doing enough

I have a problem with "enough." I often feel like I could do more, or should do more. More as a parent, more as a wife, more as a friend, more as an employee, more as a volunteer. I collapse into bed some nights, weary but wishing for that more. Thinking I haven't done enough that day.

I'm reading a very good book right now - perfect for this time of year when I tend to take on more. It's called A Life of Being, Having and Doing Enough by Wayne Muller.

One part that I read last week has stuck with me. He writes about resetting our inner thermostat - that we all have a regulator inside ourselves that tells us when we are doing enough or too much. When we know how to "read" our body, it can tell us when our activity level has reached a comfortable level, or when it is uncomfortably busy.

BUT many people don't take time to read their inner thermostat (like me). Or the thermostat is broken and the house is on fire.

How do we know when we have taken on too much? Muller recommends asking this question when you approach a new task or responsibility:

• Am I truly able to say that I really love this or is it more honest to say that I can handle this?

He says that if we take on too many things that we can merely "handle", then we get to a point where we feel we are barely able to handle our days - that we have too much. If we choose based on things we love, we are more likely to be nourished and feel "enough" at the end of the day. 

I struggle with this. I know I tend to take things on with the "I can handle this" attitude. Because I think "well, SOMEONE has to do this." If I'm at a committee meeting, I want it to end as soon as possible so I go away with more jobs than I probably should, just to speed the meeting along and because I can handle it. Or so I think.

But I want to keep this love/handle question in front of me this fall. I want to hit my pillow at night and think "That was a good day. That was enough."

success

"To leave the world a bit better, 

whether by a healthy child, 

a garden patch, 

or a redeemed social condition, 

to know that even one life has breathed easier because you lived - 

that is to have succeeded."

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

[some flowers from my Mom's successful garden patch]

May you succeed in touching even one life (or plant) today!

something from nothing

It wasn't exactly nothing - it was two 25¢ pillowcases. And pillowcase dresses are definitely not my original idea. But fun and quick. Much more fun than anything on my "to do" list for the week. Sewing and creating something from nothing feels so much more productive than the chores that so quickly become undone.

They've worn them for 2 days straight now, in this 30+ degree summer heat. Perfect for both daytime galavanting and nighttime sleeping. What could be better?

See -- I am making all things new. (Revelation 21:5)

note the dead grass underfoot that needs to be made new

2 little monkeys wearing pillowcases

I love it when the old can become new again. I loved seeing my grandma, mom, and aunts do this. Crafting vintage fabrics into new quilts. Old woolen garments into new rugs. And seeing ingenuity in places where people use what they have to make something new. Pop cans into toys. Plastic bags into sleeping mats or homemade soccer balls.

See, I am making all things new! 

This text from the book of Revelation was one of the themes at the Mennonite Church Canada Kids' Assembly where I volunteered 2 weeks ago. We had a great time dreaming of a new world filled with joy and thousands of kindnesses, and devoid of sorrow. It's so refreshing to hear kids' perspectives about the way the world should or could be. They just seem to make sense.

One kid's dream was of a world where bombs were made of bubblegum. Another wanted everyone to be able to smell fresh flowers. Someone else wanted the rich people to feed the poor and give them a place to sleep at night. Where heaven and earth will meet.

See! I am making all things new.

"Heaven is born on earth in a thousand invisible kindnesses offered every day." 

- Wayne Muller

Today I'm grateful for this new day. Even though it's stinking hot outside.

What something will become of this (so far) nothing day?

treasuring age

There was one thing that kept occurring to me as we walked around the zoo yesterday: I am aging.

teenaged gorilla deep in thought

There were so many younger parents walking around with babies and toddlers - parents who looked so much younger than the last time I went to the zoo. Should you really be parents already, I asked them in my head. The last time I was at the zoo, I'm pretty sure I was one of those younger parents. But I still like to see myself as a "young parent." And then it struck me that I just may have some seeing problems. I see myself as barely older than a youth, but I'm pretty positive that others see me as much older than that. Perhaps (hopefully) they see me as the age that I really am. And that should be a good thing, right?

I asked my husband about it, and he said, "I still think I'm about 28." (He's not.)

28 feels about right to me too, because it was a magical age when I could still be considered a young adult, yet have the privileges that come with adulthood, and none of the responsibilities like parenthood or mortgages.

Usually I'm OK with aging - with welcoming a new age while mourning what's lost. I see this in the way I look at my own kids - I miss their young years, but I love where they're at now, and I'm excited about what's to come. I hope to live into and embrace whatever age I am - to see its potential gifts instead of yearning for the past.

My husband once heard a speaker talk about the way that we interact with babies compared to the way we interact with youth. When a baby is in the room, people smile, talk in engaging (sometimes highpitched) ways, and interact physically by holding, rocking, cuddling. Adults make direct eye contact, try to make that baby laugh, and meet that baby's needs in whatever ways possible.

With youth, it's not quite the same. What if we approached all children and youth with the same kind of enthusiasm, love, and engagement we bring to a baby? What if our eyes lit up, our arms went out, and we showered love and attention no matter what the age?

What if we could all treasure the unique age and stage we're at?

It's not every day that I cheer when I see a little grey hair poking through my dark locks. Actually, it's not any day.

When I went with my grandparents to see the senior's residence they'd be moving into, I cried. Because everywhere I looked, I saw old people. And I knew that my grandparents weren't old, even though they were in their 80s/90s. In fact, they weren't really any age to me; they were just Grandma and Grandpa, with an age that never went up and was filled with warmth and love.

And I guess that's how I'd like to be seen - as someone who grows in love, and who treasures life no matter what the stage/age.

not afraid to show wrinkles

"Age has given me what I was looking for my entire life - it gave me me. It provided time and experience and failures and triumphs and friends who helped me step into the shape that had been waiting for me all my life." - Anne Lamott

you are what you treasure.

"We become what we think about all day long." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

"The more you focus on words that uplift you, the more you embody the ideas contained in those words." Oprah Winfrey

focus

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Matthew 6:19-21

There's an experience I had that reminds me of focus/treasure. I participated in a sweatlodge ceremony years ago in a native community near Winnipeg. It was a very moving and memorable experience. Our small Mennonite Central Committee group had been asked to join the circle for a youth who was on a vision quest to find his spiritual name. Elements of native spirituality and Christianity were woven together in a powerful ceremony.

We were told that if we didn't think we could "last" in the sweatlodge, to not join the circle from the beginning. If we would need to leave, this would break the circle, and there is power in the circle. So, once we committed, we were in it for the long haul.

I have no memory of how long the sweatlodge ceremony lasted. It felt like hours. When we entered the small dome structure, we squished together in a tight circle, sitting on mats, my skin touching the skin of the person right next to me. No room for personal space in there. In the middle of the lodge, hot rocks were occasionally spritzed with cedar water or showered with herbs: sage, sweetgrass, tobacco. The effect was a multi-sensory experience. As soon as all were inside, the flaps were lowered and it was completely dark, like being inside a womb. And it was immediately, oppressively hot. I wondered if I could keep breathing.

I knew I couldn't last. I had never felt that hot before, and it was incredibly uncomfortable.

But I'm stubborn, and I didn't want to break the circle. And my stubbornness led to a profound teaching for me.

Drumming seemed to be in the background the whole time, a steady beat the accompaniment to songs and prayers. And this is what I found: when I focused on myself and how hot I was, I felt awful and knew I'd have to leave the circle. But when I focused on the beat of the drum, I knew I'd be OK. I could do it. One breath at a time.

I've thought back to this lesson many times over the years. When I think inward and start to obsess about my own problems, big or small, it can seem oppressive and overwhelming. But when I focus on something outside of myself, something larger than myself - like that big Drumbeat of God - things are OK. I can breathe, I can last, I can complete the circle.

The things that I focus on, that I treasure, that I think about all day long, matter. And I want this focus to be opened up beyond me to God's bigger picture and puzzle for my life.

a fierce, gentle life

When I thought about my desire to live well with fewer regrets, it struck me that all of the verbs I used were very active: dare, drill, dive, drum, dance

But what about inactivity? What about stillness?

I think that to live a meaningful life I need to engage - and fiercely. Like a lion.

But I also have a need for quiet, for stillness, for solitude, for gentleness. This sometimes requires that I disengage. From the computer, from the car, even from people. Like a (very quiet and content) lamb.

I love and need both - the rigorous and lively, and the stillness of my own soul.

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28, KJV

I think that there is so much value in the biblical notion of Sabbath rest - that once a week, we disengage from our regular work to rest and recharge. I'd like to get better at really having a day of rest each week where I can fiercely, gently disengage and connect with others and myself in meaningful ways.

Other cultures/faiths seem to recognize this need for rest. There is Uposatha - a Buddhist observance that occurs about once a week to cleanse the "polluted mind," to bring inner calm, tranquility, and joy.

Holy, expansive rest and stillness. Cultivating gentleness alongside my fierce desire to live well. To push myself, but go easy. To come to a full stop altogether.

Some of my most restful times have been while spending time in creation: digging in the dirt, sitting in a canoe in the middle of a lake, watching a sunset, floating on my back with ears underwater, sleeping under a million stars

But I want to/need to cultivate that still presence not just out in nature, but in my own everyday messy life, even amidst daily chores and family schedules and work. Rest is often at the bottom of my list. When I get all of these things done, THEN I'll rest. But the list never gets done. There's always more to do.

What would my days be like if I started with rest? And not the sleeping in variety. Or what if I took just 10 minutes of rest in the middle or end of the day - walking (with nothing on my ears except earrings), sitting still (with no computer or electronic device in sight), or lying down (with no book in my hands). To stop my thoughts, clear my polluted brain, rest my body, and still my soul.

the 5 big regrets

A nurse wrote this article that outlined the most common regrets that she had heard from her dying patients.

For the shortened version, here are the 5 top regrets/wishes:

1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

2. I wish I didn't work so hard.

3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

Do I have regrets? Of course. 

There were times when I've held back, when I haven't taken the plunge. I've waded around in the shallow end, just watching. waiting. wishing. scared.

But there have been other times - when I've dared to do something new, risen to a challenge, or bitten off more than what I thought I could chew, or risked, pushed myself in some way, like diving into the deep end. And it's been rewarding.

jumping into the deep end

As I'm writing this, I can hear a woodpecker drilling away at a tree - persistently working at its task. It makes me think about the times when I could drill deeper down, but don't, for whatever reason. 

Drumming is also something that comes to mind - joining in a drum circle, becoming part of something that's larger than me, adding my own rhythms to the music of life.

And dancing. Dancing instead of sitting on the sidelines or blending into the background like a wallflower. To engage instead of just consume. 

5 of my wishes: To dare. To dive. To drill deep down. To drum. To dance.