It wasn’t my intention to do so. It happened when I made what was supposed to be a quick trip to the grocery store for aluminum foil and oat milk.
But I bought a balloon today.
Reading those words could make it sound like a spontaneous and spirited moment. Like I was struck by the bright colors which prompted me to pick out my favorite and carry it around, carefee and jovial. Like a spur-of-the-moment whimsical treat. It wasn’t like that at all.
I bought a balloon today.
Only after encountering a small selection of them as I walked briskly down the greeting card aisle heading to the refrigerated dairy case. I stopped, retraced my steps back to the balloons, and stood there looking at each one. Examined the $4.99 price tags. Told myself this was silly. Asked myself what others would think.
I bought a balloon today.
Only after allowing the voices in my head to urge me to walk away and return. Three times, maybe four. And wonder what it would mean if I did it. Did I have the right to? Was it appropriate? Would it be a waste of money? Why did it feel so hard to leave without one?
I bought a balloon today.
Only after deciding that I would and then getting frustrated by my options. I don’t have the luxury of encouraging you to “chase your dreams.” I won’t get to witness your “bright future.” I can’t charge you with going out to “change the world.” You already did.
I bought a balloon for you today.
Or maybe I bought it for me. Maybe it was a way to add some pomp to the circumstance of not having you here. And maybe it’s ok for me to celebrate all of the maybes and might-haves of you however I want to.
So I did. And I am. And I always will.
You’re still my shining light. My heart. My class of 2020 forever.
“So, what are you going to do for the showcase this year?” Being the mom of a kid who never lacks for big ideas, I ask the same question every year expecting (and somewhat bracing for) a surprising answer. At the very beginning of our homeschooling journey, we joined Coastal Academy and heard about the annual Showcase Night event which gives students the opportunity to present what they are learning and creating. My son was in the fourth grade at the time and had not aligned himself with any particular passion, so we weren’t sure where he would fit in the mix. That Spring my husband and I sat amazed as our boy and a group of his friends joyfully performed a fully choreographed patriotic yo-yo routine in the showcase talent show. That’s when I knew we had chosen a path of unexpected discovery.
Homeschooling is usually perceived as a radical idea. When people learn that our son has been homeschooled for the past six years, the same what, why, and how questions arise. Smiles quickly become looks of confusion. What would cause a family with two working parents to take on the added responsibility of home education? Why would we take our child out of a school where he was thriving and supported by fantastic teachers? How can we be sure he is getting everything he needs? The answers to all the questions we’ve fielded are found in who our son is and how we view his unique purpose.
Having spoken in depth with several parents from a variety of backgrounds and opinions on the subject, it seems that the discussion inevitably lands on two points of view regarding educational success – achievement vs. discovery. Every parent wants their child to have a long life filled with health and happiness, but the ideas about how to manifest that reality are as diverse as the children themselves. We all ask ourselves questions about what “success” should look like for our kids and how we can get them there. Is it the knowledge, confidence, and access they will gain from a transcript full of good grades? Is it the mental and emotional development that comes from experiencing the world around them and identifying their place in it?
With my son in high school now, I still find myself struggling with the same questions daily. When I am vulnerable and full of doubts, my value for achievement increases and I feel sure that we are consistently falling short. But when I see my son sit down to learn a new song on his electric guitar, study about turbochargers for his science research paper, organize a yard sale, or advocate for a sports column in the monthly school newsletter, I thank God for the way that He guides each of us with the appetite for discovery. The beauty of homeschooling is that there is a path for every child, family, interest, and opinion along the educational spectrum to feed that hunger and lead us to where we are meant to be.
Since that first Showcase Night six years ago, the answer to the annual “what are you going to do for the showcase this year?” question has been answered with a ukulele, a cake shaped like the Death Star, a guitar, two comedy routines, and a mixed media art project made from a pair of old Vans. Those aren’t skills that you’ll typically find on a list of college requirements, but they are the evidence of an open heart filled with the bold wonder that motivates each next step.
We are created to pursue that wonder, and not just from grades K through 12. We’re designed to be constantly learning, growing, changing, and discovering who we are and who we’re becoming. What’s truly radical is the belief that there is any one right or wrong way to do so.
She quietly approached the table as I was wrapping up a purchase for someone else. After only a few minutes of browsing I knew she had found something special. With the card held close to her body, she assumed the role of protector to its delicate paper and the words on its face. She spent a few moments in thought before she spoke.
“Can you add something to a card?” she asked hesitantly. Of course, I said, I would be happy to customize it for her. She had chosen one of my favorites, a portrait-oriented card featuring a black and white photo of two children, each on their own seesaw. As she started to speak the words that she wanted me to type on the card, I handed her a notepad to write it down. I certainly didn’t want to chance making a mistake on this woman’s perfect Valentine.
When I was originally asked to participate as a vendor in a Valentine themed paper arts fair, I didn’t feel qualified. One of the organizers is a friend who had seen me selling handmade jewelry at a Christmas boutique. He said I could do the same at the Love Letters fair, but it didn’t seem like the right fit to me. I asked if I could sell custom typed bookmarks instead. I very much wanted to participate because words, books, and tangible type are pretty much my love language. The bookmarks seemed the right choice.
A couple of weeks before the event my friend asked if I’d be selling anything else, as he wanted to appropriately represent each vendor in his promotion. I said that I might whip up some sort of notecards or stationery using my typewriter and found paper scraps, but that idea lacked inspiration until a few days later when I was motivated to visit a local antique fair. Said inspiration was found inside a small plastic box of vintage photos on a table with various other collectible items.
What followed was two weeks of me sitting at my typewriter after work pairing greeting card worthy captions with photos of complete strangers from the past to adequately capture the feelings of complete strangers in the now. I wasn’t sure if this idea would resonate with others, but I could barely contain my joy.
My doubts were erased when the woman standing across the table from me at the fair finished writing her sentiments and handed the notepad back to me, along with the card she had selected. To the photo of the two children at play on the seesaw with my caption, “through the ups and downs,” she had added, “and all arounds, you are the one I will always want to play with. I love you honey.” I was filled to overflowing in that moment and throughout the rest of the day as many other strangers invited me into their stories, allowing me to partner with them in powerfully expressing their love.
I’m overwhelmed at the way God creates something from nothing. How such simple things as an old photo and a scrap of paper can be used to represent the not-so-simple thing that is love. My Saturday at the Love Letters fair reminded me that God is in the love business, creating beauty, seeing the things we can’t, connecting in a meaningful way the things that we find impossible to bring together.
It’s a thing that we say when we don’t know what else to say – when the magnitude of the time we are given weighs heavily upon our hearts, particularly after someone’s life ends unexpectedly.
When we can’t fully accept or understand the whys and hows, and the wondering leads our thoughts in painful circles, we utter phrases like this in an attempt to find some resolve.
“Life is short.”
And it is. And it’s not. Life is life. It’s long when what lies before us is potential and opportunity, when we expectantly seek the future. It’s short when we find ourselves facing loss and grief head on, when we want more of what we can’t have.
“Life is short.”
In the past six months I’ve come to see my own life as much more than just the sum of its parts. More than time, more than joy, more than work, more than expectation. I’ve been actively pushing myself past forty-four years of self-imposed limitations created from fear, urging myself forward into unfamiliar spaces.
Two weeks ago I called my husband and cried as I described the joy I had in going to see a movie alone for the very first time. Tonight I went for a walk on College Ave. in the brisk night air after taking myself out for a fantastic Mediterranean dinner in the heart of Berkeley. Few would believe the anxiety I tackle, the exhausting negotiations I have with myself, the wall of fear I have to surmount to prompt such seemingly simple actions. But it’s the truth.
These days provoke me to live. There is no promise of longevity, but there is for abundance. I can’t count on a quantity of days or years but I can depend upon a renewing of my spirit.
“Life IS.”
This is the gift. God help me to live it, not quantify, criticize, compare, or neglect it.
“…and provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.” ~ Isaiah 61:3
As a woman, wife, and mother with a full-time job, I’m no stranger to the concept of wearing several (figurative) hats at once. While I can identify with a long list of roles, I must admit that “gardener” has never been included on that list. Historically my relationship with plants has been pretty neglectful and downright murderous, with yours truly being the guilty party in both cases. This probably explains why I enjoy randomly photographing flowers and landscapes when I’m outdoors. I feel resigned to capture and enjoy the natural beauty from a distance because in my care, living greenery tends to lose its luster – and ultimately its life.
So it was quite out of character for me to purchase this lovely Kokedama for myself a couple of weeks ago. I bought it from a friend who makes botanical magic with her succulent creations. She gave me hope that Koke (yes, I went so far as to give my new plant a name) and I would become fast friends. As long as I give her plenty of natural light and soak her base in water once every couple of weeks, Koke and I should have a lasting, pleasant relationship.
Jumping into this companionship with Koke is helping to shape a new perspective for me. I have a tendency to think several steps ahead, which often hinders me from pursuing new opportunities or creative endeavors. I’ve been guilty of allowing my own thoughts and worries, lack of knowledge or experience to cause me to give up on worthwhile things. It’s a thought process based in fear, which in this case would usually prompt me to skip buying the plant to avoid my inevitably killing it. The problem is that I’d miss out on the beauty and growth as well.
This new year and new decade are calling me to a new approach. What the past has taught me about the future is that I need to be more present.
In reading about Kokedama, several words related to this style of planting have taken hold of me. The Kokedama is both humble and beautiful, the rich, colorful life growing from a simple ball of soil. It lives free from the confinement of a pot or other limiting container. Its style is related to Kusamono, which shifts the focus from one dramatic, eye-catching plant to the more simple, accentuating plants that surround and support it. It’s also closely associated with Nearai bonsai which are removed from their pots and purposefully displayed with roots exposed.
One year is paper. Two years is cotton. Three leather, four linen and flowers, five wood, and so on. The traditional anniversary gift list offers a comprehensive collection of materials, each matched to a year and seemingly more valuable than the last, meant to represent the time invested in a marriage. While the concept is lovely, this list only provides consecutive elements for years one through fifteen, skipping to every fifth year thereafter. So, what does nineteen years getcha? Nothing. Nada. We surpassed Crystal but have yet to achieve the milestone of China.
I’m certainly not against milestones, we delight in them. In literal terms, a milestone marks the distance from one location to the next. It’s also defined as “a significant event or stage in life, progress, or development.” Something worthy of celebration. But this definition implies that the road between two markable places is somehow less meaningful.
I can’t accept that, particularly when the years since our fifteenth wedding anniversary have opened my eyes and stretched my heart in ways I can’t adequately put into words. Every half-step has been an achievement. Every lesson, heartbreak, disappointment, sacrifice, conversation, compromise, forgiveness, and prayer has been meaningful. And even all those things combined and multiplied wouldn’t be enough to bring us to nineteen years. Only the grace of the One who loves perfectly could make up for the vast imperfection of our love.
Frankly, I think we’ve got it backwards when it comes to marking the milestones of life. The steps in between the landmarks cover both solid soil and shifting sands, flat even pathways as well as steep, rocky climbs. They take us through beautiful, magical, treacherous, painful, unimaginable places. The in-between is where we learn and grow, where relationships take shape and are tested. So we’re not waiting for China. We’re going off-book, making our own rules. We’re going to celebrate nineteen with our most prized valuables, the list that really matters – God, family, music, voices, heritage, and community. A step forward by way of returning to our roots in celebration of where we are right now.
Trendelenburg. I knew it started with a “T.” It has taken me seventeen years to look it up. I wanted to know the word, the actual medical terminology, for the positioning of my body when they were trying to save you. The practical definition describes laying flat on one’s back at an incline of 15-30 degrees with the feet elevated above the head. My heart didn’t care about practical definitions that day. I knew it was all about defying gravity.
How do you battle against a force so strong, it literally holds the galaxy together and causes the ocean tides? How do you come up against the very thing that keeps the planets in orbit around the sun? For the sake of a life. One life. Your life.
The past seventeen years has held a lot of life for me, Elena. I know you know, you’ve been with me for all of it. The exciting, the frightening, the heartbreaking, and the indescribably beautiful. You’re at the heart of everything I do. And in those years I’ve had to learn a lot about letting go and letting God lead. I had to allow my heart to break a little bit more for it to be woven back together, reshaped in His hands.
Every year on your birthday I look at myself from the inside out and observe who I am, retracing the steps that brought me here. I think about who you are, and who you would be if you were here where I can see you with my eyes, not just my heart. I thank God for my family and for the growth in each of us. I look at the ways I’ve learned how to defy the gravity of my soul.
We couldn’t save you, not in the way that we wanted to. But He has saved me, time and time again, in the way that He knows I needed to be. His love defies all of the forces on earth that have kept me bound. Each day I’m given the opportunity to defy gravity by stepping out of the shadow of fear and into the light of His love. I’m seeing life from a new perspective now. My life and yours.
Happy Birthday, my beautiful girl. You’re my shining light, now and always.
“All of these lines across my face tell you the story of where I’ve been…” ~ Brandi Carlile
Amidst the hustle of tax time and family responsibilities, one thing you will not find me doing these days is planning an Oscar viewing party. It isn’t that I don’t enjoy a good film. In fact, I advocate for the genre. The art of film moves me in a way that nothing else can. Movies can be a transcendent form of artistic expression. I would say my issue is more an aversion to the pomp and circumstance of award shows. I have no interest in the fashionable arrivals, the political soapbox stances, or the celebration of self. What my heart yearns for is the central foundation of film (and any other art form for that matter) – the story.
Almost nothing reaches the soul of humanity more than a good
story. The biggest budget special
effects and most elaborate costume designs cannot stand on their own. They lack meaning, structure, and
connection. A story, on the other hand,
often makes the biggest impact when the distractions are stripped away. Without lighting, music, breathtaking
locations, or expensive acting classes, a story still makes its presence
known. All it really takes for a story
to impact a life is one heart that is willing to share it and another willing
to receive.
The most beautiful thing about story is that we each have a unique one
authored by the Creator of the universe.
Right now, where you are, whatever you’re doing, however you are
struggling, and whatever you’re feeling are part of a much bigger,
God-glorifying story than you can likely comprehend. Your story is a tapestry woven together with
individual threads, some neutral and some bursting with color, some perfectly
untouched, others tattered and frayed.
If you remove any one of those threads the whole piece loses its
strength. It comes undone. It no longer reflects the truth and vision of
the Artist.
When I look around at the broken pieces scattered throughout my life, I am overcome by sadness and fear. The pain is real. Searing. I see darkness in minute detail. I feel lost at a depth that can’t be reached. However, if I pull the camera back for a wide-angle view of the bigger picture I’m overwhelmed by the craftsmanship of God’s artistry. The sharp edges of each fragment seem somehow softened as they blend into each other. The dark and light colors combine to create new hues that are supernatural in composition. True beauty is revealed – the part of the story that words can’t possibly justify.
So, in a few days as the world celebrates what it considers the best of the stories that have made their way to the big screen, take a moment to give thanks to the Writer who is beautifully and purposefully crafting the story of you.
As I sat at my desk this morning, a brightly colored butterfly landed on our neighbor’s tree just outside my window. I took notice initially because the orange and black fluttering wings caught my gaze, but it’s what happened after the landing that kept me watching. The beautiful little creature found just the place she was seeking, a quiet branch fully immersed in sunlight where she could pause to warm herself in the crisp fall morning air. She stayed just a minute or two, moving her wings slightly and slowly back and forth as if to be sure that not a spot went untouched by the sun’s rays. These brief moments spoke volumes to me about contentment and gratitude as I witnessed this tiny life being met right where she was, receiving exactly what was needed at the time.
While I am often guilty of missing opportunities for gratitude, in recent weeks they’ve been unavoidable, almost like God is speaking to me in neon and spotlights. The message that seems to be playing on repeat is simply this – God sees me right where I am and meets me with just what I need.
This message is a welcome one, as our fifth year of homeschooling has me redefining the word “challenging.” The curriculum is new, my work schedule is demanding, and the teen hormones are at max power. Tacked on to a year that began with my husband suffering a massive heart attack, the emotions in this house have been running high and spilling out of every window and door. It wasn’t long into the new school year before we all found ourselves exhausted and ready to give up. “Maybe this isn’t what God wants for us. Maybe the homeschooling chapter is over.” When everything feels too hard and too heavy, you start to question it all.
In desperation I found myself on the phone with a respected advisor to my son, apologizing for what I viewed as my failures and telling the whole story in tears. She kindly and graciously listened, and when I was done spilling my guts she said, “I don’t know if you know my story.” Those words snapped me out of my pity party and for the next several minutes I listened with my heart to a story that seemed so familiar. A new school program, an ill husband, doubts, frustration, and fear. She and her family had been in the trenches before us and lived to tell about it. Through her truth and her willingness to share it, the Lord met me where I was and gave me exactly what I needed at that moment.
As we enter this season of gratitude, what I am most thankful to God for is that He shows up – not in the way that I want Him to, but in the way that He knows I need Him to. He sees me. He isn’t waiting for me to achieve some specific level of motherhood or what the world would consider success. Instead, He’s right there with me in the mess waiting for me to see Him – inviting me to land and spread my wings to catch the rays of His perfect love.
I don’t remember my sixteenth birthday. I’m sure there was laughter, food, fun, and a lot of love from those I am blessed to know. But there was no big coming-of-age gala in a ballroom with a three-tiered cake, I’ll tell you that much. Nothing to rival the pomp and circumstance of a quinceañera or a cotillion. An event of that sort would have required me to spend a Saturday afternoon begrudgingly trying on a lineup of dresses covered in sequins or lace or both – some early 90’s level of frill that was far outside my comfort zone. No pearlized balloons in bunches carefully placed around the room nor a princess-like punch bowl fountain to accentuate the space. That wasn’t my style. A party like that would not have suited a girl like me.
The other day we were having a conversation, your dad, Isaiah, and I. As your birthday approached we were wondering aloud about who you would be at sixteen. What traits would mark your personality? What kind of books would you like to read? Would you even enjoy reading? Would you be a math and science whiz, a musician, an animal lover, an outdoor explorer? What places would you long to see, what ideas or experiences would inspire you?
The conversation made me realize how little I know about you. I don’t know how you would have chosen to celebrate your birthday. I don’t know your style or mannerisms, what would suit a girl like you. I can’t even guess at what type of friends you would have or what passions you would pursue. Your dad asked me if it bothered me to not know the answers to these questions and I said no, but I was wrong. It’s confounding to love you as much as I do, to feel as close to you as when you were within me, and yet not know you at all. I can lose myself in thoughts about your long curly hair or what an awesome girl skater you’d be, but in reality I don’t know these traits as truth. And no amount of guessing, wishing, or dreaming, can change that while I’m here on this side of heaven without you.
It’s different now. I don’t think much anymore about what it would have been like to hold you and coo as mothers of infants do. I don’t imagine pushing you on the swings or teaching you how to ride a bike. Maybe it’s because your brother has matured. He and I have these amazing conversations and moments of heart connection now, human to human. Maybe that’s why my thoughts are more centered on how it would feel to share moments like that with you.
He’s almost fourteen himself you know, that precocious and quick-witted brother of yours. He’s fiercely independent but still asks me to tuck him in every night. He’s often loud and unabashed but also kind hearted with thoughts that run deeper than he understands. He loves you and misses you in a way that’s different from the way I do. I honor that. In fact Dad and I are heading out on our own for the day to celebrate you this year. Zaya will be hanging out with Grandpa before joining his dudes at the youth group barbecue. I’m glad. He deserves the time and space to be who God has created him to be and to celebrate you in a way that suits the young man he is.
There’s not much more I can say that hasn’t already been said again and again, year after year. I don’t have to know the answers to the wonderings of my heart to love you the way I do. I don’t need a sign in the colors of a rainbow or the flutter of butterfly wings to know that you’re with me. You’re always with me. As much as I miss you and sometimes wish that I knew more about who you might have been, what I do know is so much bigger. You are mine. You’ve changed and inspired me. I am beyond blessed to be Mom to a sixteen-year-old you today.
Carrie Joy(ful) 