sunday school, he used to spend hours perusing the internet for jokes like the one I just shared to tell folks to put them at ease and put a smile on their faces.

My dad fiercely loved those in his life and if you were ever on the receiving end of his affection, you know how true this is. In the quiet places, he sought to comfort those in his life. This might have been a hospital visit or a card, or coffee in is pj’s. In recent times, it meant praying from his lazy boy. Jim Phillips loved his people. He cried out on their behalf. As I read through some of his journals, I got to see into the special visits he had with so many of you. His written words about the friends in his life show me just how special you all were to him.

He seemed to be especially fond of Ephesians. I found verse after verse marked and one theme began to emerge: the power of god. That even in the mystery of Christ, when we have faith, when he had faith, God was there ready to fill him up. He underlined verse after verse about crying out to God for strength.

Ephesians 3:14-17, 19 “For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom his whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name I pray that out of His glorious riches, he may strengthen you with power through his spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith…that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”

My dad desperately sought the fullness that only our Lord can give. He wrestled with his own depression, fought feelings of inferiority, battled in the dark corners of his mind, and wondered if he was enough. Still, he pursued God with reckless abandon and through it all found comfort and peace from the only One who can satisfy our souls. The same is true for any of you here today. No matter who you are, what you’ve done, what you’ve thought about doing, where you come from, there is rest for your weary soul today in Christ. He came to give us all an abundant life despite our circumstances. By grace you can and will be saved.

My dad was a huge movie buff and spent his early years working at a movie theatre. When Sandra Dee burst onto the scene, he declared her the finest actress of the year. Did you know my dad loved Sandra Dee? I didn’t. But he wrote extensively about her in his journals from his teenage years. In 1959, he wrote her a personal letter and was convinced this was the first step towards everlasting love. How could she resist him? He just knew once she read his note, she’d fall in love with him.

Did you know my dad went to work as a teenager to provide for his family so that his mother and brothers could have food on the table and shoes on their feet? He did. It was a pattern set into motion early on in his life: he always made sure those around him were taken care of no matter the cost to himself.

Did you know that there was nothing my dad couldn’t build, fix, or design? He was a master craftsman.

Did you know that my dad spent the early years of parenthood eating hotcakes and sausage and fishing with my brother and I because he wanted us to know from the start that we were his treasure? He did.

Did you know that immediately after my mom finished praying for God to send the right person to her the phone rang? It was my dad. Doesn’t matter that it took him 2 months to call. He did. My dad did things in his own time and always at the right time. 50 years later the love between my mom and dad is a testimony to the vows they made so long ago. Through it all, together they remain.

Did you know that my dad never met an animal he didn’t want to raise? Growing up, Jay and I have memories of crows in the backyard, deer that came home with him, snakes, ferrets, and most recently a slew of squirrels he raised. As many squirrels as he raised the last several years, he only had two names he would give them: Pearl or Buster. I guess that kept things simple. He loved animals so much that he often couldn’t let go. I remember coming home to visit a few years ago just after his cat Zena had died.

My mom told me offhandedly to not put anything in the downstairs freezer. I didn’t ask why. I sure wish I had. Because when I went to get something from the fridge, I opened the freezer door too only to find the cat wrapped in a few garbage bags and frozen solid. I accidently dropped the frozen cat in the drive way and the sound it made as it crashed to the ground was quite distinct just in case you wanted to know.

My dad had recently had surgery on his toe and couldn’t walk well enough to give her a proper burial. See, that’s the kind of man he was. He believed that all creatures deserved dignity. That’s how he treated everyone he knew: as though they were indescribably precious.

And you are.

What we want you to know in this moment and as you leave this place is that you matter. Even if you don’t think you count. Even if you don’t feel like you deserve it. You matter simply because you are, because our loving Father created you. We hope that you can find rest and strength in this truth.

So, take the leap of faith to believe that your worth comes from the mere fact that God chose you. Family, friends, always take the time to go see your people. Take the time to talk. Tell those you love what they mean to you and why they matter to you.

Comfort those who mourn. Be the hands and feet of Christ to all you see.

Matthew 11:28 Come to me all who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

Rest easy gentle giant. For you are home now. And it is well. Blessed be.

When It's Time

Wow. It's been a full year since I visited this place of refuge. What took me so long? Whelp, I have had tons of writing work that has required my attention. Most of it has been from a managerial front so time for my own writing has been few and far between. I did chronicle my adventures in training for a trail 30k last year so that took some of the edge off.

However, I've been thinking about some video I saw on the Facebook a couple of weeks ago. I would attach it here but I have no clue where it came from and don't feel like searching for it. The main point was this:

What would you do if you were not afraid of failing?

So that hits home. However, today especially, I have not been able to escape this. What would I do? What would I do if there was no fear? The answer is always the same: write my book.

I don't think I can hold off anymore because I cannot get away from this singular thought. I have several books I have started and NONE I have completed. I have spent the last two years as a corporate blogger and website content writer and had several magazine articles sprinkled in. The opportunities I have had to write have been tremendous and I am grateful. But, now, I think it is time to bury the fear and start the novel. 

So.

Here. We. Go.

The Power of a Best Friend - Joy Knight

Somebody famous in literary circles once said, "No man is an island." I could look that up but, honestly, I don't feel like it. Who said it doesn't matter. What they said does.

For close to 25 years I thought I was an island. I had friends. I got married. But I kept most people at an arms length whether they knew it or not.

 Joy Knight is not one of those people.

She is my best friend. She is my soul sister. She is my constant even though we are both terrible at keeping in touch on a routine basis. Perhaps that speaks volumes about my capacity for intimacy but nonetheless it is truth. I could never hide from Joy and in her presence I feel known. I am at ease. There are no walls. There is no pretending. There is just the present moment.

I have long felt the urgency and need to be known yet I have been my most prevalent saboteur. I'm great at the onset of relationship yet consistently fail in the long haul. Perhaps this is one of the many reasons why Joy and I are so compatible. Indeed, there is no perhaps to this. It is definitely one of the reasons why we remain so close without constant contact.

To be known is a treasure.

I earnestly believe that each and every one of us longs to be known and accepted for who we are not who we think we should be.

To be known and accepted as you are, faults and all, is the deed to the kingdom. Doesn't our Jesus do the same for us? He knows our depths yet he continues to love us even when we don't have the capacity to do so for ourselves. Grace, a free gift that I have yet to fully embrace, is bestowed upon us from him. Come as you are and nothing more. No pretense. No masks. Just you. Ahhh...the relief in being able to cast aside all the roles we assume trying to hide who we really are.

 When you find people in your life that refuse to take your masks and costumes at first glance and require you to dig deeper, force you to be honest without judgement, you don't let them go. They are worth the time and effort. They walk with you even when you shy away after revealing intensely personal information. I do that. My other soul friend Kim calls that action "turtleing." You get to the heart of the matter and then go back in your shell. But best friends, they don't leave because you are afraid. They don't press too hard when they know you need space. And you, in turn, do the same for them.

The thing is, we are not islands. We are not self sufficient beings although the enemy loves to bath us in the lie that we are. Each and every one of us is an individual with unique characteristics that only we can bring to the world. But we are not meant to walk this road alone. We are built for community. We are created for relationships.

And it's so hard.

It is so hard to be raw and real and honest when we feel like a piece of shit (my amazing counselor Lottie Hillard let me know that I view myself that way). Because of this, having people in my life that love me through the muck and mire means so much more.

Joy Knight, you are equipped with the rain boots to walk through the mud and muck with me and I hope that you know my rain boots are capable of your sludge as well.

I love you. With all my heart and soul.

This weekend was a reprieve for me. It was a place of rest. It was solace for my soul.

We Are Moms Hear Us Roar

Wow, it's been a while. I have been really busy with writing corporate blogs and magazine articles so I am using that as my excuse. I suppose I could update this blog every now and then but, honestly, all of my efforts are geared towards promoting corporate clients. It isn't that I don't have a lot on my mind. It isn't that my life isn't full to the brink of overflowing. I just don't have time. I've started writing in a journal. Not everyday lest you think I am on top of things. But there is something comforting about the written, not typed, word. Writing things down with a pen on paper is superbly cathartic. 

I know I just posted a blog. But you should know that picture was taken months ago and I just now clicked post.

I have finished all of my work duties for the week so I decided to take an adventure over here and write something that doesn't require accuracy or forethought. You see, this blog is my refuge. I highly doubt many folks actually read this and that is okay by me. I swear.

Maddox...sigh

Patton...Baby Blue Jay

When did I become a mom? When did I become responsible for two of the most delightful people on the earth? When did my heart become so full? I often ponder this thought throughout the day. It is almost inconceivable to me that I am now responsible for the lives of two little ones. Sometimes it hurts so much that I don't know what to do. 

Children are gifts. They are miracles from above. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

If you stay at home. If you work outside the home. No matter. You are mom and that matters. I hate the "mommy wars." Seriously, shut it down. Stop. Quit judging. The majority of us are simply trying to do the best we can and divisiveness does nothing but set up a tug-of-war that no one will win.

So stop.

Quit judging.

We all love our children do we not? And isn't that the most important thing?

We are women. We have desires apart from our kids. That doesn't change after childbirth. I know I do and I have fought so hard to suppress them that I ended up wandering in a desert of my own design. Call me crazy but I think our kids need to be witness to our passions whatever they may be. As a mother of boys, I want them to know that strong intelligent women aren't rare. They are real. They are just around the corner. They are desirable. These women can be found in a variety of contexts from academia to retail. 

Maddox, Patton, and my love Michael are my life. I write. I dream. I run. I ponder. I even love a great lip stain and Lancome mascara. All these things and make up the facets of my life. I am mom hear me roar. So let's put the pettiness aside for just a moment and marvel in the creation of our children. Let's acknowledge that, in parenting, varying roads can lead to the same end.

Put your swords down ladies.

Relish in your roles.

Love your children.

Love yourselves.

If you don't, who will?