karamoja part 1 - (or really the never-ending story of zoe)

from my bathtub this morning, i could look out my window and see a branch of bright pink bougainvillea poking through a group of large green leaves. it seemed to be reaching to me, offering its perfectly bloomed arm as an example of the goodness.  i needed that.

i needed that because the trip to karamoja was so long and bumpy and more tiring than i realized.  i needed that because i came home to my life again, as if i wouldn't have, as if the people left at home would magically know that it was a lot of time in a car, on dirt roads that challenged the word 'road'. that they (being zoe) would know these things and act gently instead of aggressively- tread lightly instead of stamping- speak quietly instead of shouting.  but no, i came home to my life- which these days has some aggression, stamping and shouting.

i came home and instead of being filled with the emotion of what we'd seen and experienced and entered into, instead of processing the extremeness of that trip, i felt the same old crap i always feel- the pure exhaustion of the predictability of the inconsistency of our days.  i felt the dread of that ironic feeling of being stuck in 'ground hog' day- but the ground hog day being the unreliability of how zoe will feel and respond to life. of being trapped in the web of not being able to count on 'arriving'- of never sighing in relief, of never reaching a new plateau, of never reaching 'normal'.

here it was again.  our lives, all of our lives, revolving around her.  another post, revolving around her.  at a time when it really shouldn't be about her- it should be about rose.  it should be about the fusion of two cultures.  it should be anthropologic and sociologic and full of emotion and story and picture- (that will come but i had to say some things first).

soon after walking up, and making everyone breakfast, the crazy began because "why hadn't i shown zoe these pictures before?"  yes, the pictures that i had just downloaded off my camera the night before when she was asleep and didn't know we were home.  after losing my temper- trying to regain my calm, understanding, i'm sure this is so hard for you- voice, and after remember to beg God to please walk with me through this day- i knew i needed to begin that walk, up monkey hill- so i grabbed my sneakers and ran out the door.

it was cool and cloudy and beautiful outside.  i walked fast swinging my water bottle and told God that i was ready to listen but i got to go first because i'm younger- like in cards. i told him that this trip was hard, that no great conclusions had been reached and that i was pretty angry that zoe had such a hard time while we were gone.  angry mostly at Him- because he can take it.  angry because it would have been so nice to come home to her in a good day- and i knew that he could have arranged that. angry because i'm tired of her being the sun and the rest of us being planets that revolve around her at varying distances.   angry because all i wanted to do was shout at her that she's eating all our steaks and ruining everybodies lives- like napoleon dynamites uncle. angry that another thing has to be difficult- and complicated and so far away on such stinky roads. 

i was pretty sure he was getting the picture so i stopped talking.  i decided to listen.  because that is what you do in a relationship- or cards- you take turns.

patience, patience, patience- is what the sea teaches.  (it's what i want to teach you). Patience and faith.  One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach- waiting for a gift from the sea.

the situation with rose- it will not be decided quickly.  it will not be resolved in a meeting- it will take patience.
life with zoe requires, demands, screams for patience- it will not be 'resolved' - it will be lived with, grown through.  it will be seasoned with higher amplitude sorrows and joys- deeper valleys and higher mountains- but it will take patience- years and seconds of patience.

so yes, i get it.  i've figured it out- this is the lesson of my life.

keep asking me to walk with you

do i have a choice? i clearly can't do it alone.

i will give you what you need

okay- right- patience and faith.

pray the serenity prayer. 

'grant me the serenity to accept the things i cannot change, the courage to change the things i can, and the wisdom to know the difference.'

but can i find serenity? really? can i accept this that i cannot change? this child with all her challenge? the never-endingness of it?
i thought it was strength i needed, but it's courage.  what can i change?  what should i change?
oh please, give me wisdom. please give me patience, and serentiy and courage and wisdom.  i was beginning to feel like all the characters in the wizard of oz lumped together.

i was almost up the hill when it began to make some sense.  maybe this is another opportunity to be still, in the unresolve of my life, to sit and ask (or beg) each morning, out of the brokenness of my pieces - for these things that life has demanded of me and that do not come naturally to me.  maybe the ambiguity with rose is another friendly reminder from above that my life will not be about simple answers, or quick fixes.  that my season of sprinting was short and sweet and is now over.  that we've moved on to the emotional iron man level.

in my heart, i heard the U2 song 40.

I waited patiently for the Lord
He inclined and heard my cry.
He brought me right out of the pit,
out of my miry clay.
I will sing a new song,
How long to sing this song?

wait patiently.
this is what is asked of me.
what are my options? 
not a lot.
i think i'll be singing it for a very long time- life times.

He set my feet upon a rock,
and made my footsteps heard.
Many will see,
Many will see and fear.
I will sing, sing a new song.
How long to sing this song? 

my feet were climbing up rock- i could hear my footsteps crunch the gravel.  i reached that beautiful view - mist covering the hills, the far off lake to the left,  and i sat breathing in the stillness of the cool morning.
breathing in acceptance. breathing out patience.  breathing in faith. breathing out courage. 
somewhere singing this old song of mine- about once again, trying to wait patiently.

the key to compassion

last night was the goodbye party for my new friend simone and her family.  i met them a month ago but i almost cried at the end about their leaving.  it was really a perfect party, so i'll explain why. there were tables set up with flowers and african clothes, there was homemade juice and sangria, there were mats all around the yard to sit on, and chickens running and dogs, and cats, and guinea foul and ducks, and children.  it was all afternoon and there was no agenda.  the guests were more than half ugandan, everyone was interesting and real, and the food, oh. my. word.  i wish i could describe.  and then at dusk, out came the dancers, and drummers and the shaking was so fast all the pictures blurred- and notice that little muzungu in the pink shirt shaking right along with them. 

simone has this gift of being present and available when she's with you.  there's no small talk, or filler conversation, she's just real and i love that.  she also has no need to package herself as anything in particular, so you are constantly finding out that in addition to organizing a bakery and a farmers market each weekend at their house- complete with full breakfast, long tables in the grass with tapestries strung up for shade,  she is also a fabulous cook, and a seamstress who makes their sheets, and probably an artist and a yoga guru (but i'm not entire sure about those).  the key is in the not needing to be some-thing and the reason why is because she is so comfortable with being some-one. 

i was thinking about this especially because i've been reading the book Compassion by henri nouwen.   there is a chapter called 'patience' and it's about the relationship between patience and compassion.  he talks about how they share the same latin root- pati- meaning 'suffering'. he says that patience is the discipline of compassion, it's the 'how' in how to live compassionately, it is the way to do it, it is the way Jesus did it.  i found this fascinating because i tend to think of myself as a fairly compassionate person, but a highly impatient person.  so i had a moment of panic: how can i be truly compassionate if i lack the ability to sit still, to wait, to hold out.  but as i read i realized that i had i didn't have the full grasp on patience.  my idea of sitting calming by and putting up with something, was wrong.  he described patience as active, not passive; as something full and beautiful.

"Patience is the capacity to see, hear, touch, taste, and smell as fully as possible the inner and outer events of our lives.  It is to enter our lives with open eyes, ears, and hands so that we really know what is happening."

so i got excited.  now that i can practice, that i can aspire to, strive for, get behind. that's not that hard!

but the next sentence completely called me out.

"Patience is an extremely difficult discipline precisely because it counteracts our unreflective impulse to flee or to fight."

doh!

this is me most of the time when it comes to my greatest area of challenge in the practice of patience.....zoe. when she is having a hard time, when she most needs my patience, i totally want to flee or fight.  i fail to enter these moments of our lives. i tend to want to close my eyes, block my ears and run away which might actually be the better choice then to fight, then to yell at her or blabber on and on about my frustration, or polk my own eye out.

but here it is: "Patience requires us to go beyond the choice between fleeing or fighting....Patience involves staying with it, living it through, listening carefully to what presents itself to us here and now. .....In short patience is a willingness to be influenced, even when this requires giving up control and entering into unknown territory."

i'm sitting with this out on the porch, the sun is setting brilliantly in the sky , and the air is moving just enough, and the sounds of night are being born, here it's easy to be patient, to be full, fully here, fully in the moment, engaged, available, present. these are the transendant moments, the ones when we can feel God. 

unfortunately the world calls, these moments never last, zoe is calling for her shower to be turned on, the power keeps going out, and little boys need to brush their teeth.  and these are the moments when it's so hard to be patient- to have compassion.

but it's not unfortunate really.  it just is.  and it's more real then that sunset because relationships are two way, the night sky doesn't push my buttons and ask me to face things that i'm terrified of like will she ever be able to turn the shower on by herself.

so after calling back for her to turn the water on with her own hands (so i could watch the sunset), i got up and listened carefully to what was presenting itself- my beautiful child had a need, and that didn't need to be judged.  i went inside and turned on the water and stayed with it.  i told her she was way more important and beautiful than a sunset.   i practiced patience so that it would lead me to compassion. 
because that is where i want to be.

i don't want to fight or flee.  i want to be here and enter in my life, senses wide open.  i want to stay with it, even though most of it is unknown territory, and there are parts that are ugly and loud and smelly and scarey.  i even want to live through the hard parts.

i'm thankful to think of patience as a practice and not a character quality that i just didn't get. but simone, you may have practiced this longer, or harder, or it might just be another one of your hidden talents- the key to your ability to BE. thanks for reminding me, i'll miss you girl!

mothers day love

being a mom is the greatest thing i've ever done.  it's humbling and funny and full of mystery and surprise and it teaches you about love in a deep way, deeper than you can maybe ever know otherwise.  but it's also like the army- it's the toughest job you'll ever love.  and i do and it is. 

it was a great day.  it started with mike bring me coffee and a letter- a mothers day letter.  it wasn't a card, it was a letter- plain white paper folded in half the long way with a little sketch of a woman and a baby at the end.  the best gift i can get- his words.  then we went to church. 

OK- so it wasn't all that smooth.  we had to clean the house because the people who are buying it wanted to bring their parents over to see it.  zoe needed to clean up some mess in the playroom and while doing it decided to spit or drool or some combination, on the rug.  i only know this because she came upstairs to where i was getting out of the shower and announced that she'd done something that i wouldn't want to hear about it.  but i knew i was about to hear about it anyway.

i know it's not that big of a deal- but it just felt like it was.  it's mothers day.  can't you be perfect? can't you think before you do something that a five year-old would do?  can you control impulses- just a little? just for one day?

when we got to church i had that look- that no-poker-face i'm exhausted by the essence of my life- heavy look.  i knew it because people were asking me how i was doing instead of just saying 'happy mothers day!'.  then the kids attacked each other during the 15 minutes they sit with us in the service before sunday school.  again, it's mothers day! didn't you people get the memo?  can't you hold it together for 15 minutes!  the heavy face got a little heavier but my voice sang out- trying to find that place of stillness, that place of letting it go.  i was lost in that land of: is it them? or are my expectations too high? 

by the end of the service, after much song and prayer and communion, i was better- lighter- smiling- hopeful.  we came home and i went for a run.  maybe the reason i can't run and talk with other people, is that it's my time with God.  it's my time to let him or her know how i think things are going.  sometimes that takes the form of me being really mad and sometimes it's me being really joyful and thankful and sometimes it's me being really sad.  today it was me feeling really confused.  in some ways things with zoe have become worlds better- she is engaged in a real way- she is there and she is trying.  but then there is the spitting, or the wiggly voice, or some massive regression that sends me spinning off in my own orbit.

as i ran the last mile i kept saying in my mind- i just don't know what to do?   i just don't know how to parent her?  where is the instruction manual?  and quietly, what crept back in a soft answer form was, "love".

'it can't be that easy.  i'm talking about specifics, i'm talking about certain situations.  i'm talking about spit and wiggly voices!'

'love her.  respond to her in love.  remember always that you love her.  that I love her.'

'who am i kidding- that's actually not that easy.  yeah, it's hard! it's really hard to love her in those moments!  how can i ever do that?  i fail at that all the time.  i get so mad.  i let it all out- all that yuck- that is not love.  how?  how will i ever get this right?'

'lean on me. you are not alone.'

i ran on- a little faster.  i thought about the tattoo again.  i thought that i don't need the cherry blossom on my shoulder, i need the word "LOVE" tattooed on my hand or my wrist or somewhere i can see it all the time.  i'm a slow learner- i need reminders- i need LOVE  tattooed on my heart.

then we went with the willis family, back to a place that we went to last year.   back to do that  chattahoochee hike we did almost exactly a year ago with the willis family.  the hike that was a complete disaster- the hike that was one of the worst experiences i've had with zoe.  last year she was in a place of tremendous stickiness and disconnect and i was in a place of darkness.  (see post- http://bestillandknowkw.blogspot.com/2010/04/unglued.html)  given this morning- i was worried.  to make it even more of a set up for disaster, we'd decided that we'd cross part of the chattahoochee and eat lunch on some large flat river rocks.  again, for neuro-typical kids, this is nothing but fantastic, but for zoe- who is neuro-challenged, balance-challenged, coordination and sensory challenged- this is a big feat. 

let's just say.... i was very impressed, and relieved.  she had a few moments, but they were few, and they were handled well.  she bounced back.  she had fun.  she crossed the river and walked all over the place on those slidey, slippery rocks. 

and i remembered back to last year.  i remembered where we'd been, and i felt this incredible feeling of relief, and thanks, and hope.  i watched her walking around in that cold river and i felt hopeful.  and i remembered my run, just a few hours before.  i remembered the word i was given. LOVE.

so it's in the perseverance, it's in all the little additive moments.  like my mom always said, 'raising children is like putting pennies in the bank'.  bit by bit you get there.  this day was Gods gift to me- i got a snap shot of the 30,000 foot view.  and it's all in the love.

oh help me to live in that LOVE.

patience

oh dear.
i'm filled with love and overwhelm and everything in between.  the house goes on the market in less than 3 weeks, i need to get our new uganda website up and running, i'm trying to plan a fifth-grade-ish curriculum, and i have to prepare to give a talk for work next week.  so what did i do today? i reclaimed a massage gift that was given to me last year. and it was fantastic.  i have to say- i highly recommend Mark from Therapeutic Touch in cobb county.  (and for me to say that is a lot- because i never go outside of the city if i can help it).  i sat in that dim lit room filled with anatomic muscle posters and dream catchers and driftwood, listening to some american indian new agey music and totally relaxed.  i allowed myself to be completely self indulgent.  that means i allowed my mind to drift far and away.  i made no todo lists, i thought nothing about the kids, or work, or the house, or even uganda.  i just stayed with whatever floated in to my mind- music, words, poems, books, images. it was lovely.  and while that was going on- my body was letting go too. except for my left side.

my left side always holds onto everything.  my left side holds a grudge.  it can't just let things go. it wiggles and squirms and the muscles tighten and if it could speak for itself it would say something like, "keep out- don't bother, just stick to the right side." i always assumed this was linked to my psychology.  knowing that brain hemispheres usually correlate with the contralateral side of the body- i figured this meant i was left brain dominant- right brain weak.  i dragged jung into it and assumed i was too animus dominated- too male driven in my subconscious - that my wiggly left side- reflected how out of touch i really am with my sensitive feminine parts.  i feel uncomfortable, for it. embarrassed and apologetic for it.  i usually tell the person doing the massage- beware- my left side has an attitude, it's the problem child, it's not you, it's me.  but today- my left side lost.  and it was because of patience.

after about an  hour- and much leftsided squirming- he found a spot where the muscle must insert around the ischial spine (mid-butt in non-doctor speak) and he just pushed on it.  for seriously, almost 10 minutes.  i know this because after about 6 minutes-  i became aware that it was kind of weird that he was still only pushing on this one spot and began to come out of my adrift mind and begin counting. the point is that - his patience paid off. after 10 minutes- the muscles on the left side gave up. the entire side all the way up to the left neck- surrendered.

so my mind left whatever beach it was sitting on- and began to think about patience.  the importance of it.  the rewards that come with it. and how hard it is.  all i could think was- how did he know to stay in that one spot for 10 minutes?- i would never have been able to do that. i'm too antsy. maybe he's really good at listening.  maybe he knew that until that if he gave up before then he would have lost.  i don't know- but i began to realize the value in waiting.

so after 2 hours- i left, realigned, really for the first time ever. the right and left sides in balance.  not ashamed for the parts of me that won't cooperate, the parts that resist, that refuse to be flexible.  now, hemispherically adjusted. and that made me happy.

maybe it will translate into good psychology, good jungian theory evolution. or maybe my muscle memory will quickly jump right back to normal- and my lopsided self will continue. who knows.  but i did learn something about being patient.  and that is vital to my days.

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.

T.S. Eliot East Coker

i've quoted this before- it speaks to me because my challenge is always with being still, with waiting, with how i wait.  and with learning patience. perhaps my body will help inform my mind.
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