bliss

i like this word.  it goes on my favorite word list.  i like the way it looks, the way it sounds, the way it rolls out of your mouth when you say it, and that it rhymes with kiss, and the meaning it holds. 

perfect happiness, great joy. 

it doesn't come often, and it doesn't usually stay too long, but today i felt it.  i woke up to an already risen sun, birds loudly singing, chirping, cawing, the world in full swing.  i could see out the sliver between our curtains, bright yellow and pink flowers and long stringy red- dr. seuss-like flowers and light pink and white prickly looking flowers and i felt that feeling.  bliss. 

last night we'd gone out with our good friends here to a fabulous italian restaurant- sat outdoors and laughed and talked and relaxed.  we came home to electricity and children asleep and a terrific babysitter who also happens to love working with special needs kids and will be helping zoe several hours a week.  i felt, as i drifted off to sleep and woke this morning, bliss.  i felt the provision of God in abundance.  needs met above and beyond what we've asked or imagined. 

and bliss is a feeling that i associate even more with childhood (thanks mom and dad).  a feeling that all was well- a feeling of no worries- a feeling that the world could generally be trusted, that i could explore it, that there were things to be discovered and understood, fun to be had, a feeling that was full of security, safety and hope.

fridays in atlanta were my work day.  my day to not home-school zoe.  my day to put on my other hat, or in my case- my white coat.  my day to care for people unrelated to me, and in doing that- i gained great perspective.  more often than not i was inspired, grateful and refreshed. the fridays helped me put the other six days into place. 

fridays in uganda have become special too.  fridays are our orphanage day- zoe and i.  a day for her and for me to help outside of our selves- to be reminded, to be thankful for all that we have, to see a different reality- to alter our daily perspective.  but i don't leave inspired or refreshed.  i sometimes leave exhausted and burdened and sad. 

in atlanta, i did palliative care.  i took care of patients who were nearing the end of life- who were sick and not going to recover.  and while that could be exhausting and sad- the difference is that i could help them feel better, and they were adults.  the difference is that we are all going to die, we are all going to get sick. and even thought it's sad and hard and i'm not trying minimize that, , it is a natural part of life.  but, being abandoned in the trash as an infant- should not be a natural part of life.  being found by the police on the streets of the city, unable to walk anymore because of severe malnutrition, should not be.  it just hurts my heart. 

so i leave and my burdened parts ache, and i cry a little on the way home, how can these little ones know that feeling of bliss?  do they now, at least in the orphanage where they will be fed (something)?  but what about trust in the world?  what about hope?   and in typical american fashion- i try to manage this by ruminating on 'what can we do?'  what is our action plan?  what is our response?  is it enough to go and play with these children for a few hours once a week?

yesterday, i was tempted, for a moment, to close my eyes.  to choose not to look anymore.  to go about my business- because in theory, i can.  i can say it's too much for zoe.  i can say it's too far to drive.  i can say it's not really educational (ha).  but i can't.  because God loves those children.  because God has a plan for each of them.  because i am to be His arms, His hands, His feet on this earth. because holding someone for a few hours on friday might not change the world, but it's a ripple.  because sacrificing a little on my end to buy diapers, or formula or medication or books, is another ripple.  because i have a voice and know people who will listen and have the means to respond.  and maybe all these little things will add up to a big thing- a current- and then perhaps the hope will come, and maybe then- those moments, even if they are little slivers of moments- of bliss. 


"It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance. "  Robert Kennedy - quote about south africa

laugh out loud

life is really funny but if we live it too seriously, we miss it. and i want to go back to laughing- i mean laughing a lot.  i'm tired of stressing and fretting and feeling the weight of the world.  things need to be lighter.

tonight i got to go out with the girls after a much too serious day.  it was great.  one girl i've know since i was zoe's age, 11, and the other girl i just met tonight.  it was so fun to r-e-l-a-x and laugh and to remember that for most of my life, i was not so serious.  i might have even, used to have been, funny.

but it's hard to have objectivity on myself and the things that sit close to me.  maybe i never was funny-or maybe i still am.  maybe zoe's doing great- or maybe she's not.

i like saying things are good.  i like feeling that things are good, believing it, holding onto it, looking backwards and saying how thankful i am that we're not there anymore.  but then there are moments when really, we are there again.  i don't want to write bad news.  i don't want to report on my fears of her future, her now, our now, our possible future.

but i will.

this weekend- there was an un-witnessed episode of trouble.  it involved zoe and lily and a store and a sticky thought. there was some public crying and yelling and sliding around a store on hands and knees and some stranger staring and one 11 year old having to drag another 11 year old out of the store- to walk back home- to calm down.  then there was more crying (the appropriate embarrassed type from lily) and some consequences dolled out by a parent and some separate time for the two of them.  

when we heard about what happened, how she'd wanted some american girl doll paraphernalia, how lily had explained they had no money, how she'd melted down and expected lily to deal with her pieces- her pieces which were spread all around the floor of papersource as she crawled around and cried. we felt despondent- deflated- defeated.  a  temple grandin moment. overwhelmed by her need- by her inability to understand another perspective-her inability to make a good choice. her immaturity, and infantile level of understanding reciprocity.

sometimes it feels like she's her own worse enemy.  sometimes i wonder how hard she'll have to fall before she gets it- or if she'll ever get it- or if she'll be so broken by so many falls that she'll just hurt a lot.

and with all of that, it can be hard to find 'funny'.

someone once told me a mother is only as happy as her most unhappy child.  oh, i hope not!  i don't want my happiness entwined.  i mean, i want for all my kids to be happy, but i want my own version too. i want to be able to laugh when they eat earthworms at age 9 and cut their hair off at age 11.

there was a time when i really forgot how to laugh because i was drowning in zoe's drama.  i'd thrown myself so much into her world- cutting way back at work, homeschooling her, obsessing about her outbursts- that i'd lost my world.  i don't think i was depressed, or maybe it was, but i forgot how to laugh.

i'm re-reading 'cutting for stone' for our book club- and it's taking me right back to ethiopia - a trip i almost didn't take because life had become so serious.  but i went and i desperately needed it because i found my smile.  one night it was pretty late and lisa and i were hanging out in our hotel room- i can't even remember what was so funny, but we laughed like we were back in the 7th grade- for hours- the kind of laughing where your stomach muscles hurt.  there is nothing like that feeling- like being worn out by joy.

the seriousness will always be there. bad things are going to keep happening, small and large scale, war and illness and natural disasters - but there are funny things too and i want to find them.  i want to laugh out loud everyday for the rest of my life.

smile

i'm waiting for the bug guy to come. i've been given the slot between 2-4pm. this sums up how i feel about my life today.  waiting for other people. waiting for brownies to bake.  waiting for the mail to come.  accomplishing mundane tasks.  today life feels like buying socks.  spending money on things you don't care about- but need. it's also the day before the boys go back to school.  it's the big version of what we called growing up, "the sunday afternoon feeling".  that mildly depressing feeling that grows over the afternoon and evening when you know the weekend is over and work and school are about to start up again. and they are acting like it- that totally obnoxious behavior that is probably a subconscious way to help avoid the challenge of returning to real life after vacation.  tomorrow they can say 'school is way better than being around mom who yelled at me all day'.  and yes- i have been yelling, and not laughing.  doohhh. it's only january 4th! the worst part is, i'm not even trying.  but i will try to change the trying part.

to add to the crazy i've had 2 other kids over and bryn has stopped napping.  so i sent jude and his friend to the friends house down the street - so now it's just lily and zoe and bryn- playing the wii.  and while this brings some quiet to the house, i can now hear much of the conversation between zoe and lily- which makes me crazy in  a different way. in a sort of sad way.

when i have zoe alone, or with her brothers, she is just zoe- in all her glory and all her challenge- but she is zoe out of context.  zoe timeless and ageless.  when she is with lily, she has bookends.  there is comparison.  and all the progress i reported yesterday is buried beneath the glaring difference between her and her neuro-typical friend.  i see what it would be like to have a typical 11 year old- who make their own pot stickers for lunch, and can go down the street to buy something you forgot at the market, who can explain the rules of a new game, who doesn't hit someone when she loses the game, who doesn't sit and talk to her little toy dog over and over again.  who has a mature conversations with adults.

but the hardest part is not hearing them laugh and tell secrets and make memories together- not sharing in the joy that i had growing up with lily's mom.

i have a vivid imagination and an excellent ability to recall old memories and live in them for a while.   this of course gets in the way of being present.  of living in the now.  of laughing with your kids. and this escapism steps in when what's around me seems painful, or consuming, or overwhelming.  so today part of me was in florence italy sitting on the steps of an old church focusing only the fountain in the courtyard that i'm trying to draw; then paris, walking on a bridge and looking out over the river- not doing anything, then addis ababa having a uninterrupted cup of coffee and a pastry, reading my favorite book beside the pool.

ok- i'm back.  to go and try.

there is an old man in our neighborhood, john.  almost every day he walks slowly up and down the street for exercise and whenever we see him coming we go out and talk with him.  he told us a story once about when he was in the hospital last year.  he'd hurt his back, maybe broken something, and it was taking a while for him to recover.  he decided that the best thing he could do to help himself get better was to laugh.  so every morning for  a week, when he thought no one was looking or listening, he'd sit on the edge of his bed and laugh out loud for about 5 minutes.  in the beginning he'd have to force himself to think of something funny- but then it would get easier and easier.  over that week he began to get better- to move more, to get out of bed, to have less pain, to feel better.  the doctors kept commenting on how he'd had this amazing turn in his recovery- he says he just chuckled to himself- knowing the secret was enlivening his joy- finding the humor- choosing to smile.

and now i'm smiling again.