Sixty Strong

When we can't control the things that trouble us A morning of anxiety found me thinking of the control I do and don’t have in my life. With a few “assists,” my anxiety started to leave me, and I could give ...

Noticing Christmas

I know what it’s like to feel invisible. I was never more invisible than when on a few occasions, I had to sit in a public place and wait for an unexpected seizure (is one ever expected?) to pass. Those seizures made it difficult for me to see clearly or walk, among other things. They scared me and at times, brought me to tears. I’d sit for 20 or 30 minutes, waiting for it to be over. On one occasion, I sat in a Target pharmacy department for almost an hour. No one asked me if I was ok because no one noticed me. They didn’t see what was right in front of them, a scared, middle-aged woman, having a seizure and a mild panic attack, in tears. During those attacks, I noticed everyone, but to everyone, I was invisible.

Those times of invisibility didn’t make me angry. I didn’t blame others. I didn’t feel hurt by it. I didn’t feel entitled to be noticed. I only felt aware that I wasn’t being seen, aware that busy lives prevented others from noticing me. We don’t see because we don’t look. I was on the receiving end of this and wondered how many people I had failed to see. I wondered how many older people who needed assistance, struggling mothers, the sick, the impaired, the scared, the lonely, and yes, people having seizures, had I passed by? The possibility of it was daunting. The surety of it made me sad. My illness made me aware.

I could have asked for help. I could have spoken up. I could have, but I didn’t. We’re trained not to speak up. We don’t want to impose. We don’t want to be needy. We don’t want to burden others, so we say nothing. We say nothing because we know what it’s like to be on a schedule. We want to get in and get out. We don’t want to be inconvenienced. Noticing has the propensity to change our plans, our time, our focus, our schedules, and our comfort. We don’t take being inconvenienced well. That is perhaps why in those moments when I needed to be seen, I remained silent and invisible.

When you’re the one that’s invisible, you cherish the noticing in a way you hadn’t before. Now I notice. I try not to infringe on others in my noticing, but I almost can’t help noticing.

“Here, let me take that cart back for you.”
“Hi, do you need help getting up?”
“Is everything ok?”
“I noticed you’re struggling with your child. Would you like me to help you?”
“I noticed something unusual about your social media post. Are you OK?”
“You seem down today. Can I help?”

Most of the time, the answer is a variation of no. No thanks. I’m OK. Thanks for asking, I’m good. Only if they are desperate will they say yes. Asking isn’t always about getting a yes. It’s about noticing someone else’s struggle. Asking is about bringing others from invisible to visible. It’s about saying, “I see you.”

It’s the noticing that warms someone else’s heart and grows your own heart. Much like the Grinch, who you may be revisiting this holiday season, it’s in the noticing that grows the Grinch’s heart and his own awareness, of himself, and others. The Grinch felt so invisible until Cindy-Lou Who, a six-year-old, noticed him. She noticed him in a way that no one had before. The story of the Grinch is valuable because it is the essence of really seeing. Seeing others, not for who they have been, or who they are, or even who they think they are, but for who they could be, or just simply seeing them because they are a person and a person is worth seeing.

Noticing takes practice. The brain tumor seizures were the events that happened to me. Feeling invisible was the prompter for me to develop a better consciousness to notice others. There are still times when I’m in a rush and I don’t want to be bothered, but even in those times, if I notice something awry, I have learned to stop. Because I have been practicing for almost five years (since the seizures ended). I notice, consider, ask, and listen. There’s no doubt, noticing has changed me more than the people I’ve noticed.

Before Jesus was born, we read in Luke, that his mother, Mary, said, “for God has looked on the humble estate of his servant.” Mary affirmed that God noticed her. God affirmed to Mary that he sees her. Even before that, God noticed Elizabeth (Mary’s cousin), who conceived late in life and with that conception, her shame of childlessness was removed. God graciously gave Elizabeth the revelation that Mary was carrying the Savior of the world. Before that...well...just read the Old Testament to see how God notices his people repeatedly. And then there came Jesus, not only the king of the world, but the king of all noticers.

We celebrate Christmas because a baby was born who would one day redeem sinners like you and me. Jesus would die for our sins, be raised for eternity, and offer the gift of salvation for anyone willing to accept and be saved. Before that happened, however, he ministered to others. He noticed the l***r, the children who were pushed aside, the wicked, the troubled, the sick, the lowly, the smelly, the unclean, the ragged, and the worst of the worst; namely the ones we would all prefer to rush by. His first and main ministry seemed to be noticing the invisible. If that was so important to his ministry, then it’s valuable to adopt this to our own mission here on earth. And not only adopt it for our life, but know that Jesus is noticing us. He may not be walking around this earth, but he’s still here, noticing you and me when we need noticing the most, when we are invisible.

You don’t have to be healthy or strong, successful or polished, clean or beautiful, smart or witty, for him to notice you. The less qualified you think you are, the more qualified you become to Jesus. He notices without reserve or judgment. He doesn’t qualify us the same way we qualify others. He qualifies us by our great need for him. If you are, in any way, underprivileged, lost, sad, hurting, confused, ill, tired, or feeling invisible, Jesus notices. That’s what He was born to do. That’s why we celebrate the baby in a manger. He came to save, but first he came to notice. That, perhaps, may be the real movement behind Christmas.

When Eventually Arrives

Three years ago today, I went outside for the first time in MANY years and walked. I had a brain tumor behind me, a granddaughter in front of me, and atrophy inside me. I knew something had to change.

I walked for ten minutes which was one lap on my little lane. Ten minutes seemed manageable until the steady, long hill back proved me otherwise. I couldn’t make it up that hill and had to stop a few times. The next day I did it again. I couldn’t make it up my hill. The following day I walked too. I couldn’t make it up my hill and the next day, and the day after that, and many days went by, and still, I couldn’t make it up my hill.

Eventually, I made it up my hill.

Eventually, I added a 2nd lap and a 2nd hill.

Eventually, I added a 3rd and then a 4th.

Eventually, I found those walks to be valuable times of reflection, prayer, and creativity.

Eventually, I started audio recording my thoughts and ideas on those walks.

Eventually, those ideas made their way onto word files where you’d find hundreds of thousands of words and ideas and entire books written.

Eventually, I added light resistance to my daily walking.

Eventually, I starting jogging…just a little here and there.

Eventually, jogging felt good, although admittedly only on the downhills.

Eventually, I tried sprinting for ten seconds at a time; sprinting being relative…I'm almost 60 after all.

Eventually, I couldn’t do without my morning walk/runs.

Eventually, I got to know all my neighbors and their kids and their animals. I’ve even found a few of their lost pets along the way.

Eventually, a few neighbors told me I inspired them, and they started walking too.

Eventually, my grandchildren looked forward to their afternoon walks with Grammy as I pushed them in the stroller or their little push “car” each week.

When you’ve done something for over a thousand days, you eventually see the progress you’ve made, the changes within, and the changes in the world around you.

Eventually seems so far away, until it isn’t. Don't give up. Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it. Eventually will arrive soon enough.

My Annotated Table of Contents for my upcoming book, Sixty Strong, was due to my developmental editor today and in typical fashion, I spent all morning finalizing it until I thought it was “good enough.” Is that even a thing? Good enough? Not really. In my world, it’s never good enough. There always room for improvement, new ideas, reworked concepts, more or better stories…ugh!!

A developmental editor is one who looks at the big picture, overall structure, and flow of ideas (as well as sentence structure). My ATOC was 5000 words and 10 pages and “annotated” means summarizing each chapter. Considering the book is just under 60,000 words, it was a lot to get the ATOC done and I’m happy it’s in her hands. My book had to be mostly done in order for me to work backwards outlining and summarizing it. I still have so much work to do but she’ll help me finish and polish the book!

Anyway, I did my best, closed my eyes and pushed send. I hate pushing send. So hard to let it go.

What’s for dinner? Antelope heart and sweet potatoes. I’m game if you are. (Pun intended)

Happy “Managing” Thanksgiving

A picture is worth a thousand words. Is it really? This is a family picture taken this Halloween, which includes Mike's and my four daughters and our five grandchildren (and another coming soon). This picture is one that hides a thousand stories, many of them hard.

In this picture, I see years filled with trauma, trouble, and heartache. I see four daughters who haven’t taken a picture together in almost three years. I see a family who has done very few holidays together for the last seven years. Yes, that’s a lot of Thanksgivings, Christmases, New Year Eves, Easters, vacations, July 4ths, birthdays, and…well…you get the picture. The math becomes overwhelming.

We are a family fractured by trauma. Trauma that our two adopted daughters* brought with them through their prior neglect. Babies in an orphanage are not at fault for their trauma. My girls were only one and two when we adopted them. Their trauma replicated itself tenfold through our family until being a family was too hard. Eventually, the emotional fractures we experienced became physical fractures, and we had a seven-year hiatus from being a family of six.

For the last seven years, Mike and I had to figure out how we were going to manage getting through our holidays with our fractured family. When you are managing difficult relationships, sorrows, loss, and other kinds of pain, what you get is dread. Dread of the holiday because the day reminds you of the things wrong with your day. Wrong with your life.

There’s no doubt that holidays heighten the difficult things we are dealing with. I’m connected to an entire group of moms who have holiday-heightened anxieties. Sometimes you just want to get through the day, compartmentalize the pain, have as good a time as you can, and move on to the next day. Because the next day holds no expectations that need to be met. No reminders that you’re not whole. No guilt over your decisions. No shame of what others think. The next day is normal and you ache for normal.

Over the years, I tried to give it all to Jesus. I tried to remember that He’s there to carry my burdens. No yoke is too heavy for Him. I’ve tried to take my life one day at a time. I trust the Word of God and I trust Jesus…but still… I wasn’t always so good at giving Him my burden. It felt awfully heavy sitting there on my shoulders crushing me.

This Thanksgiving my family will all be together again. I’m grateful for that. It feels hopeful. It’s still complicated and I suspect it will always be complicated. I can live with complicated. I’ve had to live with much worse. Complicated is better than fractured.

If you face this kind of dread, I don’t have any good solutions to make getting through the holidays easier. I can’t relieve your pain. What I have is empathy. I see you and I understand what you’re going through because I was you. I’m still you.

I’m here to encourage you. Over the years, I’ve learned that you can have both a grateful heart and a troubled soul. Gratitude doesn’t preclude problems. It’s still gratitude. Gratitude with a twist perhaps. The twist that everything is not as you wish it were and may never be.

I’m here wishing you a “manageable” holiday, one without too many complications. One without dread, where you can still have gratitude and maybe even see a glimmer of hope. We are not to give up on hope. I know you’re doing the best you can.

Happy “Managing” Thanksgiving.

*Permission by all parties to post.

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