things to hold onto

it's hazy today and the view on top of the hill was obscured- but still, far off in the distance i could see lake victoria and there was a breeze that was cool and good.  i climbed up 'prayer mountain' because it's my new favorite place to go and be alone, and, the sermon today was on prayer. it was on retreating to a quiet place to pray and part of prayer is listening- learning to hear stillness- learning to recognize the voice that matters most.

in kenya i began to remember my great need for this- time alone with God- when i'm not talking but i'm listening.  when i'm quiet and open.  i also began to remember my great need for communion- for listening to the voices of others who may have walked my path for longer or gone farther- who teach me by accident in their sharing.  little gifts given.

because sometimes life is like this-

pushing an entire wood frame living room set up hill on a bike.  and when the path looks and feels like this, we need to remember the stories of those who walked before us. we need to lean on our quiet times of prayer and listening.  all these things build us and become us and we when we share them we are stronger and less alone.

and other times life is like this-

sitting on the couch together, while someone makes lego starwars spaceship sounds.  and these we hold on to as well. these things also make us stronger and less alone.

little gifts

i love little gifts.

these are the things that don't take much effort at all on the part of the giver, but mean the world to the one receiving.  they aren't even known to be gifts, or meant to be gifts, but they are.  it's all those little things we do for each other out of kindness or love or friendship or just because it's the right thing to do or because we wish someone would do it for us.  those little things that make the other person feel good, less alone, less far away, feel hopeful, cared for, encouraged, connected. 

yesterday it was my friend and excellent oncologist, who responded to an email about a case i'm dealing with.  he got back to me with in a few hours, with all the answers and extended his availability to answer further questions.  that was a gift. 

my friend brought me grapes the other day from the market.  it's just grapes- but what a gift!

the words we speak and how we speak them, pausing to look someone in the eye, to really listen, these are gifts.

the sweet sound of my kids at night shouting from bed one last time, "mama! i love you!" gifts.

each day we can give a lot of little gifts.  we can send the note or the text.  we can do the dishes.  we can give a hug, spend 20 minutes, we can share a story.  we can smile.  it doesn't take much.  it's the little things.   

so sweet and juicy

i hadn't had grapes in 6 months.  i've barely seen them here and they're expensive and usually don't look very good.  i've even heard of some people getting grapes as a Christmas gift. 

but today was my lucky day.  my friend brought them over as a treat.  what a treat.  because not only are they grapes- they are REALLY GOOD grapes. SO SWEET AND JUICY. it's the little things.
i'm sitting here eating them-and i'm pretty much in heaven.  thank you dear friend, thank you.

sometimes you don't even know you miss something until you taste it, or see it, or hear it again, then you remember.  and maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder, because grapes have never tasted so good.  that's how i feel when ever i land in san francisco.  as soon as i'm out of the airport and on the 101 heading into town and i see those hills and the light hitting them and the bay on the other side- then i remember.

life is found in these little moments- tizita- reflective nostalgia.  both creating those moments- opening the senses- taking it all in so we don't forget; and recalling them- sensory travel.

today i was part time mom- part time teacher and only one tiny part doctor.  this is my wednesday.  5:30 am- corralling of the boys into the morning routine, but this time i say goodbye and someone else drives.  i have coffee and prayer with mike.  i do some exercise- today it was yoga.  then i begin the zoe home school routine.  i will skip any annoying details and just say that after accomplishing a few things- like math and copy work and history- and minimal soccer/ spelling- we canned it and became crazy animal scientists observing wild red-tailed monkey behavior in the jungle of our yard.  we sat down in the hot sun and watched two little monkeys eat and climb and play and watch us right back.  and once i got over the inescapable, learned aversion to not sticking to our schedule, i was amazed at how cool it was that we were sitting 2 feet from these little guys with their opposable thumbs- that this is home schooling in africa.

so i stopped and i payed attention- to the way they held the palm nut they peeled, to the direction their fur swept away from their face, to their human like ears.  and i felt that hot hot sun on my arms, and i sat close enough to zo that i could smell her hair and then the smokey air of things burning near by.  and i let us be.

because it's the little things.

two ears, one mouth

i've been thinking about listening and i've been thinking about cherishing.  and then being guided by these things.  i say this because things go better when i'm able to do this. when i stop- when i'm quiet- when i'm attentive- when i'm not in a rush- when i remember what really matters- when i look at my child and for one quick moment imagine if they were gone- and i soak them in- words- smile-scent. when i live in a moment where nothing is taken for granted.

maybe it's because i'm a doctor who takes care of people when they are close to the end.  maybe because i've had years of watching people say goodbye- maybe because i had a season of envisioning my life with out one of my kids-  these have informed my thinking- which slowly transcends into informing my living.

yesterday- in hindsight- i didn't listen to zoe.  i didn't hear her trying to say 'no' to swimming.  i had a vision of being down by the lake as a family- of all of us swimming together and laughing and hanging out.  but that wasn't her vision.  she tried to tell me that- but i was too focused on my plans- my ideas about what i wanted.  sho' nuf' it went sour.  we got down there and she sort of fell apart- everything was a problem- stickyland- my norman rockwell crumbled and i went briefly into pityland. 

i realized how desperately i need to be quiet. 
two ears, one mouth- we are anatomically set up to listen more than we talk.
i'm so bad at this.  i like to talk.  to share. i always have an agenda, and a plan.  i'm one of those people who will speak up if no one answers a question in class- just so someone says something.  i'm better at listening when there is a crisis- when someone really needs to be heard- but in the day to day- it doesn't come naturally.  i have to work at listening, especially to little voices that whine sometimes, or talk incessantly.  i have to remember there can be important stuff in there- disguised - but there. 

i have to remember to appreciate- to savor- to adore.  to value the little stuff. 
they go together.  when you stop and are still- you can hear the layers in what is said- the humor, the fears, the intellect, the memories that maybe hidden inside.  but the real magic comes when you focus and listen with your ears and your eyes and your mind- when you place value on what is being said- because then the mystery is revealed - because then you learn what to do.

whether it's a patient or a child or a friend- answers can be found in the listening.  hearing is taking in sound- it happens as long as our ears and our sensory-neuro-system is intact- as long as we have the ability to receive sound.  but listening is purposeful and active- true listening involves all the senses. 

words are powerful.  but communication is even more than words- it's what is said and not said.  it is tone, facial expression, and what we say with our bodies.  when we leave someone, when we have to say goodbye- we cling to this stuff- all of it. 

this week it will be my goal- my plan- my agenda. 
to be quiet- to hone in- to respect the one speaking- to strive to 'know' them- to find the gems in their words- to reflect on what is not said- or what their eyes said- their hands- the curve of their face.  to be guided and directed before i respond.  and to delight in the the little things- all of them- and to treasure those who fill my days.

something beautiful

it's friday. beginning and end of my work week. a day to gain perspective- to be thankful for health, for a job i love, for kids i love and get to spend most of my time with, and for a weekend coming where we can be together as a family.  i have escaped to the back porch even though it's cold. even though i'm wearing a hat and scarf and poncho and a down blanket- i can breathe better out here.

a few days ago, i was really frustrated with myself, and with my life.  all the kids were in states of disequilibrium, someone was always crying, or whining, or complaining and i was doing too much reacting and not enough parenting.  everyone else's kids looked well behaved and well adjusted, everyone else's lives looked easier, and everyone else looked like they were handling their lives better than i was.  i was feeling sorry for myself.

on this particular afternoon i was driving down a road that has become my main passage.  it's a road that i don't like to drive down, but i am on all the time.  i was mumbling to myself about how my days are full of this road and snippets of time waiting for children on different sides of this road.  i was imaging a zip line down this road that i could zoom down with a child on my back so i could get out of the car.  i was thinking about my flying dreams and how sometimes the flying turns in to long jump flying- i jump/fly and touch down, push off and soar again to another spot- and i imagined jump/flying down briarcliff road- leaping over the cars and the traffic lights.

the problem with briarcliff is that if someone wants to turn, the traffic gets totally backed up.  i was on my way to get bryn after dropping zoe, only to turn right around and go back and get zoe again, then right back down the road again to get jude.  i was thinking about getting happy.  i was thinking about what were some of my favorite things.  i was kind of rushing- because that's what i usually do on briarcliff.

i saw a car on the other side of the road trying to turn, to cross my side to get to this building.  like Eeyore i thought, " might as well let his guy go, i don't have anything better to do anyway, poor me." he turned and waved and the giant line of cars waiting behind him seemed to smile and drive on- free.

i smiled too.  and then i laughed.  i laughed at my pathetic, absurd attitude.  i laughed because it's the little things we do for others that make us feel better.  shifting the focus onto someone else- relieves us of our own myopia. i thought about what a "win-win" this is for the world.  
i thought about the line in 'cutting for stone,' "make something beautiful of your life".

make something beautiful of your life.  make something beautiful of your day.  make something beautiful of your moments.  like martin luther king jr. said: to be great is to serve, and anyone can do that.  and all of us can do that.

so i drove down briarcliff again in the opposite direction, with the opposite attitude.  triumphant.  victorious. thankful for the blessings that come in the little acts of service.  empowered to shift the focus and make beautiful moments.

sparkly ( i love that word)

it was a really long day at work- at the end of a long week- but i'm home now- out on the back porch. the evening is spectacular- warm and quiet and sparkly as the house and street lights begin to come on and the sky darkens and the trees are still naked so you can see through them to more little lights- from other peoples houses.   so i can feel alone- but surrounded- at the same time.

it's been almost a year since i began writing here and i'm so thankful. much growth that has come out of it.  writing down the days of my life, the minutes even, forces me to pause, and breathe, and step back and see it differently.  where i start when i write and where i end up- are different.  i gain perspective and meaning- i see it clearly- the ugly parts become more beautiful- the beautiful parts become more special and life-giving, and i become happier- renewed-able to go on.  if i was walking- i leave running, standing- i leave skipping, or sitting- i might leave crawling- but at least i'm moving- and my soul, stills.

a lot has happened this year.  i've found some parts that were missing, and let go of some parts that were weighing me down and i feel much more whole- put together.  i think zoe does too.  it's been a good year. for her. for me. we've grown and changed.  and we will again. 

i've been thinking about the orchestration of things- about divine intervention- and how things have worked together- about what i've learned.  looking back now i see how zoe's dark season- led to life blooming in a new way.  stepping off the track of academic medicine and into the life of homeschooling and home-making and spending hours with my kids- has given me so much more than i ever thought (despite my grumpy valentines post).  it's given me time and space and knowledge - not just about zoe, but about each of them- their needs, their strengths, their struggles.

it's given me small things.  small, very valuable things- a moment walking to school in silence except for the rain- making a paper house for a lego man- explaining about how a horn works- listening to someone thank God for the heater coming on- and a cake being baked. holding them, smelling their hair- watching their independence grow.

and all this time and space and change has freed us to think about life outside of the box - to let go of the things we thought mattered, or should matter- and refocus the lens on the things that really do matter.  listening to our lives.  giving to others.  living fully into what we're called into. not being afraid.  taking risks.  trusting God. and all this has opened our hearts to uganda.

writing here has enabled me to process and to find balance.  to remember who i am- and why we're doing what we're doing- to have hope- to choose joy- and that it's OK to forget that and have to start again the next day.  and i've found a beautiful community of people who get it- who walk a similar walk.  yet what's become most clear- is that we all walk the same path, different versions, different speeds, carrying different amounts of baggage at different times- but none the less, the same.  i share this path with my patients living with terminal illness- and i share it with my friends and their appearingly perfect lives with typical children.  it's just not so complicated.  it's just not so separate.

i've learned i'm not alone.  far from it. i'm surrounded. there is unity, and peace.  out of the darkness has come light- little white lights- of possibilities and hope.  sparkly lights.

night is full now.  but it's still warm and through the leafless branches, the sky is twinkling too.

little moments

i just got back from a fabulous weekend away.  away at my old home.  away in northern california. away with old and new friends.  there was great food and wine, time to read, time to be quiet, to hike and for connection and laughter. lots of little moments.  i am refreshed.  i am reminded of how good it all really is.  i am thankful!


on the plane, i watched The Blind Side.  it's about a boy from the projects who ends up at a private christian school, and is taken in by a wealthy family, where he thrives and ends up a famous football player.  its about good coming out of bad.  it's about potential being reached, and about transformation for many.  it reminded me of Temple Grandin, a movie about an autistic woman who succeeds in graduating from college and grad school and is now teaching at a university.  she was able to use her "skills" and strengths from autism to help her understand animal behavior.  when you break down any story or life, it is the little things that happen that are life changing.  it's the mechanic who lets Big Mike sleep at his house and then asks the private school to take him-  it's the little boy who smiles at him on the playground when no one else will talk to him.  these were the seeds that got him where he was- not just the woman who ultimately took him in.  temple grandin's science teacher- and college roommate, not just her mother.  and this gives me so much hope.

there are so many moments in our lives, in our days when we have a chance to make the right decision, to advocate for a voiceless someone, to pause and be present.  and these little moments add up to our lives- these little pieces can collectively change worlds.

like the man on the plane next to me, who prayed for zoe before take off - although all he knew was that she struggled with vague learning issues and that i homeschooled her- he took hands with me and with the poor guy between us - a 20-something guy from the bay area- and lifted her up to God- and asked for healing and specifically for her focus and her fine motor skills.  i'd never said a word about focus and fine motor skills, but those are her biggest challenges. it's those little moments. they do matter.

when zoe was about three years old- and lacked appropriate stranger anxiety- we took her to a cafe to hear some music.  there was an older woman- who, if anything, should have looked scary to a child.  not well put together- very eccentric, and kind of odd.  she was not the kind of person that you'd not want to pick up your child.  but zoe, who seems to see the beauty in people when others don't, went up to her and spoke with her, sat on the couch with her- fully engaged her.  i remember feeling a little uncomfortable, and yet so thankful for her ability to see through all that.  the woman was so touched- so thankful- she had tears in her eyes-this little girl had brought back her humanity.  this is where zoe is most special- she gets those little moments- who knows if  it was life changing for this woman, but it was for me.