When in Doubt, Clean (and Pray)

When I’ve had a really unproductive day—and I mean one of those where nothing I do seems to move my day forward—the one thing that always helps is to the pick up the house. It restores a sense of order and balance and brings me a sense of accomplishment. A little victory, yes, but it opens the door to better things.

It’s also a gift that keeps on giving, if you know what I mean. There’s always something to straighten around here: the mail that’s been accumulating on the kitchen counter, the scattered notes I took during my work-from-home time at the kitchen island, the dishes in the sink, the shoes in the family room, the laundry strewn throughout our bedrooms, or the toys in every place imaginable (even the bathroom)! The need to pick up the house is like the laundry in that way. It is always there for me to do.

For the record, I maintain that laundry is the worst household chore at the top of a very a long list of housekeeping tasks. Why? Because let’s face it—unless you are doing the laundry naked, you are never, ever done. Maybe someday, Clara, you’ll feel different about laundry. Maybe the act of washing, drying, folding and putting away the same clothes week after week will bring you calm and do for you what picking up the house does for me. With every toy shelved and every counter wiped clean, I feel a little boost like an energy drink that gives me the liquid motivation to accomplish more. In today’s case, it brought me to this laptop to bang out this blog post. Anything that sparks some creativity and gets me writing is a very positive development at a time when writing has become extremely hard.

   

The other buoy in a storm of an unproductive day is prayer. It’s not that prayer gets me moving to accomplish more, but it settles my heart to accept what the day has been, offers up the struggle, and brings a different kind of peace. Making myself converse with God is harder than picking up the house—allow me to be honest here. Sometimes I just don’t feel worthy enough to engage God in conversation about my petty things. Oftentimes, I’m just too tired to give him the time of day. That’s a terrible thing, but it’s a very real struggle. The good news is that God’s mercy overflows and he keeps gently prodding me to spend time with him. I find that when I do it—when I really take the time out to “waste time with God,” as Father John Ricardo says, then an unproductive day has become as productive as possible. Clara, there is no better use of your time. I hope that I can manage to model a good prayer life for you.   

I’ve always believed that the best thing that your Dad and I can do for you as parents is impart to you our faith so that you have God as your foundation for life. That may sound trite and old fashioned but I’m fine with that. God never intended to be fashionable or with “the times.” Whenever I am distressed by our current culture, I remember that this is our temporary home. Try to remember that, Clara, when your day isn’t going as planned or you feel you aren’t making progress. Give it up to God and then go pick up the house. 

Paying the Force Forward

I was witness to something extraordinary a few days ago, on the evening of Halloween. Your brother, Johnny, saw that our four-year-old neighbor up the street had an Ezra Bridger costume from the Star Wars Rebels cartoon on television. His costume wasn’t complete in Johnny’s eyes because our little friend had the wrong Jedi lightsaber. The green one he was carrying around as a prop wasn’t true to the character. Naturally, your brother sought to rectify the situation, given that he is our resident Star Wars expert. He proceeded to go into our house and retrieve his beloved Ezra lightsaber from his collection. He then gave it to the little boy. Clara, did you catch that?

Johnny gave his Ezra lightsaber to his little buddy—not to borrow for the evening, but for keeps. When Johnny told me, well, let me admit my shock. It wasn’t like it was an old toy or something he had stopped doing battle with around the house. He loved his Ezra lightsaber.

Johnny’s absolute desire to share his treasure with our friend warms my heart. It was given freely, without reservation and without regret (and without parental suggestion). And I think it’s because, several weeks earlier, he saw what real giving was through the prism of his beloved Star Wars possessions.

Johnny’s in junior high school now and, over the past year, has wanted to start shedding his kid-ness. He started by removing some of the Star Wars décor from his bedroom and I supported that decision with a heavy heart. I suggested that maybe our friend down the street would appreciate having anything he no longer wanted. Johnny said that was a good idea, and one day a few weeks ago, we walked up and knocked on our neighbors’ door. The gratitude and jubilation of that little boy has forever made an impression on Johnny’s heart. The little boy danced around his house, trying out his new stuff, and Johnny engaged him in an epic lightsaber battle, boy to boy, and maybe even Jedi Master to Padawan.  

  

When we finally left, Johnny’s smile radiated nearly as strongly as our little friend’s. Giving finally clicked for him. Johnny started with giving away his old stuff to quickly giving up something he loved—and all because he wanted his little friend to have great joy the same way he did.

I always loved the excitement and fun that Johnny experienced through the Star Wars franchise. Now I have a reason to love it even more. May the Force be with all of you!

For my little girl (and her brothers, too)

I’m writing this blog for my little girl, Clara. When I was a teen, I designed a dream for myself that included many aspirations for my career and my home life. First, I wanted to be an adventurous single woman charting my path and changing the world through investigative journalism—telling the story of the people who didn’t otherwise have a voice. The next part of the dream always included marriage and babies. I wanted to fall in love with my Prince Charming and I especially hoped for the opportunity to parent a little girl so I could share with her, woman to woman, my experiences in order to help her become the person she was meant to be. 

God has certainly blessed me. I have been married to my best friend for a decade-and-a-half. We have two amazing sons and one feisty, loving little girl. My husband and I are also the parents of two babies who have gone to heaven before us and they are always with us. The reflections to come in this space are not just meant for Clara, but for her brothers, too, and anyone else willing to read them. While I may tackle some sticky topics here at times-my personal views of faith and politics to name two—I do not intend any disrespect to the reader nor do I seek to offend anyone. In fact, I am determined to write to my daughter as if there is no one else in the room. As her mother, that is certainly my right and it is certainly anyone else’s not to follow or read or share. I respect the opinions and views of others. My faith and upbringing demand that. Thanks for showing me the same.

Note that the names used in these blog posts are not real, but the people behind the names certainly are. I am changing the names to give my daughter plausible deniability someday (when she grows beyond her toddler years and into her adolescence and may, at times, not want anything to do with me).

Also note that the creation of this blog is part of an exercise in which I’m trying to find my voice. I am a very opinionated person, but I suspect that people outside of my inner circle do not know that. I despise conflict and I never want to be the source of anyone else’s anger, hatred, or discomfort. This is why I rarely speak up outside of friendly company about my faith or my positions on so-called controversial issues. I rarely insert myself into other people’s business. In many ways, these are good instincts.

But there’s a flip side. There is a time, Clara, when silence is as bad as or even worse than speaking up and maybe saying the wrong thing. Sometimes the desire to protect myself or not offend anyone hurts me more than anyone else. When I come home from anywhere—a meeting, a gathering of friends, a Facebook lurk—and I didn’t speak up for something that I knew, deep down, I should have, it is painful to me. Where is my courage? Where is my voice? I am hoping that in speaking with you through these words, I can find mine, and through the process, help you whom I love with all my heart.