My Nest

It's been awhile since I posted last. Lots has happened in the interim. And I do mean A LOT. Hard things. Good things. Sad things. Exciting things. Things are changing. Things are beginning. Things are dying. Things are being birthed.

And I'm making my nest. In some ways I am making one for the first time in my life. The image of a "nest" has been with me for almost exactly a year now. It has come to represent everything that I need and want in my life. It is a personal nest and it is one that I alone can build for myself. Each twig is something I have picked for myself because I know that it is something that I want and need to form my nest. The purpose of my nest is to support, shelter and nurture myself. And my babies. For me that nest needs to provide:

• Health
• Security
• Safety
• Wholeness
• Sustenance
• A place to grow things
• Peace
• Creativity
• Sacred space

The interesting thing about a "personal nest," as I have dubbed these nests we build for ourselves (and our children) is that when we make a list of what we need and want in that nest, there can not be another human being's name on that list. If so, it isn't a strong nest.

Anything that is part of my personal nest being strong and supportive that means someone else has to behave a certain way or make me feel a certain way is just not going to work. If someone else is a piece of the foundation of my personal nest, the entire nest is compromised. I can not truly be authentic. My security and safety becomes linked to a certain person behaving a certain way, doing certain things, making me feel certain ways, etc. and therefore I have to do x, y and z to keep that part of my nest intact.

I think we DO, however, build "relationship nests" with other people. We co-create these relationship nests in a way that works for both people in the relationship. The error I have made in the past, over and over, was neglecting to build a "personal nest," first and foremost, and instead trying to make a "relationship nest" INTO my personal nest. And that is the fastest way for a relationship nest to fall apart. And when it does, if I did not have my own personal nest intact, I am nestless.

I don't know how to co-create relationship nests well. I am learning. But right now, in this season of my life, my focus is on creating my own PERSONAL NEST, first and foremost. And I'm doing it. Slowly but surely. Day by day. And it's incredible. The twigs and moss and other elements that I know I need and want in my nest are showing up in my path. I literally just have to bend and pick them up.

About a year ago I went to an "Art for Healing" class in Bakersfield. We made a collage in the class. The task was simple: collage what you want to manifest in your life. I didn't have a plan when I started going through magazines looking for things that caught my eye. I just started cutting. And before long what I had in front of me was something incredible: My Nest. I had collaged my personal nest. The nest I wanted but did not yet have. Here's the finished collage:

A year later I am stunned and delighted to see that I am creating my own little nest that has everything in that collage, either intact or in process. I am on my way to taking care of myself and my "chicks," as my friend, Wendy, would say. I am in the process of finding a "community." There are red chinese lanterns, a studio in my dining room, candles, a backyard that I am excited to create into sacred space, photos everywhere and even a truly "magic occupancy" of my new nest.

The way I got here is not how I would have planned it. There has been and is so much heartache on the road that I traveled to get here. I wish I could heal the hearts of those I've hurt. But I KNOW, with everything in me, that the only thing for me to do right now is to be 100%, unequivocally, unhesitatingly honest and authentic. That means I say I'm sorry to those I've hurt. It means I tell the truth about my feelings. It means I say what I want and need. It means I take responsibility for my own happiness and healing. It means I follow my heart today, tomorrow and every day from now on.

I'm excited. I feel peace like I never have. I have no idea what the future holds. I am not afraid.

AND

I'm lonely sometimes. I wonder how I got here. If there was another way. I mourn the losses of what was. I feel remorse for the pain I've caused others. I wonder why I couldn't have gotten HERE another way.

AND

I am here now. I don't have to do, be, feel, believe or think anything. There is no relationship nest that I must keep intact in order to feel taken care of, provided for, safe and secure. I had no idea how much of my almost constant anxiety was connected to my lack of a personal nest. I didn't know I could feel so much peace. So much hope. I didn't REALLY understand Julian of Norwich's "All will be well, and all manner of things will be well" until now. I get it. I do. I have never felt so "well."

I have no clue what tomorrow will bring. I don't even know what I will do with the rest of today. I know it will involve reading, eating healthy food, relaxing (I already ran today), writing a little, watching a movie perhaps, watering the grass, sitting outdoors with a glass of wine once it cools off, chatting with friends on the phone, and continuing to, little by little make my little nest more and more of a "home." And that's enough.

  

More on Extravagant Love

"I would prefer a thousand mistakes in extravagance of love to any paralysis in wariness of fear."

 ~Gerald C. May

What do you see in this picture? I know that what I saw for many, many years was "the good shepherd" going after "the one lost sheep." It was a picture of Jesus' love for each one of us, my Sunday school teachers explained; it was an illustration of how he would have died for "just Cheryl" if she were the only one on earth with sins that demanded a payment.

Today I no longer see that. I DO see love, though. I don't see a love only a god can have for a human. I DO see the kind of love my Pop Pop showered extravagantly (SHOWERS...still...<tears>) for me. I DO see the kind of love I feel for my kids. It's extravagant. Senseless. Unconscious, sometimes. From somewhere deep inside of me that I KNOW is "the real me."

I don't always show/give this love in this "throw-my-body-over-the-cliff-for-you" spirit. Far from it. It is easier to feel this sort of love toward someone with whom you are falling in love than it is to feel it and show it to someone who has betrayed, neglected or hurt you. It is easier to express when there are chubby arms wrapped around your neck and a soft lisp of, "I wuv you, Mama," from baby lips than it is to express when a ten-year-old is yelling disrespect in your face. It is easier to tearfully declare to a someone who has sworn their eternal love to you than it is to imagine loving the person who has hurt you most in your life.

And yet ... this is the love that the real me feels, deep down. This is the love that I know would (and HAS, at times) bubble up without my choosing it to if I could see the whole picture, feel no fear of rejection or being taken advantage of, and reject the lie my ego would tell me that my love is wasted if the person whom I'm loving doesn't love me back in kind. This is the love that I just insist is IN me. And IN you.

A Flower Fairy Party




We finally had Rachel's friend party this past weekend! The theme was Flower Fairies and everyone had so much fun.

 


  The beautiful flower fairy that Rachel is holding was hand-created by my friend, Pat.



 






James is really good at face-painting.

  



Some of his handiwork!





The cake was handmade by our friend, Sarah Waters

 


Rachel and Daddy







First step in the Fairy Garden project was for each child to pick a bowl (James had cut a hole in the bottom of each one) and to fill it with potting soil. Then each child got to pick from several different types of flowers and place them wherever they wanted to. Then they added things like moss, glass half-marbles, seashells, coral, spools, sticks, small circular mirrors to look like little "pools," and even cut fairy clothes out of fabric in case the fairies might need new dresses.

   


Rachel's grandma helping her tie string to some stick to make a fairy clothesline!





One of the finished fairy gardens!

 


Another one!

 



And another...

 

tiny little details!




Even Andrew got into it. He is sure the boy fairies will prefer his garden.

 



Another beautiful fairy garden by one of the girls...

 

We had such a great time. If you would like to create fairy garden like the ones we made, all you need are the following materials:

-Large plastic bowls or pots. Be sure that there is a hole/slit in the bottom for water to drain out.

-A pan or dish for the bowl to sit in. I bought these bowls and matching dishes for $1 each at WalMart.

-Potting soil

-Several diferent types of flowers or other plants. Even cactus would be fun.

-Moss (fake or real), pebbles, sticks, half-marbles, shells and other fun additions can be purchased at the craft store or even found in your yard or park.

Have fun! :)

Extravagant Love

Yesterday was my grandfather's funeral and memorial service. Here is what I said about my Pop Pop at the memorial service (or rather, what I sobbed):

Pop Pop loved me in a way I can only describe as extravagant.  The dictionary defines extravagant as "excessive, beyond what is reasonable, spending too much." Pop Pop not only gave extravagant gifts, but he loved extravagantly, in a no-holds-barred, joyful and fierce sort of way. And he loved me that way, as he often reminded me, from the moment he laid eyes on me. He didn't just tell me he loved me, although he did a lot of that, as well! He couldn't get enough of me and he let me see and know that. He allowed his love for me to shine out of his eyes. Often when he told me he loved me, his eyes would fill with tears that he didn't even try to hide. He loved me with every bit of himself and he made sure I knew it.

Years ago I was watching Oprah and an author came on the show. I don't remember everything she said but one thing stood out. She said, "it changes a child if, whenever she walks in a room, someone's eyes light up when they see her." I remember thinking when I heard that, "That's Pop Pop." He adored me and I was always sure about that. I think when a child grows up held in a love like that, she is altered. 

Being held securely in Pop Pop's love is what made me sure that love can be unconditional. It taught my heart to love fiercely, totally, and extravagantly. It taught me that you can never love another person too much.

That Pop Pop loves me is something I'm more sure about than almost anything in the world. The last time I visited with him the last thing he said to me as I was about to leave was something he's said a hundred times at least. He said it with the same look on his face that he always has when he says it ... a look of absolute adoration filling his whole face.

"You know I love you ..." he said, his eyes damp.

And then I said what I have said back to him a hundred times.

"Yes, Pop Pop, I know that more than I know almost anything else. I'm more sure of that than just about anything in my whole life."

And though his spirit is no longer in the body whose lap I sat on, whose hand I held, whose eyes I saw love in for my entire life, I am just as sure of his love now as I ever was.

"My Doll" Heirloom Scrapbook

You can find this sweet little book HERE.

A Boy of Four

Dear Andrew,

Today my "baby" is turning four. I can hardly believe it! It's a little bitter-sweet that you're not a baby anymore but you are turning into such a wonderful little boy and I'm so proud to be your mama.

Thinking about the last four years, there are so many wonderful memories with you in it. You're my sweetheart, the love of my life and my little man. I love your big, brown eyes. I love your mischievous smile. I love the way you tell me you love me constantly and sing "Hey, I'll be gone today, but I'll be back around the way...it seems like everywhere I go, the more I see, the less I know...but I know one thing...that I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you" and dance around like a crazy person. I love your crazy break-dancing we don't know how you learned. I love the way you look when you are asleep. I love to watch you drawing, digging in the dirt and torturing your sisters. I love the way you hold my hand when we walk someplace. I love your sweet kisses. I love your chubby hugs.

I adore you, Drewbie.

Here are just a few memories from the last few years of birthdays....

This one is just hours before you were in my arms for the first time. You were huge!

Brand-New you with my daddy, Pee-Paw, who delivered you...

You turning ONE and trying cake for the first time...

You turning TWO...

Also turning TWO...getting your fire engine. You were just a LITTLE bit excited!

My big THREE-year-old...

And now...you're FOUR.

Mama loves you so much, sweetie. I'm the luckiest Mama in the world. I'm looking forward to spending this next year with my little man.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Boy...

Love,

Mama

Runaway Bunnies, Breasts & Hell (yup, you read that right!)

Read this post over at In the Hush of the Moon. I understand the feeling of watching a little guy growing up...my youngest is going to be four in a couple weeks. Four is NOT a baby. I've asked him to stay three but he said no. sigh.

But this post isn't about that. This post is about The Runaway Bunny that Emily referenced in her post. I read the snippets from the book that she included and that thing happened that often does when I read a children's book: a little piece of truth went around to the back door of my brain, snuck in quietly and sat down when I wasn't looking. Funny how that happens.

I have tried several times, in several venues, to write about why I don't believe there can be a hell. It's because I am a mother and I know how I love my three little ones. And I'm not even the best, most well-balanced, unselfish mother, either...but I'm their mama. So as a mama, with a mama's heart (and I daresay it's similar in a daddy's heart), I can't help but love my children unconditionally. I don't know how to do otherwise. My heart says the words of The Runaway Bunny (below) right along with Mama Bunny. My heart already knows these words by heart because they mirror it perfectly.

The words of my heart, and any mama's heart, are not the voice of a God who made a hell with a door that opens "in"....but not "out." Not ever. Maybe as my friend, Jonathan, suggests in his book, the verse about hell's gates means you can leave hell when you want to, that it's not God's hand pushing you back into the hottest part of the fiery inferno to make sure you really "get" how stupid you were to not believe in Jesus and his death on the cross, the inerrancy of the Bible, or whatever.

So read the words of Runaway Bunny as the words of God, if there is one. Don't even bother trying not to cry:

Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away. So he said to his mother, “I am running away.”
“If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you. For you are my little bunny.”

“If you run after me,” said the little bunny,“I will become a fish in a trout stream and I will swim away from you.”

“If you become a fish in a trout stream,” said his mother,“I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you.”

“If you become a fisherman,” said the little bunny,“I will become a rock on the mountain, high above you.”

“If you become a rock on the mountain high above me,” said his mother, “I will become a mountain climber, and I will climb to where you are.”

“If you become a mountain climber,” said the little bunny, “I will be a crocus in a hidden garden.”

“If you become a crocus in a hidden garden,” said his mother, “I will be a gardener. And I will find you.”

“If you are a gardener and find me,” said the little bunny, “I will be a bird and fly away from you.”

“If you become a bird and fly away from me,” said his mother, “I will be a tree that you come home to.”

“If you become a tree,” said the little bunny, “I will become a little sailboat, and I will sail away from you.”

“If you become a sailboat and sail away from me,” said his mother, “I will become the wind and blow you where I want you to go.”

“If you become the wind and blow me,” said the little bunny, “I will join a circus and fly away on a flying trapeze.”

“If you go flying on a flying trapeze,” said his mother,“I will be a tightrope walker, and I will walk across the air to you.”

“If you become a tightrope walker and walk across the air,” said the bunny, “I will become a little boy and run into a house.”

“If you become a little boy and run into a house,” said the mother bunny, “I will become your mother and catch you in my arms and hug you.”

“Shucks,” said the bunny, “I might just as well stay where I am and be your little bunny.”

And so he did.

“Have a carrot,” said the mother bunny.

What do you think? It touches something deep inside, that something that whispers, "That's the love I've waited my whole life for."
So, as you know, if you read my blog, I really am not sure about there being a God "out there." However, I am sure that I love my kids with that love that runs after a runaway child and never gives up. I can't help it. I feel it. I don't have to believe it...I know it. And a God who doesn't love that way...I have no use for.

A God who doesn't just not chase down his child, forever, but actually goes so far as to create a place of eternal punishment for that child, just because he or she "didn't get it"...that is a God that does not love like a mother does. If God is real and I am made in his image, how is that possible?

I dearly love one translation of the word, "Shaddaim," one of the names of God in the Old Testament: "a God with breasts." I know how my kids' eyes looked up at me when they nursed as infants. That utter rest, peace and satisfaction. A mother with milk in her breasts doesn't give sustenance when her baby acts like he loves her enough. In fact, if she waits too long to give the rooting infant what he wants, the milk begins to leak out! A nursing mother becomes the most terrifying being in the universe if someone tries to tear her nursing baby from her breast.

So, as Emily eloquently describes, when that same infant becomes a toddler and toddles away, a mother is watching a piece of herself walk away. I have no idea how it feels to watch them move out when they reach adulthood; I don't even want to begin to think about it. All I know is no matter how far my children try to go from me, I will always find them.

I'll storm the very gates of hell if I have to.

Heaven & Hell: through a 3-year-old's eyes

My almost-4-year-old has been drawing very detailed drawings all of a sudden. It's fun to watch. In fact, as I type, he is sitting on the couch in a little sunny spot, drawing in his red composition book with a purple pencil he grudgingly accepted even though "girls like purple and pink."

Lately those drawings are a whole STORY that no one else but him could ever decipher. They are monsters with dozens of eyes "to scare sister," or they are elaborate "computers" with squares for the keys covering the whole paper. That kind of thing.

So yesterday when he proudly showed me another of his drawings, I asked him what the picture was. He said, "This is blood and that man died and went to heaven but he got medicine in heaven and he came back down."

One of our cats died this past year, as well as his great-grandpa, and ever since, he asks every couple weeks, "When is Abel and Great-Grandpa coming back down?"

Not ARE they going to come back, but WHEN are they going to come back.

I remember being a child and the fear of heaven and/or hell was not about burning in the lake of fire so much as it was being potentially separated from my family. That gave me a sense of panic. So I think I understand my son's insistence that the separation of death can't possibly be forever. That thought doesn't even occur to him.

At my son's age, there's no philisophical "figuring it out" when it comes to things like God, heaven or hell. Their minds accept what they've been told and thank goodness no one has taken it upon themselves to tell him about hell. I wasn't the one who said Abel and Great-Grandpa went to heaven, but someone did, and that satisifed him temporarily. They had gone "someplace," which he understands happens sometimes. But in his little life (thankfully), most of the time people don't go and never come back. They go...and then they come back. 

To my son, though, it doesn't matter what or where heaven OR hell is...the issue is being back in relationship with someone he loves who has left, of course temporarily, and he's rather impatient for that time to come.

When he asks, "When is Great-Grandpa coming back down?" some might say, "They're not coming back, sweetie, but someday you will see them in heaven."

When he asks me, I just say, "What do you think?"

And his response?

"Soon. Soon they will come back down."

Sink or Float

My kids play this game. We walk down to the irrigation ditch which is kind of like a small canal if you're aren't familiar with it, and we find objects to throw in the water. We play it in the mountains, too, when we find a body of water. You find an object and before you throw it in, everyone guesses if it's going to sink or float.

We could TELL our kids what was going to sink or float but would they really "get" it the same way? Throwing it in, hedging their bets and even having the nerve to say they think it's going to do something different than my husband and I are guessing it will is teaching them an important skill I hope they apply throughout their lives. Test things. Try them on for size. Observe as much as you need to.

Sure, I want them my kids to trust me, especially about "health and safety issues," and I want them to trust other people who are trustworthy, but the older they get the more I want them to begin to think for themselves, even if it means they disagree with me.

I want them to feel that the world is a place they can decide things about. I don't want them to have any trace of a feeling that they "must" believe something or other for their parents to love them and accept them. I'm hoping that for them, this will translate into only wanting to have close relationships with people who do the same. I want them to know that if someone tells them they must believe something, they can say no. They can decide for themselves.

They can determine for themselves if it "sinks or floats."

Home

Home.

As a child Home was a feeling, more than it was a place. I lived in 15 houses in my first 15 years.

When I was little, Home was where my parents and sisters were. It was where my bed was, where my dolls and stuffed animals were and where I played. It was a bookshelf made out of planks sitting on cinder blocks, filled with Little Golden Books and Dad's huge medical books. A heavy, varnished wood table and six crude Quaker-like chairs where we ate. It was a Raggedy Andy I threw up on and then found in the trash can. The soft light of a lamp burning in the dark early-morning living room and Daddy letting me sit beside him in the chair while he silently prayed, Bible open on his lap. A plastic wading pool that made a large yellow circle on the green backyard grass. Brown couch under which I stuffed a shock of hair I secretly cut off with my little red paper scissors when Mama wasn't looking. It was Mama's fingernails softly tickling my arms and back while Daddy read us before bed. It was horsey-rides and Jesus Loves Me, whispering to my sister in the bed next to mine until she didn't answer any more.

Now Home is people.

It's my sweet Emily with her chocolate brown eyes like my mother's, her perfectly-shaped nose, constantly-moving pretty mouth, refreshing lack of self-awareness, and long legs. It's my Raychie with her huge sweetheart eyes, curly wisps of hair around her face, propensity for cuddling, the way she gasps between phrases and her darling little bob haircut she says looks like mine. It's my Andrew Man with his chubby arms that wrap around my neck and my heart, his baby lisp when he tells me he loves me, the way he knows all the Thomas the Train engines' names and his funny little sense of humor. That's Home.

It's the friends and family that I know love me no matter what is going on in my life, who hold me together when I'm falling apart and who believe in me, even when I don't believe in myself. It's the open doors and open hearts. It's the loving arms, kind eyes and gentle advice. It's the eyes and ears that really SEE me and really HEAR me and the hearts that love me unconditionally, even in my worst moments. That's Home.

It's me, too. Strange to say that, perhaps, but let me explain. I remember in college, after I'd moved out of my parents' house and was living with various roommates, that I felt "homeless." I remember telling my then-boyfriend who I ended up marrying that I felt like I didn't have a home. I slept and ate and cleaned my apartment. But it wasn't Home. I longed for the day when I would get married and have a real Home. I was always looking forward, longing, wanting and wishing, which is what people in their early twenties DO.

But today there is a curious way that I feel at Home....in my own skin. I am 33, separated from my husband, unsure of what the future holds and yet, at Home. I live in an apartment and have my children every other week, but even when they aren't here, I am Home. For the first time in my life Home is not JUST people.

There's a central, base, core....thing....that is Home. I didn't have this at 20. I am not even sure if I had it a year ago. But I do now. It's not that I'm perfectly content with everything in my life or what I see when I look in the mirror. It's not that I don't look forward to things in the future or dream about "better days." There is just an inner calm deep down when I rest in the "knowing place" inside of me. There's a warmth and a rest there. It is so difficult to describe in words but perhaps easier in a picture:

Sometimes I sit down on my bench in the middle of this garden inside of me....a kind of retreat that I can go to if I quiet myself, close my eyes and sit back into myself. I sit down on the bench, I look around and take in everything around me. I feel the breeze on my cheeks and the way it lifts my hair just a bit and pushes it around my neck. I smell the flowers around me and I can hear the sound of a nearby creek, not far away. There are birds chirping happily and a squirrel scampers by my feet, busily on his way somewhere. I look down at my hands on my lap and cross my ankles. I lift my face up and feel the sun on it, eyes closed.

And it's then, when I'm oriented inside of myself there on the bench that I can "pull back" and see myself there on the bench, from behind. I immediately see what I call "the wounded self" sitting there on the bench and I feel a deep love for her. It's as though I'm the mother and she is my child and I almost always touch her hair the way I would my daughter's and pat her head gently and fondly. Usually I sit down beside her on the bench and usually end up gathering her up in my arms. I murmur to her how beautiful, wonderful and loved she is.

It's as this other self, this "Real Self," as I call it, that I can see what is going on with my wounded self. I am able to see clearly the ways she is thinking about things in a way that is causing her pain. Sometimes I just hold her while she cries. The Real Self has wisdom that the wounded self can't see but needs. The Real Self often says exactly what the wounded self most needs to hear and there is often a healing of wounds that occurs when this happens.

That Real Self is Home. It is the place where I see things as they really are, where I know clearly what is important and what is not. It's where love, compassion and empathy, for myself and for others, comes from. It's the place my art comes from. It's the place where my writing comes from.

Like the wardrobe that connects the "real world" to Narnia, it is the passageway into a place that is connected to everyone else in the world. That garden where the bench sits isn't just inside of me; it's inside of everyone. I have my own bench there, but if I get up and walk around I find that everyone else is there, too. Sometimes I encounter their wounded selves and sometimes I encounter their real selves. I don't have a preference; I love their wounded selves just as I do my own wounded self: like a beloved child that, even in her worst moments, is still precious to me. I can see the woundedness for what it is and not confuse it with the real person they are. I know instinctively that we are one family...that we want the same things.

It is there, in that garden that is inside of me, that I feel the things that make someplace...Home. Rest. Comfort. Love. Acceptance. Peace. Connectedness. Happiness.

That's Home.