All posts tagged: #surrender

Six Different Ways to Be Beautiful

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If you are looking for an article about crunches, the Whole 30, or eyelash lengtheners, this is not the piece for you. This is about being Brave. I bet you’re rolling your eyes. Is this going to be about “beauty on the inside”? Probably written by woman who could benefit from some airbrushing? Is she going to talk about our “good personalities” or how much “Jesus made us and loves us”? No thanks. I really am just going to talk about 6 Brave things I’ve done that make me feel more Beautiful, whole, and strong. I’ve been walking toward this kind of beauty for a long time, with lots of counseling, prayer, and reflection. I was flabbergasted to find my story written out by someone else. Lee Wolf Blum’s new book, Brave is the New Beautiful, is compelling, encouraging, and relatable. I read it cover to cover in one very long bath. I smiled and cried reading stories so similar to mine (and similar to yours, I guarantee it). There were 6 things I learned about being Brave, …

Fighters

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I hate The Walking Dead. Many very smart, sensitive, and spiritual people love the show, like my husband, but not me. It’s not the haunted house make-up or the constant gargle of zombies that bother me. It’s that in order to survive, you have to kill. I hate it. We now live 15 minutes from where the series is filmed, so I’m trying to watch this season. I’m also trying to win Best Wife Ever. I ask about 35 questions per episode, but Chris still invites me to join him every freaking time. A couple of weeks ago I groaned, “I cannot take it. If the zombies come, honey, just kill me. I wouldn’t want to live like this.” Chris set his jaw, clenched his fist, and looked at me as if I just confessed an affair. He said, “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. We are fighters. We are survivors.” We told the kids about the attacks in Paris on Friday night at dinner. They asked if it was ISIS. I reluctantly told them …

Trading Hope

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Our family has done lots of compassion experiments to raise money and awareness for world changing organizations. We made soap and gourmet lemonade for clean water in Africa. We made ornaments to give a house warming party for a formerly homeless family. We baked cupcakes to help orphaned and imprisoned children in Uganda. This year our Family Compassion Focus is Haiti, and we’ve chosen to work with Haiti Partners. But our circumstances are different than previous years. We live in a new state and don’t have the kind of network one builds after living somewhere 19 years. And we don’t have the energy it takes to make thousands of dollars worth of crafts. I’ve been wondering how we can finish 2015 strong, giving Haiti Partners what we have. Especially without using a chicken suit. Greta and I visited the Haiti Partners Children’s Academy in Haiti in October. We did the Chicken Dance, stayed in the mountains, and learned some Creole words. When we asked Greta what she wanted to get Jesus for his birthday present she said she wanted …

World Changer Wednesday – Danielle

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Do you think beauty can change the world? Let me tell you about my friend Danielle. She creates beauty. Her paintings capture vivid colors, haunting beauty, and secret tenderness. They have been featured at several galleries and art shows. But she also went into my kids’ classrooms with her easel and paints, letting 5 year olds touch her work and asking them to help name her pieces. She designs beauty. She can see potential everywhere. Clients want her to make their homes and offices inviting, artistic, and practical. This is easy for her. But even as the expert she extends grace and confidence as they participate in the process. Clients are empowered and grateful when they see their ambigious ideas come to life. She celebrates beauty. Whether it’s at the Art Institute, renegade craft fairs, or a garage sale, she finds amazing things. She appreciates lines, colors, form, and function. She loves when a piece has a history. This year she found all these things in a new place, and it has changed her. She can’t stop talking about it. Introducing …

Update – World Changer Wednesday – The Powells

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Last month we met the Powells (that post here). In just a few years their family has grown from casual, convenient compassion to radical, intentional compassion. They sought out new ways to love those hurting around them, and surrendered their free time, family time, money and relationships to do it. I asked Amy if she could share how their most recent World Changing, Heart Changing, Family Changing trip went. I begged for scoop from her and each of her 3 kids. I couldn’t wait to see pictures. When I downloaded them I was captivated. The Powells radiate joy in Kenya. It’s that gift that comes with surrender. When you give what you have to God, he gives you joy. And you can’t help but share that joy with everyone around you. Summary of the Powell’s Trip to Kenya October 2015 by Amy, Allie, Jack, and Cooper This was the third trip to Kenya for me (Amy) and my daughter, Allie, and the second for my sons, Jackson & Cooper. My husband, Corey, has been before, but he was unable …

This is What I’ve Got

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I started running again, here in the Georgia woods, and I love it. Mushrooms, moss, flowers, and spiderwebs sing quiet songs. Ducks, deer, and dogs accompany me. My favorite trees feel like friends, and the familiar curves in the path are a comfort. It’s where God and I have most of our talks. Me: This is so beautiful, God. Thank you. God: I’m so glad you like it. I love you. Me: I love you, too. Me: What do you want from me, God? God: I only want what you have. Me: I feel like I don’t have much at all. God: What brings you joy? Me: I don’t know what brings me joy. God: I know it’s hard. Me: I’m trying. God: I know. I love you. Joy is hard for me to find. It’s not what anxious, depressed people are known for. I found it when I started surrendering. It’s different, almost rebellious, and I like it. This entanglement of surrender with joy is changing how I see God. God isn’t mad at me, and he isn’t mean. While …

You Gotta Be You (Halloween)

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I am known for being a Truth Teller. I give it to you straight. I cannot hide my emotions or tolerate too much crap. I’m not good at pretending. So Halloween is not really my scene. This has always been the case. According to family legend, I was a strong-willed child. This story is one of my favorites: “When you were four you said you wanted to be Princess for Halloween. Your Mom didn’t buy you a plastic costume at K-Mart, she was going to make one for you. She stayed up all night to sew you a beautiful princess costume. It was shiny lavender with gold rick rack. You woke up the next morning on Halloween and hated it. You stomped and said, ‘I don’t want to be a Pretty Princess! I want to be Aimee Paulson!’” Here I am, fourth from the left, hanging out at Montessori that day. Screw you, Halloween. I’m Aimee Paulson. I played along in the future. I remember only two costumes. In 4th grade I was a gypsy – lots of blue …

Seeds

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They handed me this box with teary smiles: Remember, we love you. It felt like an urn, full of things dead and over. I couldn’t look at it. I carried it home and packed it away, quickly. Many weeks and miles later we found it at the bottom of a storage container. Greta: Is that a treasure chest?! What’s inside?! Me: They said it was full of love. Greta: Can we open it? Me: I’m not ready. Many guests came to visit our new home, Sweet River. They roamed into my office, scanned the pictures and books on my shelves. Guest: What’s in the box? Me: I’m not sure. It’s from my friends. They gave it to me before I moved away. Guest: You haven’t opened it? Me: I’m thinking of keeping it shut, like a time capsule, until I’m in the nursing home. Guest: Really? Me: I’m not ready. The kids started their new schools. My big house and little heart felt painfully empty. An old friend called, concerned. Friend: It’s time to open the box. Me: I’m not …

Wrecked

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Our first child was born October 3, 1998. We had been married 2 years. It was an unexpected, terrible birth. She was an ugly, horrible baby. She’s an awful demanding 17 year old. And while we’ve made peace, most days I fear her. My first baby’s name is Pain. She was born the night I was hit by a drunk driver. That day, my sister and I were hit from behind, pushed into oncoming traffic, and crashed into a second car. The guy who hit us side-swiped 3 other cars and sped off. My sister was covered in sparkling glass, we had some cuts, headaches and big bruises, but the paramedics couldn’t find anything severely wrong with us. But there was. Pain had arrived. She was an insufferable colicky newborn for 2.5 years. She demanded my full attention day and night. It felt like a steaming hot iron was being dropped on my tailbone every 10 minutes. To keep her quiet, I carried a pillow and ice packs to client meetings. I tried 8 different pain meds. We saw …

Bullies

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I was bullied mercilessly as a kid. It started in 3rd grade, when I suddenly didn’t understand the fast multiplication in blue pen on the overhead projector. I got moved from smart math to regular math. My bully taunted, “Ha! You thought you were smart and you’re NOT! You are STUPID.” I walked through the halls with my head down. On the bus my bully would point and laugh when I moved my book bag over for a neighbor to sit down and she’d walk past ignoring me. “You have NO FRIENDS! You are LAME!” she shouted. I would sink in my seat, cross my arms, and try not to cry. We moved away after 6th grade. My new school in California was totally different. I was offered drugs on the bus and jr highers were having sex under the trailers instead of going to class. It didn’t take long for a bully to find me. “You don’t smoke POT?! You’re such a goody goody. NERD! LOSER!” I don’t think a boy talked to me once and my …

Sara Groves – Floodplain

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[Sara Groves’ new album releases today, November 6th, on iTunes.] Dear Sara, Your new album, Floodplain, is a gift. I have been listening to it at my desk, in the steam of my shower, while the kids shout in the car, and stirring pots in the kitchen. I bought it this week for my friend going through a intense crisis. I didn’t know what to say, but I thought your album would make her feel loved and understood. Because that’s what your songs always do. The poetry on this album translates so much of what I’m feeling as I explore surrender. I’m deeply thankful. I first found your music 13 years ago, totally taken in by the first line of the first song on All Right Here, “It’s been a hard year, but I’m climbing out of the rubble.” I had found a friend who would understand. I listened nonstop. I’ve been learning from you ever since. I’m not a music reviewer. I cannot speak to the technical aspects, overarching artistry, or industry comparisons of your music. But I’d like to share how …

Sweetness

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I’ve been talking about Surrender all month. Most everything I’ve shared seems hard. White knuckles, sweat, anguish. Deep questions and dark answers. Foggy epiphanies. Slow acceptance. That is my story. But it’s not the whole story. I need to change the channel. Let’s look at this another way. My life is full of goodness. Sometimes when I let go, joy is waiting to rush in and surprise me. Surrendering can bring great delight. There is honey in the rock. I have countless examples: When curiosity got the best of me, I pushed through first impressions, and was delighted: Thinking the plate was full of gross bugs, then realizing they were bacon wrapped figs stuffed with goat cheese. Turning my nose up at a dress on a hanger, then finding out I looked fantastic in it. Rolling my eyes about some bossy stranger at a party, then belly laughing with them by the end of the night. When I felt my body tighten up, from fear or embarrassment, and decided to go with it anyway. All the endorphins: Standing in line …

Chosen

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Who doesn’t want to be Chosen? It’s the best! You like me! You picked ME! It’s the core of so many childhood memories: Sit by me on the bus Pick me for your kickball team (actually, please don’t) Sit with us at lunch Mom and Dad, am I your favorite? Birthday girl, pick me to sit by you 6th grade boy, ask me to dance I went to new schools for 7th, 8th, 9th, and 12th grade. It was rough. So many first days of school with zero friends. So many moments of holding my lunch tray with white knuckles looking out at the chaos of a crowded lunchroom. I skipped a lot of those to hang out and read in the bathroom or library. So much savvy required to know how to look approachable but not needy, confident but not aloof. I learned “To Have a Friend You’ve Got to Be a Friend.” Which meant learning how to smile, risk eye contact, and invite someone to be my lab partner. It meant learning to laugh at jokes that I …

What I Did Over Summer Vacation

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Moving to Georgia has been hard. We pulled up to Sweet River, our new home, grateful and curious. The kids ran around laughing. The truck came, our house filled up with boxes, and I got to work. I stacked plates, organized books, admired long-lost treasures, and commissioned my husband to spend his weekends hanging pictures. It took a long time. I pushed. I got really tired. One night my husband was talking about where to host the Fantasy Football Draft. I tuned out. He asked me some question and I put down my drink, slammed my palm on the couch, and huffed, “It’s not happening, hon! You can’t do Fantasy Football in Illinois! We live here now. Come on! It’s over! It’s dead. Let it go.” It was quiet after that. Chris followed me into the kitchen and I started vigorously scrubbing some dishes. He asked, “Are you ok?” And I huffed, “No. I’m not! I’m exhausted! [scrubbing] But this is what we signed up for. Just gotta get through it.” He said, “That doesn’t really sound like a plan, babe.” …

I’m Not a Player

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Today I decided to play. My kids were caught off guard. Daddy is Mr. Fun Time, he’s strong, spontaneous, quick to laugh, and agreeable. He wears costumes on a regular Thursday and makes up words almost every meal. He serves pancakes on Saturday mornings, plays video games, board games, and ping pong, and is always up for wrestling. I do none of these things. Well, Daddy had to leave for a business trip at 6:30am on a Sunday. So here we go. When we got home from church I heard many hands pawing through lego bins. I wandered in the room and sat on the floor. Kids: Mom, what are you doing? Me: I’m playing legos. Kids: What?! Me: Yep. Kids: Tell us what pieces you want! What are you making? Have you seen the robot chickens I’m making? Can you build Minecraft stuff? I made a house for robot ninja dogs. They were kind and encouraging.   After legos I asked, “Do you want to eat cheese balls and watch The Amazing Race?” We all ran downstairs, snuggled …

Kintsukuroi – I Guess We Have to be Broken

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A few years ago my son and I had a very bad day. As I tucked him in, I hugged him, and prayed out loud, “Oh Lord, I put a hole in this dear kid’s heart today. With my mean face and impatient, harsh words. Please forgive me. Would you fill in that hole I made? Will your light and love chase away the yucky darkness?” Enough time had passed since my outburst, so Caleb was in the place to hug me tightly back and I say, “I forgive you, Mom. I know you love me.” I laid there holding him in silence a long time. I hate that I hurt his heart. I struggled to believe God would really fix it. We’ve all been broken. Sometimes we are jerks, and we toss someone’s heart on the floor. Sometimes other people are jerks and our hearts get shattered. My kids have had pieces chipped off by peers, teachers, their own choices, pain, and me. God and I had a conversation a long time ago, when I felt too …

A Little Note About Anxiety

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Earlier this month I mentioned that sometimes I worry. When I do, I imagine all my tasks and woes on a long curling list and I surrender it to Jesus. Jesus takes the list, and my mind and body can rest. This simple picture has radically changed my prayer life. But then there’s anxiety. Anxiety is the ticker tape banner at the bottom of the news screen. The constant stream of things that have, can, and will go wrong. Sometimes I imagine that list scrolling off the left of the screen into a wheelbarrow Jesus is expectantly holding. Somedays that is not enough. I didn’t know I had anxiety. I thought I was smart. A thorough thinker. Always prepared. Realistic. I hoped I wasn’t a dream squasher and a balloon popper for all my optimistic, visionary friends. But seriously, how did they really think those grand plans were going to happen? Anxiety is about living on the defense in a dangerous world. Those of us with sensory issues have brains that tell us there is always …

The Haiti Chicken Dance

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Greta and I walked to the bus stop this morning. She was tired and cross and refused soft hugs. We waited in silence under the bright stars. After a minute she reached for my hand and I squeezed it tight. The bus pulled up. She let me hug her twice and said, “just a very small Chicken Dance today, Mama” before climbing up the steps and watching me out the window. The last time I flapped my wings we were high in the mountains of Haiti. Greta and I did the Chicken Dance with the students, teachers, and community at the Haiti Partners Children’s Academy. Here are some pictures: Here’s the video! https://youtu.be/Icbti-SXILM Never in a million years would I have dreamed up this silly story. I’ve been laughing and shaking my head about it for almost 2 months. I dance in the dark at my daughter’s bus stop. I pledge to do it in a chicken suit and let it be recorded if people donate to Haiti Partners. Over $10,500 is donated! Greta and I fly to …

World Changer Wednesday – My Greta

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What is your dream for the kids in your life? That they will be rich, famous, loved, healthy?  That they’ll have good jobs or get married? For lots of reasons, I’ve had to die to lots of dreams when I think about my kids’ futures. Now my main hope and prayer is that they will be lovable and loving World Changers. That they will understand God’s love for them so fully that they can’t help but shape their lives around that relentless truth. Greta and I got back from Haiti last night. We went there to Chicken Dance. When Greta was so sad about going to her new school in our new town in a new state I did a little Chicken Dance in the dark at the bus stop. One day she told me to “do it bigger!” so the whole bus could see and smile with her. She wanted to share it. That’s Greta. She wants joy for everyone. She agreed to share it with the whole world by recording it and putting it online …

A Little Note About Worrying

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Today I’m flying home from Haiti with Greta. I can’t wait to share stories of what we saw and heard. In the meantime, here is a little note about Worrying, because as I packed for the trip, worry was sneaking and swirling all around me.  Most of the time sleep comes easily for me. I am so ready to crash after 18 hours of busy life every day. The thing that keeps me awake some nights, though, is pain. A few years ago complications from a hospital procedure left me bedridden in massive pain for 11 days. I couldn’t sleep. I saw my pain, my inability to handle it, and the brokeness that required the procedure as failings. This led to a long rabbit trail of shame and shoulds, long into the early morning hours. I tried to conquer those thoughts with a list of things I could control, like a to-do list. But then Jesus interrupted me. Me: Tomorrow I need to write that email to the moms. I need to call the doctor for the refill. …

Why Haiti?

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Greta and I are in Haiti, visiting the Haiti Partners Children’s Academy.  What a gift it will be to listen and learn here today. The first time our family felt moved to try something compassionate was after the earthquake in Haiti in 2010.  So much has happened since then.  To read how and why we ended up in Haiti now in 2015, here are some links: My Family’s 2015 Family Compassion Focus Compassion Catapult – The Earthquake in Haiti Contagious Compassion – The Earthquake in Haiti Called to Compassion – Since the Earthquake in Haiti Chickening Out Bad Dancing Here are pictures from my husband’s trip to Haiti in 2007. Here are pictures from our family’s spontaneous fundraiser for Haiti after the earthquake in 2010. In ended up raising $34,000. Crazy. I am unfolding the idea of Surrender throughout the month of October. I look forward to sharing more stories when we return from Haiti. You are loved. © Aimee Fritz and Family Compassion Focus, 2015. 

A Playlist for Surrendering

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This year I’m trying to learn how to Surrender. These songs are guiding me through my Year of Living Dangerously and our trip to Haiti. (I’ve linked each song to iTunes if you want to give them a listen.  Peace be with you.)   Get Up Jonah – Bruce Cockburn   All Your Words Are Good – Sandra McCracken   I’m Still In Love With You – Al Green   God Demonstrates – Harvest   Shilo – Peter Himmelman   The Goodness – John Mark McMillan   Some Clear Joy is Coming – Innocence Mission   Something – Harrod and Funck   I Like to be Me When I’m With You – Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors   You’re Enough – Sleeping At Last   Sarah is Rising – Alex DuPree and the Trapdoor Band   We’re Gonna Pull Through – Over the Rhine   Sweet River Roll – Waterdeep   I Shall Not Want – Audrey Assad   Friend of Mine – Edie Brickell and Steve Martin   None But Thee – Young Oceans   Low Rising – Swell Season   Praise You – Fat Boy Slim   Home – Billy Joel   Song …

Heat

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Tomorrow Greta and I go to Haiti. We are so excited. I expect to learn a lot. I expect it to be life changing. I expect it to be very hot and very humid. It is the number one thing I am stressed about. — A HISTORY OF AIMEE & HEAT —  December 1995 – Austria (previously shared here) Chris: “I would love to do economic development in Cambodia, Thailand or Vietnam.” Me: “I can’t do that. It’s too hot. I’m afraid of it being that hot.” Chris: “But what if that’s what God calls us to do?” Me: “I don’t think God would call us to do that. I never even want to move to the South in the States. It’s too hot and gross. No way.” March 1997 – Oak Park, Illinois Chris: “Aim, why are you so stressed out today? What’s wrong?” Me: “I’m thinking about the summer. It’s going to be so hot here. We have no air conditioning.  What are we going to do?” Chris: “There’s still snow on the ground.” Me: “But it’s …

Bad Dancing

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I am not a good dancer. I thought I was. As a girl I would leap down the hallway and imagine my outstretched legs were parallel with the floor. I was a swan, a deer, a sugar plum fairy. I did the positions and barre work in class, but my favorite was always the free dance at the beginning. The classical music would crescendo and I just knew I would be discovered. The teacher would gasp and say, “Aimée! You’re a star! Darling, you’re just too good for the rest of us.” Instead one day I was really going for it, spinning and leaping, imagining the stage, and the teacher said, “Aimee. That is NOT ballet. Enough. Please come to the barre.” I lowered my chin and joined the class. From then on, that woman, and ballet, were dead to me. When it came time to sign up for the next session my mom pointed above the desk, “The sign says, ‘We Dance for Joy!’ Do you dance for joy?” Flat and resolute I said, “No. I …

Giving Birth

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My mom was a Lamaze instructor. I grew up dropping dolls through a pelvis model on our green shag carpet. I fell asleep hearing expectant couples practice “hee-hoo” breathing. I watched birth movies. My mom even coached our mean cat Susie when she delivered 4 kittens on her bedspread. Blood poured down my mom’s hand after Susie bit her. In serene, hippy, 70’s style Mom said, “Susie’s just in pain right now. It’s okay.” I watched from the doorway, eyes huge. I always assumed I’d have a baby. When we finally got pregnant after years of infertility and all the gazillion dollar interventions, it was twins. I surrendered to this massive endeavor, happily eating pounds of bacon and Walker shortbread cookies. My belly swelled ripe and proud. Then it just gave up at 25 weeks and decided to eject the babies. I spent the next 10 weeks in and out of the hospital trying to to keep those babies inside. Miserable and terrified, I was forced to submit to the strange prison of strict bedrest. When we and our extensive …

A Gentleman’s Invitation

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I started this long story of Surrender on an airplane. I realized that I had life-changing faith not just in a flight crew of strangers but also in God. Hours later God leveraged that reclaimed faith by offering my husband a job that required a major move. This new job was going to be in Georgia. I was hoping for the majestic Pacific Northwest, but instead we were given the sweaty Southeast. Flashback 20 years, Chris and I are dating, dreaming big over schnitzel and knödel in the vineyards of Austria: Chris: “I would love to do economic development in Cambodia, Thailand or Vietnam.” Me: “I can’t do that. It’s too hot. I’m afraid of it being that hot.” Chris: “But what if that’s what God calls us to do?” Me: “I don’t think God would call us to do that. I never even want to move to the South in the States. It’s too hot and gross. No way.” Chris: [secretly touches the engagement ring in his pocket and wonders if he can actually marry such a high-maintenance …

My Surrender Begins

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My surrender began with shame. Maybe I was suddenly struck with Seasonal Affective Disorder, but one winter afternoon I wrote out everything I hated about myself. I felt compelled to do it. My personality flaws. My bad habits. My chronic anger and fatigue. The mean and careless things I said. Some highlights: short temper anxiety despair/doom/depression lack of self-control (words, food, drink, money) desire for control over sensitive senses self-imposed pressure given in to pressures of the world About my parenting I journaled: “I don’t want to be like this. I wish I was different. I bring fear and anxiety into my home. I model hopelessness. I’m not consistent with nurture and grace. I yell 363 days a year. I don’t diffuse the bombs the world puts in their backpacks. I make C4 for breakfast.” I imagined a hidden camera had been in my house and I confessed to everything crappy thing I said, did, thought, and hoped for. I did it like my life depended on it. Words and exclamation points of confession all over …

January 28th

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During the Polar Vortex days of January Chris worked hard, traveled lots, and looked for a new job. The kids read under blankets when school was cancelled. I drank hot tea, ate too many tater tots, and researched danger. Researching is my favorite phase. Anything is possible, information is everywhere, and it’s too soon to act. God’s crazy message of “2015: THE YEAR OF LIVING DANGEROUSLY!!” might be about stepping into courage and away from fear, but I didn’t know how to do that. Then I read this one snowy morning: “What is the most needed, yet the most dangerous prayer you could ever pray? It is the one prayer that takes you beyond the small-picture hopes and dreams that kidnap so much of your prayers. It is all right to pray about your job, marriage, family, finances, house, children, retirement, vacation, investments, church, health, government and the weather, but it is not enough. This kind of prayer follows the “right now-me” model of prayer…Yes, God cares about your present life….But he calls you to view …

Context

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I avoid danger in all forms. Like a normal person. I don’t eat weird food. I don’t climb tall ladders. I don’t sky dive. I like to read books and cook comfort foods. We want our home to be a “Safe Place” for people to come rest and be themselves. Becoming a parent made me an expert on danger. My babies were always seconds from certain death: the stairs, outlets, boiling water, food not cut small enough. The world was one big death trap for my toddlers: fast cars, strange dogs, big waves, kidnappers in the Target. How many times do young parents say, “nobody died today!” only half joking? And you parents of teens with drivers licenses and sketchy boyfriends and internet predators? It’s exhausting. Smart people run from danger and train their kids to as well. So I wasn’t very excited about God’s loud new message for me: “2015: THE YEAR OF LIVING DANGEROUSLY!!” It didn’t make sense. I kept asking about it in my prayer journal: “What does ‘Living Dangerously’ mean?  What are you asking me …

Food Poisoning

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God talks to me. We have a big conversation every year between Christmas and New Year’s. It’s not like tea with the Queen where I’m in a new dress with notes on index cards. It’s more like a pitiful bedside chat with a doctor when I smell bad and feel like I’m dying. Last year, we talked after Food Poisoning. Chris and I met friends at a little Mexican place. It was delicious. I went crazy with exotic drinks, appetizers and beef tacos. I haven’t had beef tacos since. And I don’t think Chris has either. In the middle of the night he overheard my body removing the beef tacos both ways and stepped into the bathroom assuming I was being murdered. I was weeping and retching and begged him to leave the bathroom if we were ever going to have sex again. He later helped me back into bed. He showed me the bucket and path of towels next to the bed and ran out of the room to wash his hands and sleep on the couch. I …

Held

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In February I felt safe. I woke up early one morning, got a soy latte with a mangled Starbucks version of my name on it, and boarded a plane. I was deliciously alone, playing hooky from my 3 kids, on my way to a Girls Weekend with my mom and sister in San Francisco. I leaned back smiling, looked out the window, and felt deeply content. And because I can’t leave well enough alone, I tried to figure out why. I let a fear montage of 9/11 and “Air Force One” clips go through my mind.  I countered with some clips from “Airplane!” I thought of my poor husband and frantic kids trying to find shoes and library books before school. I remembered I would be back reporting for duty soon enough. I was flying.  At O’Hare I walked down a tunnel, sat down, put on a fat seatbelt, and then climbed into the sky.  I was being held in the air, above the clouds.  Past where the birds go.  Thousands of feet above houses and cars, above marriages and parking tickets.  Prairie farmlands …

Fallow Fields

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God asked me to empty my pockets and buy a fallow field. On a cold January morning in an empty house I was praying as I put away socks and wiped counters. A few weeks into the new year I was still asking, “God, what do you want me to do this year?” I already knew. A vivid dream had lurched me awake and then was translated and confirmed by loving friends. But I was playing dumb.