retreat

last weekend i went on a women's retreat.

on this retreat, i was there alone. meaning, i knew no one, almost. i had had one coffee with the woman who i was sharing a room with, and i had met one other woman, once. but basically- i was alone. and that was good because the last time i retreated alone but with other people, i met God met again. and that was real real. in the wind, in the grass, in the sounds of the leaves and the light, speaking as God does, in my heart. the things spoken were so desperately needed, so craved, that i sat in that garden and cried. because i was so known. because i felt so loved. held. promised. safe.

that was the first time i'd gone away with a group where i knew nobody. it was a strange experience. i'm not shy and i don't suffer from social anxiety, but i realized after a few minutes that when no one knows you, first impressions matter- as in- they kind of define you for the weekend.  so i had this moment of wondering who i was? or who i should be? or wanted to be? and then i remembered that we are so not one thing, that trying to decide about which version of myself to be for 2 nights, was going to be exhausting, and that just showing up as myself - even if a very shabby, tired and swiss cheese self- was going to have to be fine.  that what really mattered was showing up for myself, which i had become very bad at.

that is what not retreating is, it's not showing up for yourself. and it's hard to show up for yourself, if you have forgotten who you are, but that is all the more reason to retreat.

retreat- the process of moving back or away from, especially something hazardous

that weekend was in new england in the spring. it's theme was about gardening our lives. i had just emerged from a very long, cold, snow-filled winter, i was desperate for spring.  i had just emerged from an even longer season of knowing that life is hazardous.  of knowing the danger of not pausing, not reflecting, of not moving back but rushing straight ahead into enemy lines- where harm happens.

i have a deep desire to be known. known and still loved. known and forgiven my flaws and still loved. known and loved- as. i. am.  this is what God does, only better. because God knows my truest self- the one i can't even see fully- the one i try to stay close to when i find part of it before it slips away. and God also knows that girl who showed up alone on a retreat wondering who she was, and He loves her.

it's more amazing to be loved when you are so lost. when you can't remember. when it takes a long time to see yourself the way God sees. so that time in the early spring of sitting with God in the garden and feeling that known and loved feeling, was life changing.

this retreat was different. it wasn't that it was in africa, or that i knew one person instead of no one, or that God didn't show up (because He did). it was different because i am different. because i didn't wonder who i was to be, because i didn't see me in versions. because i have learned to internally retreat. to show up for myself. to be okay with where i am and to know that a known, open, vulnerable swiss cheese self is better than a neatly packaged gouda self, because it's true. because it's real.

and all of that honesty and wholeness, makes me happy.  to be still on the inside, to be still and known.

saying "i'm sorry"

today i went looking for an article i'd read in the huffington post about, once again, parenting.  but instead i found an article on getting older, which was hysterical and, because i could remember neither the title nor author nor even the point of the parenting article i was looking for, relevant.

this said article, which i never found, did that thing that most huffington post articles about parenting do; make me feel everything at once.  i read along thinking that i've kind of got this thing, but i could definitely do it better -  that i will absolutely try, because i love my kids - but that honestly, the person writing this doesn't have my kids. i usually laugh, or laugh and cry, but i always cry because in reality, i'm not actually evaluating my parenting, i'm evaluating my person. internally it reads, "i'm probably okay - no, i definitely suck - there may still be hope - or not - oh well, it could be worse." because feeling everything at once feels like i've already, completely messed my kids up for life, but somehow also hopeful that tomorrow is another day, and while i know that i will probably only change my behavior by maybe one degree, for an hour, at least i know i'm teaching my children the essential lesson of saying "i'm sorry" - because i've gotten very good at that. 

that is the conclusion i ALWAYS end up with. usually it's enough to go on about my business with a dented, yet semi-intact ego.  but not this time. the article had something to do with supporting our kid's sense of worth, of home being emotionally safe, about growing their little self-images to be strong and mighty. no this time i couldn't go about my business because suddenly i saw that while i think i'm modelling self-reflection and humility, if i don't EVER change my behavior, i'm still doing damage, and modelling the damaging behavior, and so teaching that "i'm sorry" doesn't mean very much. my usual positive spin, had become the negative trifecta!

oh dear. crap.


apparently saying "i'm sorry" later, doesn't undo calling someone a 'dingbat' in the heat of the moment when you find a liquified, rotting banana in their school bag....again. and saying, "please forgive me, you're really not an idiot" post reflection, doesn't make it less likely to be believed.  all of the i so wish i didn't say those things moments came flying back to me like boomerangs.

"don't be a twit"
"those blank-ity blank kids!"
"stop behaving like a bunch of banshee monkeys!"

i don't even know what banshee monkeys are.

that is when i realized (sorry mom) that we are such creatures of habit. that perhaps i'm less likely causing my kids to believe they are empty-headed (dingbat) and foolish (twit) and that "blank-ity blank" must be a bad word, as i am handing down a pattern of shouting absurdities that will come flying out of their mouths in 20 years when they find decomposing food items and shoes left everywhere, and when their kids won't stop smacking each other in the way-way back seat.

i need to work on this. i do. on pausing, on tolerance, on choosing laughter. and i will, for at least an hour :)

but "i'm sorry" does count for something. it say, "i'm not just your parent, i'm human. you don't grow out of saying or doing things you regret. everyone has bad days. we make mistakes even when we're older. we are not just 2 parents taking care of 4 kids, we are 6 people living together. trying counts. forgiveness is essential. it's important to admit when you're wrong."

i guess i think honesty provides emotional safety. that self-worth is ultimately found in believing God made you and loves you as you are, that it's strengthened by parents valuing you for who you are not what you do, and loving you even when you are acting like a twit (thank you mom). that self-images can only be strong and mighty when you know that people who have your back will always have your back, and when you see the ones you look up to as strong and mighty, able to be real and vulnerable too.

so i try to do those things. and i mess up. and i will keep saying, "i'm sorry." but i do hope it becomes a little less often.

(oh, and according to the merriam-webster dictionary, there is no such thing as a banshee monkey. but banshee means : a female spirit in Irish and Scottish stories who cries loudly to warn people that someone is going to die soon
in which case the combination very appropriately describes my children.) 

healing leaves

that moment.

that delicious moment when they drive away to school and i know that i have the house, alone, completely alone, at least for a little while.

i am home. a new home in a known place. i am new and known. there is sameness and difference. stability and change.  the world changes, God is the same. that source of love and light that stays and is, where ever we are. we are somewhere between. in time. on a journey, changing to know and become more of that light and love.

i woke up wide at 4 am, killed the mosquito in the net and wrestled sleep for a couple of hours. at 6 it was still dark but time to begin. i had 45 minutes until the fullness of the house happens. it starts slowly- child by child- escalating in volume and remembering things and shoes and bags until the car heads out of the driveway. and then...that silence.

we have been back home in uganda for 5 weeks- in someways forever, in other ways it's brand new. we have moved into the city, eliminating our 3 hours in the car each day, and having to find out where, in this place, to buy vegetables and airtime and cooking gas.

our house is on a hill and is filled with light and breezes and i have to admit that from my bedroom veranda (yes i said i have a bedroom veranda) i can see lake victoria. and that is only because that is the way that God provides- above and beyond what we can ask or imagine. it's a gift of peace and refreshment that i didn't ask for or imagine- and it's fantastic.

all i asked, was to come home. all i wanted was to return and to return re-assembled but correctly assembled. even if i landed in a hut- i wanted to return.

i came here four years ago like an ikea bed. ready to be put together quickly and used, assuming wholeness, but missing some key bolts and screws. not enough that i couldn't serve my purpose, but enough that with time, i wouldn't be strong enough to withstand the pressure of those using me, those needing me.

but, Jesus is a carpenter. God is a repairer of broken walls. a healer. a mender. one who values and loves the core of us. is not afraid of our broken bits. sees our wholeness.  is big enough, to hold us when we break apart, put us back together wholly, glued with grace, and from this place our cracks and scars tell the story of Love. from this place, we begin to shine.

i'm one of those people who never reads the introduction or the preface.  i just want to get to the good stuff. it even bothers me that people write an introduction or a preface. i enjoy a quote- and then chapter one.  but today i began a book and i began with the introduction. the book is called "the journey to wholeness in Christ" and because it is about a journey it seemed appropriate to prepare by reading the intro.  thank God. because i would have missed words i needed to hear.

there is a lot in the bible about gardens and fruit. about bearing fruit and being connected to the vine, about the kind of fruit we should grow and how we should tend to things.  but this was about leaves. "Their fruit will serve for food, and their leaves for healing." Ez 47:12

healing leaves. it is a beautiful image. perhaps because i am surrounded by them and they make nice sound when the wind blows them. perhaps because they can be medicinal, or eaten, or provide shade from the sun and cover from the rain. perhaps because they come in such different shapes and shades, as we do.

we need different things, at different times. often, we are each other's healing leaves. at times we can give shade, protection, or salve. sometimes we bring music, or color, and joy. we give and we need to receive.

but when we give our stories, when we share our broken, when we hold each other in the suffering and the mending, when we show our scars, when we listen; it is the story of Love.

and the light begins to shine.