The Story of My Life April 14, 2009

When the story of my life is told, “frequently overwhelmed” is not really a phrase I want remembered.  Nevertheless, it seems to be a state in which I often find myself.

 

There was once a time when I was far busier, my day filled with activities at school, with the children, and at home.  From the time I woke up until the time I went to bed, I was doing – things for others, things for the kids, things for our church or community.

 

For years, I was the person who arrived at work early with treats for my co-workers, was always prepared for class with full lesson plans, and still worked  hours at home serving my family with clean laundry and wholesome meals.  My kitchen stayed clean, the bathrooms immaculate, and I even had time to connect with friends through the computer.  Bills were paid on time, the kid’s activity fees were covered, and we always had groceries in the house that reflected my carefully planned menus.  We went places and did fun things together.

 

Of late, it feels everything in my life now is behind the eight ball.  My house is a disaster all the time, clutter is everywhere, and I feel like a family of sardines live in this house that barely fits us and costs way too much for what we’re getting.  We have a stack of bills and daily reminder phone calls to juggle.  My daily routine starts before day break and many days I spend hours in the seat of the family vehicle playing Taxi Driver to those who cannot drive for themselves.

 

Now I feel like I get nothing accomplished from day to day.  I wake up tired and I go to bed tired while I lay there wondering where the day went and if I’ll be able to look up at any point in my life and be able to offer a list of accomplishments that extend beyond my manic Mondays, frantic Fridays, or wacky weekends.

 

I spend many days battling my urge to dream of a life more independent; where I am in control of the risks affecting me, and where I can make wise and informed choices before its too late.  I wonder what happened to my energy and my motivation.  I wonder what happened to me.  Few days go by without tears, and most days end with them.  My favorite activity now is lying quietly snuggled against Temptress, hoping sleep will deliver me to a place of peace and serenity before being pulled into another dutiful arena.

 

We have a new business that we are trying to get up and running.  We are coming to the end of our lease term and should be moving – again – to find something more permanent and stable for our family.  We are nearing the summer months, where the fundamental nature of my existence for nearly three months is spent in an endless pattern between the stove, refrigerator, and sink playing Chief Cook and Bottle Washer to nine children who waiver between boredom and summer hyperactivity. (Would this be a good time to interject my thoughts on year round schooling again?   Nah, I’ll let this one pass…)

 

There was a time in my life when I would have been advised (and would have probably followed through) to “let go and let God.”  But years later a frustrated me still found discontentment in the journey and realized the problem with laying one’s woes (or the responsibility thereof) at the feet of another.

 

It would be nice to wake up one morning to find we’d won the lottery, to stumble upon some valuable thing in the attic, or to receive an unexpected IRS rebate in the mailbox.  What I want is for fate to give us a break, for someone to believe in us, to have someone to step in as a benevolent benefactor and give us a step up; just one tiny nudge in the right direction.  Those who say money can’t buy happiness are not giving enough credence to the fact that lack of money can certainly create deficit of contented choices.

 

What I think I need to do is to get a grip on reality; to take charge and make some decisions that pull me out of whatever funk I’m wearing and get me back into performance mode.  Or maybe, that is the cloak I’m desperately trying to take off.  I wonder if what I think I should be doing is just ingrained obligation bubbling to the top of an otherwise restructured life.

 

Maybe it is accurate that those who do not truly experience a childhood and adolescence are doomed to seek it later in life; to long for days of freedom and frivolity that were not a part of the growing up years.  The parentified child in me grows uncomfortable with the shackles of the adult life I pursued for so long.  I think I falsely believed that when I chose maturity for myself, I would hold the control for my own life and the power others held against me would suddenly be null.

 

But what I have found is how much life becomes increasingly more restrictive as we age.  The older I get, the fewer amenable choices remain.  The less I can think of myself and the more I am forced into decisions that echo the wishes of others.  I begin to sink back into the hollows of the endless mind and wonder who the actual author of my life story will become as the pages continue to turn. 

 

~ the laundry goddess, April 14, 2009

Faith of the Heart November 30, 2008

As is our holiday tradition, we began putting up our Christmas/Yule décor on Saturday.  The boxes come out of storage, the trees are purchased, and the entire atmosphere in the house changes.  For those who say “Christmas is for children,” haven’t celebrated in our family, because everyone seems to get caught up in the giddiness of the holidays.

 

Along with the merriment is the onslaught of “I want…” comments fueled by overactive advertisers and the fantasy of the man in red delivering presents.  We talk about Santa, but prefer to call him Father Christmas or speak of that character in the spirit of giving.  Our children are very accustomed to believing in mythical and symbolic creatures because Temptress and I encourage them to do so.

 

In addition to Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, our family also recognizes many other creatures as well.  We sometimes have visits from the House Fairy (for especially clean rooms) – http://housefairy.org – and at times we leave offerings to the Sprites and Brownies in our home, asking for their assistance in locating missing items.  At other times we are prone to ask for our thoughts back, speaking into mid air.  We happily observe photo orbs, amusingly asking which of our ancestors may be with us in spirit in that moment.  And when we moved in, we enlisted the help of mighty guardians (some might call them angels) with the protection of our dwelling.

 

We have raised our children to believe in the things unseen.  The most profound of these beliefs is the choice to acknowledge The Creator, to have daily relationship with our Deity.  And yes, it is a choice.  Faith is the matter of knowing something is real even when you cannot see it or touch it tangibly.

 

We also subscribe to belief in Karma, that what you send into the Universe will revisit you times three.  So call it “reaping what you sow,” but what you are inside, what you believe in travels with you; it speaks of your character, and it makes your heaven or hell right here in this world.

 

Growing up I was taught about the darker characters and the consequences they face.  “The trouble with liars is that they cannot believe in anyone else.”  “The problem with cheating is that you trust nothing is safe.”  “Ugliness comes back on you, so do right, be light.”

 

On Thanksgiving Day our family played a round of Apples to Apples, one of our favorite group games.  The purpose of the game is assigning a noun (person, place, or thing) with a descriptive term (liberty, wealth, freedom, glamour, etc.)  For instance, if the term is “weird” then each person puts in their choice of options from their hand of cards.  In a game of eight players, there might be cards naming “Modern Art,” “Ozzy Osburn,” “My Family,” “Cooking Shows”, or maybe even “chores.”  So who decides what is weird or not?  Each of us do, in turn.  The game is hugely representative of the associations we make in life.

 

There are a lot of ideologies in this world that are not concrete; they are not hard and fast examples.  Who is kind?  Is it the altruistic millionaire?  Or the elderly on fixed income that donates her time to charity?  Do we have to choose?  Or can it be both?  What is freedom?  Is it having the right to burn that very symbol of freedom in protest?  Or is it having the right to marry whom you love, regardless of their gender identity?  Who is a genius?  Einstein, Shakespeare, DaVinci, Bill Gates?  What about the mechanic that figures out that odd buzzing in your HVAC unit?  What about the teacher that touches the creative soul inside a neglected child?  And what is hope?  Is it the one who wishes for financial freedom by playing the lottery?  Or is it the parent who prays over a sick child?  However you define these unspecified notions, it is all based on how one connects with the unseen.

 

There is a great line from The Santa Clause, when young Charlie asks his step father, “Have you ever seen a million dollars? Just because you can’t see something, doesn’t mean is doesn’t exist.”  And that truth is evident in many areas of adult life.  Everything of worth in our existence hinges on faith; that the sun will rise, that the seasons will change, that we will live through our car ride to work, that our daily purpose is part of a larger picture.

 

I feel sorry for those “show me” types; to whom everything must be proven.  Our life here is uncertain and we have no guarantees.  H2O can be proven, 1+1+1=3 can be proven, even Newton’s Law can be proven.  But how can love be proven?  How can support and encouragement be proven?  They can’t; those qualities can only be recognized by the heart.  And in many cases, you have to want to see them when they aren’t glaringly apparent.

 

I remember well a lesson I learned many years ago, “Just because somebody doesn’t love you the way you want to be loved, doesn’t mean they aren’t loving you with everything they have.”  We don’t have any control over how someone else shows us love, all we can do it decide how we will respond.  Sometimes the evidence takes a long time to manifest. Repaying insults with blessings can transform a hardened heart. 

 

Pollyanna had the right idea.  Rainbows and sunshine and random acts of kindness can make a difference.  The world is a better place when we believe in dragons and unicorns.  Our lives are a bit more magical when we expect goodness from all creatures.  And just in case, carry a bit of pixie dust in your pocket.

 

~the laundry goddess, November 30, 2008

The Good that Await Us June 24, 2008

I have to admit that recently I’ve been a little bit of a slouch.  I was at one time full of energy with a “to do” list a mile long each day.  Maybe it is the summer time or perhaps it is because even two mommies are swamped by having nine children at home 24/7, but for whatever the reasons of late, I’ve taken to enjoying a mid day break.  Most days I’m judicious with my “spare” time with one or two small exceptions…

 

There is this mindless reality show on some domestic cable channel called “Clean House.”  It promotes a crew of colorful characters that go into someone’s shameful jumble of a house/life and rally them to sort through their mess in exchange for some professional design and organization.  The result after a weekend of cleaning, a yard sale, and donation of unnecessary junk is three remodeled rooms that are pristine and inviting.

 

I’m not really certain of the draw this show has for me, other than I can totally relate to the need for structure and order.  That, and the fact that I can understand how one thing can lead to another and before long you realize life circumstances have overwhelmed you and you are mentally mired.  It’s hard to move past the condition to which you’ve become accustomed and put forth the colossal effort to move forward with a fresh slate.  Our messes comfort us in a weird way.

 

I got to thinking recently about how difficult it seems to be for myself and for others I know to let go of things that seem to interfere in our ability to move forward in life.  Behaviors and attitudes that are inherently adverse to where we want to be long term seem like an illogical choice, but it’s that baggage we carry with us from childhood, from past experiences, or from stubbornness.

 

I remember a story told to me many years ago that demonstrates this premise:

~~~

Jenny was a bright-eyed, pretty five-year-old girl. One day when she and her mother were checking out at the grocery store, Jenny saw a plastic pearl necklace priced at $2.50. How she wanted that necklace, and when she asked her mother if she would buy it for her, her mother said, “Well, it is a pretty necklace, but it costs an awful lot of money. I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy you the necklace, and when we get home we can make up a list of chores that you can do to pay for the necklace. And don’t forget that for your birthday Grandma just might give you a whole dollar bill, too. Okay?”

Jenny agreed, and her mother bought the pearl necklace for her. Jenny worked on her chores very hard every day, and sure enough, her grandma gave her a brand new dollar bill for her birthday. Soon Jenny had paid off the pearls.

How Jenny loved those pearls. She wore them everywhere-to kindergarten, bed and when she went out with her mother to run errands. The only time she didn’t wear them was in the shower-her mother had told her that they would turn her neck green!

Now Jenny had a very loving daddy. When Jenny went to bed, he would get up from his favorite chair every night and read Jenny her favorite story.

One night when he finished the story, he said, “Jenny, do you love me?”

“Oh yes, Daddy, you know I love you,” the little girl said.

“Well, then, give me your pearls.”

“Oh! Daddy, not my pearls!” Jenny said. “But you can have Rosie, my favorite doll. Remember her? You gave her to me last year for my birthday. And you can have her tea party outfit, too. Okay?”

“Oh no, darling, that’s okay.” Her father brushed her cheek with a kiss. “Good night, little one.”

A week later, her father once again asked Jenny after her story, “Do you love me?”

“Oh yes, Daddy, you know I love you.”

“Well, then, give me your pearls.”

“Oh, Daddy, not my pearls! But you can have Ribbons, my toy horse. Do you remember her? She’s my favorite. Her hair is so soft, and you can play with it and braid it and everything. You can have Ribbons if you want her, Daddy,” the little girl said to her father.

“No, that’s okay,” her father said and brushed her cheek again with a kiss. “God bless you, little one. Sweet dreams.”

Several days later, when Jenny’s father came in to read her a story, Jenny was sitting on her bed and her lip was trembling. “Here, Daddy,” she said, and held out her hand. She opened it and her beloved pearl necklace was inside. She let it slip into her father’s hand.

With one hand her father held the plastic pearls and with the other he pulled out of his pocket a blue velvet box. Inside of the box were real, genuine, beautiful pearls.

He had them all along. He was waiting for Jenny to give up the cheap stuff so he could give her the real thing.

By: Author Unknown

~~~

 

So it is for us with many things in life.  How often do we sacrifice beauty in our lives because we refuse to mature past the cheap trinkets?  How often do we hold onto things when we should let go?

 

I think many times we grasp so firmly to unhealthy patterns, relationships, habits, or activities because it seems impossible to let go.  Or perhaps we just feel like a second rate something is better than an unlikely nothing.  We are so focused on our rights, or our possessions, or what we deserve in life, that we overlook the abundance that comes from a clutter free existence.

 

I know more than anyone how hard it is to let go of the familiar for the possibility of something better.  But if we analyze our heart and mind, there is always a measure of clearing and cleaning that needs to be done.  Sometimes, it is so hard to see what awaits us, but I firmly believe when we learn to let go, there is something much better waiting to bless us.

 

~the laundry goddess, June 24, 2008

 

“Man cannot discover new oceans until he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.”  ~ Andre Gide

 

“It’s not because things are difficult that we dare not venture. It’s because we dare not venture that they are difficult.”  ~ Seneca