breaking jars

Saint Teresa of Avila wrote “All concepts of God are like a jar we break, because only the infinite can contain our perfect love.” 

Do you have a certain picture of God? I do. Sure, there's the old man with a beard sitting on a throne. But more than that, I can sometimes think of God as a measuring stick. And I don't always measure up. Not a very uplifting image of God. 


A couple of years ago, I had some dreams that were striking. At the time, I was getting down on myself for something or other. And I was missing my grandma, who had died several years before. 


One week I dreamed about my grandma 3 nights in a row. On the first night, I dreamed that I tried to hug her, but my hands went right through her. Then the second night, the hug worked. I felt it. On the third night, there were no hugs, just warm, hospitable laughter.


After that 3rd night, I went for a morning walk. Why was I dreaming these dreams? I didn't get it. It just made me miss my grandma even more. 


But then as I walked, it struck me suddenly. So suddenly that I started to cry. This could be my image of God. My grandma, who always warmly welcomed me. Where I always felt like I was enough. I measured up. But with her, it wasn't even about measuring. It was about being - talking, sitting, visiting, quilting, painting, baking, laughing. Perfect love. 


So for me, God is like a grandma. 


There. A new image. A jar broken. 

letting go

More on this "less" theme...

I read the book The Fall of Freddie the Leaf by Leo Buscaglia - a beautiful story for young and old about seasons and acceptance.

Freddie the Leaf was so thrilled to be living in the spring and the summer. But when fall came, he started to worry. He saw his friends around him start to fall, and he wasn't so sure he was ready to join them. What would the ground be like? What would the fall be like?

It reminded me of our friend Carol who recently died. She hung on, not wanting to leave this life and the loves all around her. But she got to a point where she let go with grace, and she was herself right up until the end - always giving, always hospitable. 

I saw this little leaf on the morning of her funeral. It was so striking - the entire tree was bare except for this one little leaf. And I thought about how I hold on. How I like to control things. How it's hard for me to let go. 

Funerals have a way of reminding you of what's important in life. After being with my grandmas as they were dying, and hearing Carol's story, I am reminded to let go. To free fall, not knowing where I will land or what it will be like. To let go of the little things, and then - when it's my time - to hopefully let go in the biggest way.

expecting less

I have a problem: I always want to do more. There is a constant drumbeat in my head, sometimes louder than others, that pounds out "more...more...more...more."

But I feel like this needs to be my motto for right now: less... less.

I tend to have high expectations, which can be a really good thing. But it can lead to a lot of stress and disappointment, so I'm going to try something new for a season: expecting less. Of myself and of others. 

This seems a bit counter-intuitive, and my brain doesn't really like the sound of it. It goes against a lot of what I've been taught - to go for the gold, that if I can dream it I can do it, to reach for the sky, to push myself to be all that I can be. Normally, I want to be more creative, a better mom, a better writer, all things to all people, more, more, more... but this can lead to a feeling of never enough.

I want to be enough.

Here's one good example of expecting more of myself. Derek and I drove to Vermont to a funeral this past weekend - a nine hour trip each way. We drove Friday, went to the funeral on Saturday, then drove Sunday. Guess how many books I packed to read for a writing project that's fast approaching... 25! 25 books. Now that's just stupid. But it's not the first time. I pack all of this work, and then I'm disappointed when it doesn't all get finished. So on my way to Vermont, I told myself "expect less." Whenever feelings of stress would come to mind because of all that I had to do and the limited time before my deadline, I would say to myself, "less... less... less." And I had a great weekend!

"Expect less" could be a great motto for this Christmas season too - but probably not too many stores would use it as their slogan. It's something I want my kids to learn - to expect less, not more more more. Like my grandpa, who as a child was thrilled to come down on Christmas morning to find his dinner plate filled with nuts, candies, and one big perfect orange. Predictable, but very special. 

This tree struck me today because during this end of autumn season, it is expecting less. Each day it will hold less and less of the colour and vibrancy and fullness that the leaves and seeds bring. Soon it will be bare - the least it can be. Preparing for a distant season when it will again blossom and grow exponentially. Outwardly less, but inwardly holding much potential.

It speaks of gentleness and rest to me - not necessarily as the way I'll be forever, but for a season - because this is what I need right now. Even in the midst of deadlines and funerals and sick kids and travel - perhaps especially now - I need to expect less of myself. And this feels freeing and calming in a weird and wonderful way.

one Cheerio at a time

If you're looking to slow down your life, get a 10-month old baby, sit on a couch, and feed her one Cheerio at a time.

Do this for at least 15 minutes, preferably with no other distractions around you. Don't think about anything else, especially not lists.

It is bliss, I tell you, pure bliss.

dancing in the morning

... is something I don't usually do. Or ever do. Until this morning. I've decided to give it a try - to change something little about the way I wake up.

This is how I usually wake up: roll out of bed, stretch, think "do I have to get up already?", grouch around at one of my family members (whoever is closest or whoever woke me up), get breakfast for kids, make lunches for kids, turn on CBC to wake up my brain, hurry everyone, get frustrated that everyone isn't hurrying fast enough, shovel down my own breakfast, bark out some orders, sigh, leave the house hopefully on time. I usually wake up a bit stressed out, already feeling like I don’t have enough time, already making mental lists and feeling like I won’t get enough done in the day, like I'm not enough.

So this is what I did this morning: rolled out of bed, did a little jig, laughed, went about daily routines with more calm than usual. So it's worth trying again.

I was inspired by a book I'm reading called The Witch of Portobello by Paulo Coelho, and the dancing in it has struck me. Dance is used as a spiritual exercise, but also as a way to start the day in a positive, creative way that influences the rest of the day.

This photo was taken at my daughter’s dance class, and I just love the various expressions, and the full body movement, the joy and inhibition. Totally there, in the dance.

giving and getting

I decided to do a little Hallowe'en research project, just because. Hallowe'en seems to be a bit about alter egos - trying on different personas - so maybe I'm trying on the "student with a research project" persona right now.

The Gaelic festival called "Samhain" was celebrated on October 31st. It was believed that on this day, the boundaries between the living and the dead overlapped. Masks and costumes were worn to appease the spirits and gourds cut into frightening faces. Doesn't sound like it was a fun evening - more of a "let's get through this alive" kind of evening where people feared for their lives. But then St. Patrick changed things a little bit, according to legend. He wanted Christians to celebrate the saints who have gone before us - not to fear them or fear death. Apparently, St. Patrick started going door to door, spreading good cheer by giving out small cakes and sweets.

So when did it turn from being about the giving of sweets to the getting? I guess for a while, when trick-or-treating for candy became more popular, many looked down on the practice. I love this little tidbit: in 1948, members of the Madison Square Boys Club in New York City carried a parade banner protesting Hallowe'en that said "American Boys Don't Beg."

Well, we've come a long way, boys. There's a big part of me that likes Hallowe'en - it's mostly fun and candy hangovers and creative costumes. I'm not a huge fan of the gore and scary stuff and neither are my girls. Last night, we went around our neighbourhood looking for "happy houses" to approach for candy.

me and Raggedy Ann

But it made me think about other events that have become "getting" times for my kids - birthdays, Christmas, and Easter. And that's what makes these times special too - the treats that come along with them. But I hope that I'm also creating lots of times in the seasonal year when giving is expected and encouraged and fun.

I'm happy to see the high school pick up on something that church youth groups have been doing for awhile: trick or eat, where they go around to people's homes to pick up items for the local food bank. I hope that this continues to catch on - for the young trick or treaters too - so people will not only stock up on sweets for October 31st, but also cans and boxes and food for those who really need it.

I have found that among its other benefits, giving liberates the soul of the giver. - Maya Angelou

getting ready for Hallowe'en

Hallowe'en is definitely a favourite holiday in this household. We plan our costumes months in advance, and they usually change at least 3 times. But as of today, we've sorted out what we'll be this October 31st: Raggedy Ann and a dog. These 3 things have been indispensable for me in gathering costumes over the years:

1. thrift stores

2. my mom (who can sew at the last minute)

making a hat for Raggedy Ann

3. face paint

Here's a little memory trail of costumes from other years:

a rainbow

Pippi Longstocking

scarecrow

puppy

a cat who wears eye shadow

Well, I'm off this weekend to load up on crappy candy. And you?

P.S. I really would love another tradition besides handing out crappy candy. I don't want to be a scrooge and not hand it out, or not let my children gather it, but really. It's too much. And it's crappy. And it lasts for way too long the way we ration it out.

changing the story

Thanks to some wise readers' advice yesterday, I took off my watch for the day. Just to see what would happen. I know, radical.

It was a wonderful experiment - one I'll definitely do again. Whenever I checked my bare wrist, I said to myself: "You have enough time for today."

And you know what? I did. I really felt like I did. I felt myself breathing easier. I didn't feel as much like a chicken with its head cut off. I felt more rested. And satisfied with what was accomplished. And for the slower cups of tea that I drank too. When I did check the clock, it was usually much earlier than I predicted, and that felt like a gift. EXTRA time! What a bonus! My mind automatically thought: there isn't enough time. But looking at the clock, I was wrong, and I had much more time than I predicted. So it was good that I wasn't very in sync with the actual time.

I changed the story of my usual day.

Speaking of chickens, here's another story I have running through my head on a regular basis: it's about  the Little Red Hen. She asked for help, nobody came running, and she said, "Then I will do it myself." And she did. Over and over again.

I am the Little Red Hen in my mind. It's a martyr story that I tell myself pretty much daily. There are so many things to do, and I'm the only one that can/will do them. I've asked for help before, but sometimes think I shouldn't have to keep asking. People should just notice things, like I do. This story gets a bit tiring to hear over and over again, especially mixed with the "there's not enough time in the day" story.

Another story that needs changing.

I'm convinced that our thoughts can change our actions, so I want to change some of these not-so-helpful thought patterns. Take those useless broken records out of my mind and toss them in the trash. Yesterday, the bare wrist was a cue to try on another story for my day to expand my sense of time; I wonder what my Little Red Hen cue will be, and what my new story will sound like.