Lessons from yesteryear #tiarrred

Tree after Winter

I was remembering a story to some ladies this last weekend that I’ve thought of often lately. This morning while taking my walk with one of my teens, they were recalling a story about a trip they’d taken and how tired they had been. It brought it all back to me and I wanted to put it down here.

In the early 2000s I was living and working in community in Asia. A few of us gals shared a place in an old village that brings to mind kung fu movies and bowls of spicy noodles. I still miss it. One of the roommates was a sweet Norwegian girl who was then, in the midst of a transformation in the very best sense of the word.

Faithfully each morning she interrupted my coffee (just kidding!) to work out on the tile in the living/dining room. Groggily she would come down the stairs and do her workout. I think there might have been toast with something on it afterwards and then she would run up to the stairs to grab a shower.

I remember wondering how she’d make it to work on time but, if I remember correctly, she always did. In the evenings, after dinner, she walked along a canal for several miles. Months went by of her faithful efforts that proved fruitful because she changed. Her limbs grew long and lean and strong.

At some point in that year a bunch of us traveled together to team build. It was a lot of walking, buses, speed rails, overnight sleeper trains, taxis and more walking. There was, good work, conflict, laughs, poor sleep and lots of good food.

This was back when I didn’t know how to use my words well, especially in conflict. I’m so sorry about that guys. But in the end camaraderie was built, good work was done and fun was had. Then came the long and hard travel back home.

Maybe a day after we were home some of us were hanging out with another friend. She knew Chinese medicine and taught us about pressure points and such. I asked her about our Norwegian friend and she touched her shoulder a bit and said, “She is tired but she is strong.”

These days, I just wanna tattoo those words on my forehead. Not really. But I am holding them in both fists so tight. Because lately, I’ve just been so tired, emotional, beat really and this has left me feeling so discouraged.

But remembering my friend has served as a wonderful and timely reminder that all the faithful work has counted but that the long journey takes a toll. And that is just where I’m at. And that is okay. I will say it of myself and pray that it is true. “She is tired but she is strong.”

Thank you Holy Spirit 👊🏽 #nevergiveup

Ps. In case you aren’t from around here #tiarred = super tired. 🙌🏽

looking for beauty {Spring 2023}

I have all the tools. Know the reasons it is hard for a certain youngsters heart to trust mine. I know why it is hard for my heart to care for theirs. I know it’s the brain doing it’s job. That important things may have been missed, that trauma leaves it’s marks like crevasses and needs are deep. I’m not a bad mom. They are not a bad kid.

It’s still so hard. I’ve created trainings for other parents about it. I still struggle. When the words cut like a knife and the eyes tear at me, I don’t want to care about their needs. And when I over correct or just correct in an ordinary way even, or when I lose my temper and raise my voice, or when my eyes say to them- not again with you!? Of course their brain says to them that they aren’t safe here. They go straight to survival brain and all seems lost.

Knowing that both of our brains are doing the job of protection helps me to step back and reset myself. Eventually. After I’ve calmed down. But often emotion doesn’t follow my lead and shame comes through the cracks. I pray for help. I cry or spiral. This morning I walked fast on the trail to help my body do its work back to being able to think, back to being able to choose love again.

My first assignment when reading this book was to find 50 points of joy each week. I wanted to. But I haven’t started yet. I know I need to focus and do this practice but I’ve been here before and so it’s hard to start again, even when I know it will help. We have been back to this place a thousand and one times, this kid and their mama.

I know the drill. I know what to do. Remember their preciousness. Visualize the wee babe who needs that mama love. Remember what they missed, all they’ve lost. Remember the sweetness I felt in the beginning. Notice the good about them, make a list and check it twice.

It is hard when the mud on the path is thick and treacherous though. When every step could send you falling. But still, we trudge on. And today on my especially needed and sweaty walk, with legs moving fast and that sweet Spring breeze on such a lovely cloudy morning I started to feel better and to see beauty, almost with every step. I managed to breathe deeply. The stress levels lowered. The brain came back to calm and I could think again.

My thoughts start to swim and then settle, I should have said this, and done it that way, and how do I mend this tear? Should I go take them to lunch? They’ll say no. I’ll feel rejected and we will enter that roundabout again. No I should take care of me today. And write this all down, my way to process it all.

And I’ll start with forgiving their hurtful words. I’ll choose to forgive the cutting stares and the anger sent my way by the fistful this morning. I’ll forgive myself for letting emotion and sorrow throw me off balance, for letting my frustration lead the way. It is not their fault or mine, not the way we might think.

I will say prayers for their hearts all day long today. I will bless them with my words and thoughts about them and not curse them for the rest of this day.

After school I will make sure to look them in the eye lovingly. I’ll ask if they want a snack. I’ll apologize for my part in the terrible way their day started. I won’t ask them to apologize. It’s not the time for learning lessons, repair isn’t.

I will brush by close enough to touch shoulders and say, “excuse me baby, sorry about that”. in a tone that does not sound sarcastic. I will find a way, or twelve or fifteen, to say yes to them about something — anything.

And when they say no to my care over and over again – I will remember it is because they are hurt not bad. I will do my best to hold onto the beauty I saw today and the beauty I remembered about this kid and this mama today. I will.

I will bless them under my breath as they walk away and I will be there when they come back to say sorry, because they are so lovely and almost always come back to say sorry. But even if they don’t. Even if they don’t – I will bless them anyway. This is my plan, and I’m sticking to it. God, please help me to do it. Amen

remembering

While I sifted through posts here earlier today, a place I rarely go now, I caught myself remembering things I didn’t say. I don’t think I was trying to not say things. I do remember I couldn’t catch my breath back when.

I was reading words that I really did mean but there were definitely words not said. There were definitely things I couldn’t say then because I couldn’t see them, think them clearly for the tumult.

I remembered feelings more than words. There was sadness, confusion, fear. I remembered being scared about our future. Fearful about what our families struggle might mean. Fear of failure. Fear of judgment. Stupid fear.

I remember not knowing what to do. Wanting to do the right thing but unable to get to the part of my brain I needed to make those decisions. It took a long time to realize what was happening.

It felt like walking in a dust storm. The wind whipping hair in my face. Dust in eyes, nose, ears and mouth. Stinging eyes and blurred vision. It’s enough to confuse the best of us.

Then the wind would blow a certain way and the air would clear. The energy would change and all felt calm again. I’d slip back into the place I was just before the dust was stirred and hope and think that maybe we were back to ourselves again.

It took a pretty bad crash into walls that no one could see for us to find our way out of that cycle. I feared we’d get knocked down flat and would not be able to get up again. We were all thrown. Up in the air and falling free.

It looked like, felt like that would be how things would be for so long. But somehow we landed well and mending began. We learned to move differently. Learned to speak, listen and play again.

Not everything is all okay. But we are on a road to being okay. We are all walking toward Eden. Whether we all know that or not. And for this I’m thankful. Thankful that God is merciful and faithful and good with a capital G.

It’s not a bow exactly. To say that I thank God. To say that I pray we beat this, all of us, together and that I have hope still. I wouldn’t say there is a pretty bow on it, no. Not when we are still knocking dust off knees and wiping tears from cheeks. Because healing hurts if you let yourself really feel it.

My hands pulled out my knitting today while I waited in the car for one of my loves. I noticed my hands looked so old and sadness came. Not for being older but for having less time than I did yesterday with them. My five loves and their dad.

And now as I type, I let the tears come while the song plays on the radio. The words saying that we are not alone and that God really loves us. And I feel all of it at once. Sadness. Hopeful. Loved. Forgiven. Strong and weak.

The thing is, crisis never gives us time to be ready for it. It slips between the cushions and waits there for us in the dark damp. The clock ticking a sort of count down.

Then when we least expect it and often when we’re already down, it slips out and pulls us in, like a whirlpool taking everything into itself. And when the waters find stillness again, or something like it, we are left changed. I hope for the better.

escribí esto para mi tío – July 2021

The elders are going
One by one they take their leave
last breathes
Or whispered goodbyes
Sometimes without any words at all

Thin tall frames
Short lumpy ones too
Heads full with memories and songs
Ever varying shades of gray

They’ve gathered all their days
In a white cloth made of cotton
And tied them to a stick
With a string
And thrown them over shoulders

Waving off the June bugs
Dipping head and shoulders beneath the willows sway
Whistling or humming or singing as they walk off into the deep green

Or into the dessert beige
Beneath blues and reds and pinks
Mountain ranges wave as they pass
Sometimes silent as they go
Or with wide smiles and laughter recalled

I’ll not forget, I pray
The way you laughed
The rhythmic way you walked
Never

The breeze rises slow and strong
lifting dust from earth
gently falling down
Like the tears we weep at your leaving
I try but no thing makes your leaving less like your leaving

in the rooms living

down the hall

laughter rings

bouncing off of walls

dipping underneath archways

coming my way

in the next room voices deep

in that room little ones are arguing

she pleads her case

while she stands her ground

the water running in that sink sings

along to the tune from that pocket

the twang hums

the birds chirp

the smell of toast taosting

wafting in and out

in this room tears

for the hard talks had today

and so many other hard things

from today and yesterday

and last month

and all those other hard things

and days

and words

and blood stained stones

hard things from so long ago

bags and wagons and pockets full

of yesterday’s sorrows

of yesteryear’s hurts

of long past offences

and a million years of loss

piled up here

in this space

beneath these beams

on top of my head

February 2021 {yarnalong}

Even though the yarnalong link up isn’t happening just now — if I remember I am still sharing what I’m reading and knitting— it’s a nice practice to keeping a record.

I’m knitting Joanna’s cozy knee socks in a casual knit along for February ~ it’s a lovely free pattern that you can find here. I’m going quite slowly but I can tell they are a quick knit – if only one would decide to pick up the needles.

I finished reading and sometimes listening to Bless Me, Ultima which at first I loved and then decided wasn’t my style. I loved his familiar voice. I’m not sure what turned me in the end, it wasn’t the murder or magic, I think it was the gross boys he wrote. I’ll keep it on my shelves because of who wrote it and what he means to me personally as a New Mexican and a writer.

This week I am reading cookbooks, looking for inspiration. I’ve picked up the beautiful poems by Levi Romero again. I love his voice and it fills my brain and my rooms like music.

I’ve gotten half way through A Promised Land by Barack Obama. It’s really good and I’m glad to make my way through it however slowly I go.

I wrote before that the mostly quarantine calm of our Holidays this year were to us, “a kind of soothing balm to all of our scrapes and wounds that this strange year has brought us.”

But what I did not say, perhaps because the thoughts had not yet been processed, is that – the mostly quarantined calm of this last season of Holidays and weirdly even big days like this last Sunday’s Super Bowl left me with room for sadness and mourning.

I suppose this is another gift given by this pandemic. The unexpected quiet gives us space and time and to see and feel all the things that busy life didn’t leave us room for before. Just one more surprise, a sort of small grace. One more hard thing to be thankful for.

Winter is back. Although New Mexico isn’t the most Wintery type of place. I’m hungry for Spring and Summer. I’m letting myself begin to think about gardens and chickens and clothes hanging on clothes lines. I’m eager for sunshine and hot days. For bare feet and slow walks, trampolines and lazy afternoons.

I sure hope we get there. I hope you get where you long for too.

Peace~ t

tiny

Tiny silver spoon

I’m so happy to have met you

Me in my jeans and flip flops

Shiny from car air and the miles

You in that trap made of logs

Did the sign say they were hand crafted?

Building square and tall

In the shadow of all those trees

Next to that highway

Brimming with tourists

And other tiny silver spoons

I picked you

Not because of your shine

And not for your blessed silverness

Or because of the wee acorn

Perched atop your end

But because you can so easily

Chase the sweet brown sweetness

That is my favorite hazelnut spread

And live cozily in any

Of the 53 pockets of my bag

January Yarnalong 2021

I finished Gilead by Marilynne Robinson yesterday. It is beautiful and seemed to speak so much so me. I started reading A Promised Land By Barack Obama before Christmas and I have loved it as far as I’ve gotten although this is not very far at all- maybe 7 chapters. I plan to pick it up again soon.

I am knitting a wee scarf for 13’s teddy bear (that he requested for his birthday) and am attempting a doll or a stuffy or a something that I am a bit unsure about as yet for a purpose that I am just as unsure about (my normal process).

Christmas week we managed to catch planets aligning just so and took what some had dubbed the Star of Bethlehem as a promise that Jesus is with us still. Of course we know that, of course we do- but planets aligning just so the week of Christmas was such a sweet and delightful happening that I took hold of it as such a sign of goodness and hope after this year. I made sure to say it again and again to all of us.

Our Christmas was quite quiet this year. Goodness it was nice. I would have loved to visit family and have a house full to brimming and meet new babies and all that but it was, to us, a kind of soothing balm to all of our scrapes and wounds that this strange year has brought us. I’m not even really speaking about Covid-19 as much as a ton of other really difficult things that happened as well as the wretched virus. We had a lovely Christmas and I am thankful.

We went away to the mountains for a few days after Christmas – very carefully and we were completely on our own. It was such a good break from our house. I did not take any yarn or needles or a hook with me which must have been the very first time since I don’t even know when, and this was a much needed rest for my hands after so long Knitting for Others (HK edition) and all the normal Christmas Knitting.

Three kids asked for socks and three asked for fingerless mitts for Christmas which was nice and easy. I used this sock pattern, and this one– both slightly modified. For the Mitts I used a few patterns (maize, honeycomb and paddle to be precise) from Tin Can Knits – also slightly modified. I made myself a pair of socks and hubby too and knitted several Christmas wash cloths to go into gift baskets but I made those up as I went.

In my journal I wrote that my goal for a certain profile description might someday read, “In between books and work I knit and make.” I don’t feel that the last year had enough completed books or making which is what I call creating things of my own design – in whatever medium I chose- to be able to use that description as yet. Perhaps at the end of this year those words will prove true enough to my heart to use them. I’m half joking but I think that maybe mostly I am not.

I’m not bothering this year with anything even slightly resembling a New Year resolution. I really want to, out of habit perhaps. But nah. Not this time. I’m cherishing my kids and doing my best to give them what they need right here, right now. I’m clinging to my husband, my very best friend ( for real though) as we both struggle – a lot – but not enough to lose faith. I’m shoring up all my edges with only the most necessary. Also cherishing sweet friends in chats and zoom calls and phone coffee dates. I’m biding my time until the day that I can visit family far away. I don’t know what is coming but I do know that He knows. God, I mean and that is a great comfort.

There is yoga in my bathroom and walks at the trail I love and the treadmill although not as often as I should but oh well! There is the sense that I just might use some of the hundred and twenty-seven thousand healthy recipes that I have collected over the years. There is a note in my back pocket (it actually hangs above my desk but I think you get my meaning) that says, “start and don’t stop until you finish.” Also there are quiet times and prayer and I won’t lie, probably too much crying but none of that is new. I don’t spot a resolution in there at all.

All this to say that we are good here. Struggling, hurt, wounded, afraid, anxious, unnerved maybe- probably, for sure. But we are together. We are loved and comforted. We are seen and heard, known and that is huge. We are prayerful and full of hope even in our doubt. I think we know each other better which is a lot, maybe everything. I hope that you are well where you are. I pray that you are comforted when you need comfort and strengthened when you need strength and loved. All of it really. Not to sound too preachy but you are not alone, I hope that is something that we all can know deeply when it matters.

Peace friends, t

PS. I will join Ginny if I don’t forget 🙂