Hello Again

It's been about 2.5 years since I last wrote here.  Coincidentally, little one is (nada!) about 2.5 years old!

Returning to this blog has been on my mind for quite some time, though.  My mind and heart have been so busy, and so...tired...lately.   And yet I can't help but suspect that God is actively working, perhaps more than usual, in my life.  Over the last few months, He has used numerous events, people, friends (old and new), songs, sermons, and moments to poke, bolster, nudge (or maybe shove), rally, and move me.  

God made you different on purpose; embrace it!

I went to a women's event at New Church recently.  There were 94 women in attendance, and my inner introvert was frightened out of her mind.  I brought a friend, though, and we survived together.  :)  After a very nice dinner at the horse farm (of all places), we heard from a speaker.  And one of the things she said that stuck out to me was this notion that if God made us different, rather than bemoan the difference, we should embrace it, because He did it intentionally.  

My immediate reaction was (and is) to bristle at this, because one of my key differences (race) is something I've almost never embraced in my life.  But race aside, the underlying principle resonates with me: I do believe that God does things deliberately, and each person is His creation.  And we know He doesn't make mistakes.  

As someone who loves to admire God's creation, the idea of celebrating God's creativity in all of its forms should come easily.  Somehow, though, when it comes to me being Asian, celebration doesn't really come to mind.  Because...

Being Asian is a liability, but it could have been worse.

It's interesting.  New Church is super-white.  Super-duper white.  And super-duper home-schooled.  And super-duper lots-of-kids-per-family.  Everything my family growing up was not.

Rascal and I have been at this church now for about six months (so long already!) and we've had a lot of New Church folks come to dinner at our house so we can get to know people.  It's been good.  But what I never expected--ever--was that our short little time at New Church would lead to our meeting Dan (hapa) and Alyssa (Filipina), and having a meal with them in which we discussed our experiences with growing up Asian (or half-Asian) in largely white contexts.  *MIND BLOWN*  That was such a fun gift to receive, such a sweet surprise.  And the discussion was so refreshing. Here we were, a group of strangers, all dumping out our stream of childhood insecurities that stemmed from looking different and being different from our peers and general society.  Here we were, as adults, all able to say, out loud, words that we've always thought deep down, but never brought ourselves to say:  Being Asian is a liability...but it could be worse.

It's hard to trust God with my weakness and insecurities, the parts where I feel broken.

New Church Pastor gave a sermon recently where he talked about our failures to trust in God, especially in the things we're good at (because we rely on ourselves).  I reflected on that, but felt that I actually do trust God in the two areas of my life that consume the most time and attention right now: family and work.  I trust God with my family--and in particular my parenting--because I know I'm incapable of being the mom He wants me to be without His daily provision of wisdom, patience, kindness, energy, perseverance, and love.  I also trust God with my work (mostly) because the things I do at work often have tremendous consequences, and I've experienced (at least once or twice) the awful feeling of failing at work and seeing some of those consequences come crashing down.

So there I was, feeling kind of good about myself, when New Church Pastor went on with his sermon.  And he said, some people don't struggle to trust God in the things they're good at (me!).  Instead, they struggle to trust God in their weakness and in the parts of them that need healing.  They persist in their self-pity and brokenness, and don't turn all of that over to God.  

Well turn on the waterworks.  I was a puddle of tears for the next half hour because I knew that was me.  

Where this all began...

You might be wondering by now...where is all this coming from? What is going on??  

Welcome to my brain! I've had the same questions over the last few months as all of this has come creeping out of the woodwork.  It all kind of coincided with our transition to New Church in April.  Rascal and I had been praying about moving to a new church for more than one year, and come early 2019, we felt like an imminent change was necessary.  By April, we were at New Church, where three of my friends already attended.  

New Church was different from Old Church (where we had spent the previous three years).  It's hard to pinpoint exactly why.  It's partly because we were in a different lifestage, partly because we had more points of intersection with people in the congregation, and partly a whole bunch of other things that I'm not thinking of.

One thing that I immediately noticed about New Church, though, was its makeup--and the fact that it reminded me so much of the church I grew up in (i.e. Home Church).  The whiteness, for starters--but not just that.  Also the homeschoolers.  And the multiple children.  And...just...something.  And that really bothered me, and made me very apprehensive about making a home at New Church.  Because I had sworn before in my life that I would never put my kids through what I went through as a child.  And I kind of half-broke that promise by moving to Palmtreeville.  And if New Church was like Home Church for them as it was for me, then I really would have broken my promise, and I did not want that for my kids.

I can't explain what it is, but New Church triggers all sorts of things for me.  And it scares me, because the triggers are resurrecting someone I knew long ago, but who I left behind in favor of a better life--a life in which I belonged, or at least created spaces where I belonged.

I left her behind, but I didn't know it...

I've spent a lot of time analyzing this.  I'm sure that I haven't nearly begun to figure it all out, but I think I've figured parts of it out.  And in my more lucid, less emotional moments, I can spell it out without breaking out any tissues.  It goes something like this:

Growing up, I didn't feel like I belonged.  I was on the outside, looking in on a group of people who belonged to each other, and loved each other, and took care of one another.  They delighted in one another.  I did not belong.  I did not feel loved.  I did not feel cared for, and I certainly did not feel delighted in.  This was at Home Church.  

Thankfully, I didn't feel like GOD said I didn't belong (to Him, anyway).  So I served on the worship team, made friends with some adults, and taught Sunday School to younger kids, to give myself something to do and a way to avoid the awful feelings of not belonging.  I did this while not paying very much attention to my feelings.  Do more, feel less.

This persisted until I went away to college.  Looking back, I largely avoided interaction with Home Church on breaks from college.  I was part of a Bible study here and there, and even formed some friendships here and there, but much of it felt forced--probably on both sides.  

Then I went to law school.  There, for what felt like (and probably was) the very first time, I found a group of people who were truly my people.  And what a magical three years that was, for that reason.  Many of those people are still beloved friends today, even though we are scattered around the globe.  I'm so thankful for the transformative years I had in a safe place to truly experience Christian community in a group setting, for the first time. 

From there, I moved to New York.  And there, for the first time, I experienced church community where I truly felt like I belonged, I was loved, I was cared for, and even delighted in.  I spent seven years there, and believe God did a lot of healing in that time.  At NYC Church, I finally felt like I was part of a church family.  Even if I wasn't close to all 100+ people, they all felt like they belonged to me, and I to them. 

In other words, many good things happened me in the 21st century.  But what happened to the person I left behind?  I became someone else along the way, but being at New Church makes me realize...the person I thought I left behind is still within me.  She's still there, and still wonders if the world is still the same as it ever was.  She's been hiding from a lot of people, and she's comfortable hiding.  New Church and its triggers are like flashes of light, tearing away a heavy shroud and shining light on something (someone!) kept away for years and years and years.  It hurts to see the light.  It's more comfortable to stay inside.  Broken, but safely so.  

Let's talk about cake.

Approximately two decades have passed since I left Home Church.  What I'm realizing has probably happened in those two decades is that I learned somewhere along the way that the cake (i.e. true me) isn't very palatable--especially not among God's people.  (I should take an aside here and give a shoutout to my college friend SINE, who has always shown me incredible love and acceptance.  SINE, if you're reading this, none of this is about you, and in fact, you were one of the first friends in my life to show me selfless and forgiving friendship, and in doing so, you changed my life.)

And so, over the past two decades, I have taken it upon myself to decorate the cake.  Not externally (ya'll know I'm not a girly girl), but more so in terms of the "life resume."  That is, I have a cool degree from a cool school.  Since graduating from my cool school, I have had four very cool legal jobs, each more cool than the previous one.  In my four very cool legal jobs, I have gotten to do uber-cool things, that only cool people get to do.  In other words, I do cool things.  I am cool.  Please like me, because I do cool things.  Please enjoy this cake, and admire this cake, and be friends with the cake, because--look, it has fluffy frosting and really fancy fondant decorations, and ooh! a sparkler at the top!

Add to that "life resume" my human attachments--my loving husband, and my (mostly) adorable and truly beloved children.

Oh and--for all the Christian men and women who have ever made me feel like I am a sinner for being a mom who works outside the home--guess what, I bake delicious things and I sew my dresses and Halloween costumes for my kids.   And I raise freaking monarch butterflies in my spare time.   There's a defensive indignance, and perhaps a twinge of a sinful flip-the-bird (if I'm really honest), in my domesticity.

And allathat is the stuff that I pile onto the cake, and subconsciously, I rely on that to define who I am to others.  I point to the stuff on the cake with arrows and shining lights, and use it to shroud what's on the inside because... well, I know from before, don't I?   Home Church already taught me that the inside (my inside, anyway) doesn't belong. 

I haven't thought about most of this in about 20 years.  It hurts to think about it now.  I don't like to think of myself in these terms.  

Just to be clear: I don't have this issue with everyone...it's pretty church-specific, I think.  And I mean church in general.  Because along the way, there are absolutely a group of people (some in New Church, and a whole bunch at NYC Church) who love the cake and couldn't care less about the frosting and accoutrements.  I am so thankful for all of those people, because their love and the difference of their love has helped me to identify the defining lines.

Songs that spoke to me

In all of this, the Lord has blessed me with several songs that have spoken to my heart.  Some of these play on the radio.  Some of these were sung at NYC Church retreat, which we were at recently (for the first time in five years!).  The most meaningful excerpts are these:

A refuge for the poor

a shelter from the storm: this is our God

He will wipe away your tears

and return your wasted years: this is our God

A father to the orphan

A healer for the broken: this is our God

He brings peace to our madness

and comfort to our sadness: this is our God

So call upon His name, He is mighty to save, this is our God

[Chris Tomlin]

***

I am your beloved, your creation

and you love me as I am

You have called me chosen for your kingdom

unashamed to call me your own

I am your beloved

[Vineyard]

***

Wide awake while the world is sound asleep

too afraid of what might show up while you're dreaming

nobody, nobody, nobody sees you

nobody, nobody, nobody would believe you

every day you try to pick up all the pieces

all the memories, they somehow never leave you

nobody, nobody, nobody sees you

nobody, nobody, nobody would believe you

God only knows what you've been through

God only knows what they say about you

God only knows how it's killing you

but there's a kind of love that God only knows

God only knows the real you

there's a kind of love that God only knows

For the lonely, for the ashamed

the misunderstood and the ones to blame

what if we could start over, we could start over, we could start over

'Cause there's a kind of love that God only knows

[For King and Country]

***

If  I didn't know what it hurt like to be broken

Then how would i know what it feels like to be whole

if i didn't know what it cuts like to be rejected

then I wouldn't know the joy of coming home

maybe it's okay if I'm not okay

'cause the one who holds the world is holding onto me

Maybe it's all right if I'm not all right

'Cause the one who holds the stars is holding my whole life

If I didn't know what it looked like to be dirty

Then I wouldn't know what it feels like to be clean

If all of my shame hadn't drove me to hid in the shadows

then I wouldn't know the beauty of being free

Father, let your kingdom come

let your will be done

here in my heart as in heaven

[We Are Messengers]

***

A King is coming to this city

and crowds around are following 

if I could see, i would follow too

He heals the sick with his hands

as He walks by, they reach for Him

if I could see, I would reach out too

The blind won't gain their sight

by opening their eyes

Son of David, have mercy on me

Son of David, have mercy on me

Son of David, I want to see

Son of David, have mercy

I cannot leave this gate since I cannot see my way

But I can stand and call His name

No, I could never leave this gate

but I will stand and shout His name

and I will count on His grace

The blind won't gain their sight

by opening their eyes

Son of David, have mercy on me

Son of David, have mercy on me

Son of David, I want to see

Son of David, have mercy

Do you want to be healed?

We recently went back to NYC Church retreat (with our kids, this time) for three days, and it was such a rich time of reconnection with church family.  The very first activity that I was able to attend was personal devotions time.  They had all these different devotion guides posted around the room, each bearing a different subway line to differentiate them.  I chose the 2 line, since I spent several years riding that line to work.

The passage was from John 5, about the man who was sick for 38 years and lying by a healing pool.  Jesus saw him there and knew that he had been sick for a long time.  Jesus asked him whether he would like to be healed.  The sick man replied that no one has helped him into the pool.  Then Jesus told him to get up and walk, and the man was healed.

The initial questions posed in the devotional struck me.  What did Jesus ask the man?  (Would you like to be healed?)  And how did the man answer? (No one helps me into the pool!)  The man dodged the question with an explanation of why he was not healed.  I'm sure this passage has other spiritual implications, but I couldn't get past the immediately applicable parallels.

When Jesus asks me, in view of all that I've been processing, whether I would like to be healed, what do I say?   Would I like to be healed??

And the honest answer is...I think so? But I don't know.  Because a big part of me is scared to confront the past.  I'm scared of what that may feel like (because even the bits that keep creeping to the surface keep making me cry, and I often don't know why).  I'm scared of how long that may take.  I'm scared of change, maybe?  There's a lot of fear holding me back.

The hero's journey

I was sharing all of this with very close friends in New York last week, and our friend Peter told me about the hero's journey.  Apparently it's a common template in mythology, and it generally follows a circle.  You have the hero of the story starting out at home. Then he leaves into the unknown for an adventure.  During that adventure, he changes because of all that it requires of him.  Then he returns back the known--but now as a changed man.  

I blinked at Peter.  "And?" I asked.

"That's where you are:  you're back at home (in a way).  And now the question is...what will you do, now that you're back home?"  This was resonating too deeply. He was hitting a nerve and tears were welling up in my eyes (an all-too-common experience these days.)  "Does it end well?" I asked.

Well, he said, we're going to see.  That's what this is all about.

God cares too much to let you stay where you are

One last story, from today.

We have friends from New Church whose sons play baseball in our neighborhood.  They invite us to hang out with them during baseball practice, which I think is such a lovely thing.  So we did today, and I was generally updating Ann on the latest in this journey.  I've only really had an opportunity to share very broad strokes from time to time, so she doesn't know the details.  But I know she's been listening, and I always feel such compassion from her.  It's like she feels the burden, even if she doesn't know exactly what's inside.  She still realizes that it's heavy, and that means a lot to me.

Today, as i shared a little more about what I've been learning and feeling and experiencing, Ann said, with tears in her own eyes, "You know, as you've been sharing this stuff the last few times, I just get the sense from God that He cares too much about you to let you stay where you are." 

Cue the tears again.  (Sigh, this is getting so old.)

But deep down, I knew she was right.  And I appreciated so much, that right now--when I don't exactly have ears to hear--God has sent friends to hear for me. 

The story continues.

Weeping and Mourning

I've often heard of parents talking about how they have wept over their children.  I personally have never done it...until now. 

Yesterday, as Junior and I took her tricycle around one of the tree-lined lakes in the area, she did something disobedient and unkind.  I called her out on it, and had the usual conversation with her about kindness and obedience (disobedience is painful, obedience leads to life, God wants us to be obedient, kindness is important, etc.).  And some version of the following dialogue ensued (me in italics, her in bold):

That was unkind, Ducky.  Do you understand?

(Nods yes)

Is it important to be kind?

(Nods yes)

Say, "Yes, Mommy."

(Does nothing)

Ducky, listen to me.  Kindness is important.  Being unkind is disobedient.  Disobedience makes God sad.  Is it important to be obedient?

(Shakes head no)

No, that's not right, Ducky. Obedience IS important.  Disobedience is painful, and it makes God unhappy.  Don't you want to make God happy?

No.

You don't?!  You don't want to do what God wants?

No.

You just want to do what Ducky wants to do, huh?

(Nods yes)

That's really sad, Ducky.  That's really, really sad.  Disobedience is painful, and only obedience leads to life.  And you know...our words need to be true. And I realize that your words right now are true; you DO just want to do what Ducky wants to do.  We are all like that.  But...that's really sad. And we need God to change our hearts.  I will pray for God to change your heart.

No change heart! No change heart!

You don't want God to change your heart?

(Shakes head no.)

* * *

I cannot think of a more heartbreaking conversation that I've had in recent memory.  It made me weep and mourn.  And yes, I know that she is only two years old.  But the thing about it is...I do think she understands at some (rather significant) level what we were talking about.  And she was completely unashamed of wanting what she wanted, end of story.

What heartbreak to realize that the things she said--the things she feels and does--are a reflection of all mankind, including me. We all started out that way, and those whom Jesus called have been changed by his grace.  All others are stuck in Junior's mindset and heart disposition--a terrible place to be.  

I was reminded of how desperate a situation all of our souls are in until Christ rescues us from the hand of death and leads us to an abundant life.  How grateful I am for freedom in Christ...and how urgently I plead for the same grace to extend to my children.

Pinch Me

Because sometimes I feel as if I am brimming with too much joy to contain.  Is this life real?  Is it really mine?  Thank You, Lord, for making my cup run over--day after day after day.

The last three days have been an unexpected gift.  Hurricane Matthew shut down the courts and the schools, leaving Daddy, Mommy, and Ducky with a freebie four-day weekend on our hands.  (Didn't have to use up any of my precious few vacation days!)  So very thankfully, God spared us of Matthew's devastation--and even modern-day conveniences, as we didn't lose more than a brief flicker of power.

Instead of dealing with flooding, broken windows, life-by-flashlight, generators and gas stoves (let alone injury or loss of life), God mercifully and generously gave us several sweet days of close togetherness.  

...Extended time in our pajamas, reading in Ducky's "library room."  And by "reading" I mean her "reading" books to herself and us watching her with great amusement.  She is increasingly independent, and often wrests the book away, points to herself, and says, "Me."  She wants to do it all herself...and all the better if it's done leaning against her favorite pillow (very particular, this one), with Bunny Blanket by her side, snuggled up between Mommy and Daddy.  Once in a while, after she's had enough of "reading" to herself, she climbs into my lap, sticks her left thumb (it's always been her left thumb) into her mouth, grabs Bunny's ears to begin another stroke-session, and chooses a book for me to read to her.  Her favorites include "Curious George and the Birthday Surprise," "God Bless You and Good Night," "Thank You Prayer," and "Should I Share My Ice Cream?"  When she chooses one, that's usually the book we'll have to stay on for a long, long time.  Because after each reading, she will tap her right fist into her left palm twice--Ducky language for, "Again! Again!"  And so we read...again...and again...and again.  The same book, over and over.  And yes, sometimes it feels tedious.  But mostly, it feels like a gift to  be the chosen one who gets to read to this precious child over and over again, with her snuggled in my lap, utterly content.  

...The nonsensical soundtrack of our lives, which goes something like (bold font is Ducky; regular is Daddy and Mommy):  "MOMMY!  Yes, my ducky.  MOM!  I'm right here, my Ducky.  What is it?  Meow.  Oh, you want to go see the meows?  You want to go outside and see Miss Kendall's cats?  Goo-goo.  Yes, I see your acorns.  You have so many acorns.  Wait--that one doesn't have a hat. Can you find a hat for this acorn?  Oh--you're stuffing them into Mommy's shorts pocket again, are you?  No, no, not into the big pocket. You can put them into the small pocket.  Goo-goo! Goo-goo! I know you love your acorns!  Mommy, goo-goo amiwadjanoowww Mommy! Mommy! Goo-goo ami meow ajdiwowwww.  Whoa! Mommy! MOMMY!  Yes, my ducky.  Mommy WATSCH.  You want some water?  Nooooo.  Yes, you need some water.  You need some watsch.  WATSCH.  Yes, I know.  You need some water. Mommy's going to get you some.  Noooooo! YES, my ducky.  Come on.  Drink drink.  Nooo! (whimpers)  Ducky.  You need to drink some water.  Look! Bobby (Bunny) is having some...Bobby wants you to have some. Yeah! Goooooood.  Drink drink."  On and on.  Every day.  Day in and day out.  I kind of love it.

...Playtime outside.  This evening we played outside for over an hour after dinner, until after the sunset.  At the outset, she wanted Daddy and Mommy to sit on a bench as she did the teeter-totter by herself.  All by herself.  So independent.  Later, when I was talking to one of our neighbors, she wanted Mommy's attention...just to have it.  Typical toddler.  And then she wanted me to hold her hand so she could walk on the balance beam, step up the mushroom stools, climb up, and fall backwards as I caught her on the way down (and then I spun her around and she shrieked with delight).  We did that at least fifteen times this evening.  And then as the sun was setting, she held both of my hands and led me to the far end of the big green park past the playground...away, away, away under a glowing half-moon.  Later, Daddy came to find us and she had a ball running back and forth to claim hugs from Mommy and Daddy, giggling and shrieking all the way.     Yesterday we did a bike ride and she fell asleep halfway through.  And this morning I took her to the lake to see swans, geese, and ibises.  She was so entranced.  She also wanted to walk on the red brick road on the edge of the sidewalk...and up and down the bridge...again and again...and then she wanted to walk backwards...and then she wanted to be carried (surprise, surprise).  

...Speaking of carrying...These days I'm carrying an extra 15 pounds anyway--and she's another 26 pounds or so...so that's about 40 extra pounds of extra weight a lot of the time.  But unless I really must, I don't force her to walk.  These days of carrying my girl are limited.  The days of snuggling with her while nursing, with her legs tucked between mine, for 30 minutes each morning...those days are numbered.  The days of her wanting MOMMY! to come watch her, hold her, comfort her, be with her, hold her hand, read to her, entertain her, sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" ad nauseum to her,...those days will end, and all too soon.

...Family naps.  My favorite.  

...All the other stuff inbetween. Collecting acorns on the sidewalk.  Chasing firetrucks (and praying for them, of course).  Hunting meows.  Playing with glue, colored pencils, pens, and crayons.  Watching her carry that wooden hamburger around (or pull a train of her plastic hamburgers back and forth -- "beep! beep!" -- this morning).  The affection for the stuffies--soooo much affection for the stuffies (yessss).  Reading, reading, reading, little bookworm.  Playing on the piano, and having her invite Mommy to sit next to her (something new).  Teaching her to say please ("peas") and thank you ("gank-you"), and to show kindness, generosity, thoughtfulness, patience, perseverance, and obedience (that's the really hard stuff).  The snuggles and hugs and holding her hand.  

Pinch me because I'm too lucky, and though the days can be long, the years truly are short.  Thank You, dear Lord, from a truly grateful and content heart.

Dear Junior

​Dear Junior,

​Hi, my dear ducky.  Bright shining light in my life.  So much of who you are brings me life and joy:  

Your smiles and giggles.  Your mischievous glint in your eye when you raise your eyebrows, as if to say, "Check this out, Mommy..."  

Your enthusiastic koala-bear hugs, the kind where you hug my neck so tight and cling to me with your legs--you give them spontaneously and freely, and melt my heart each time.  

Your affection for Bunny Blanket, and the tender way you stroke his ears, give him heartfelt besos, and light up when you see him and get to drag him around (and how you take care not to drag him by his ears, but by his neck--good girl).   

Your tremendous affection for Daddy and Mommy, and how you are happiest when both of us are around.  You are more content with Mommy by herself versus Daddy by himself, but you love it best when we both are present.  

Your increasing ability to listen and obey.  You do best when we tell you in advance what's going to happen, and you tell us that you understand (your ability to nod and say "yeah" is very helpful!).  After that, you mostly don't get upset by whatever happens next.   And more and more, you spontaneously say "thank you" (which sounds more like "ganku") at the appropriate times.  :)

You are very particular.  It's genetic--I knew it!  You take after Mommy in that way.  You like things to be in their place, and you like to keep your hands clean.  You pick out a crumb on your tray at the start of dinner and hand it to Mommy for discarding.  A little too particular, but I get a kick out of it.  :)  And it comes in handy for other things--like how you always keep your crayons at the table, put away your toys when told, and put away your duckies (upside down) at bathtime.  Hehehe.

You are very, very sweet.  You love giving out hugs, you run to Mommy brimming with glee and love for no particular reason at all.  You love being held, and can hang around in my arms, content, doing nothing in particular, for a long, long time.  It makes me think that that's how God wants us to be in His presence.  Thanks for teaching me about childlike love, little one.

You are also very, very fun.  You love to hide and seek.  You love the unexpected.  You love to make games out of anything (you get that from Daddy), and you love to giggle.  You have been so blessed with a very fun and rich life, little one.  Turn it all to gratitude and good as you grow up.

I just wanted you to know.  Mommy adores you and loves you so much.  You are such a gift, and we give tremendous thanks to God for you!

Love, 

Mommy

Reflections, Part III

This is what happens when you're the parent of a toddler: gone is spontaneity; carpe diem is out, routine is in.  (Frankly, as fun as spontaneity is, I love routine.)  So it is Saturday morning again, Mr. Squire is at basketball (after letting me sleep in until 10 AM - GLORIOUS!) and Junior is napping.

And so much happened this week.  SO much.  Sigh.

Let's start with the single mom living with us.  We had a big talk with her last Sunday evening, and--thanks be to God--it went really, really well.  She was pretty receptive to everything we were saying, we set out our goals for her (she's cooking her first dinner tonight!), and generally gave her what I would call tough-but-loving encouragement.  And I think God really gave especially Mr. Squire (who was doing the bulk of the talking) a special patience and love that wasn't nearly as present during our private discussions beforehand.  God heard our prayers :)  So all that's good.

* * *

Then the rest of what happened last week happened... the Voice singer, the Orlando attack, the toddler and the alligator...oh. my. goodness.

We were not directly affected by any of these events, yet they loomed large in our everyday lives.  They weighed on our souls so heavily, and we trudged through the week feeling like we were carrying enormous burdens, but we weren't quite sure why.  Of course, I've been incredibly affected by the attack at work; everything has changed about everything at the office--from what we are doing, to when we are doing it, to who is doing what, and to who is covering for the whos that are doing what, and when.  

But the hardest thing has been just the sheer weight of collective grief in the community and region.  I will note that there has been tremendous comfort and encouragement in seeing the community come together, but there is still this corporate shock and mourning that is still raw and palpable from day to day.  I'm usually the bright and sunny, chipper lets-do-this worker bee at work... but this week, I was just so tired, and each day I thought it was later in the week than it actually was. I seriously thought Tuesday was Thursday--the week just seemed to stretch forever.  And then I slept 11 hours last night.  Because seriously: it was that kind of week.

It's hard to explain this situation to Junior, though I try, because she needs to know and we cannot (nor should we) hide the realities of evil in this world from our child.  I explain to her that there are sometimes people who hurt others in a big way, and sometimes even in the name of God, but that's not who our God is.  When she sees beauty, and order, and harmony, and compassion, and peace, and joy, and community--those are indicative of who our God is.  And when she sees discord, and grudges, and evil acts against others, and fighting, and shaming--those are indicative of the enemy.  And our job is to believe in God, and hope in Him, and reflect the things that show who He is.  (And also know that we all contribute to the evil in this world, and need Jesus to help us.)  It was a good teaching opportunity... but what a horrifically sad occasion to have a teaching opportunity arise.

The thing I've craved most this week is human connection.  Usually I bring my lunch to work and work through lunch so I can get home sooner, and my co-workers have to drag me out to lunch once in a while (or I have to commit to myself that I will go hang out with them). But this week, I found myself trolling the halls, looking for a lunch partner, every single day.  I just wanted to talk to someone, and process everything that was going on, and ... I don't know... feel better.

And then I missed, more than ever, our friends from our heart-home of New York.  I received a few sweet and thoughtful emails over the course of the week, which I appreciated so much.  I was actually surprised at how few people reached out; maybe they thought that because the attack took place in a gay Latino nightclub that we were wholly unaffected.  But the grief is widespread, and I don't know how else to explain it, but when something like this happens so close to home, it's just different.

Anyway, I miss my friends.  I miss my family.  We have a wonderful life here, and it would be perfect, except for the big missing piece of our beloved community.  And we are building community--and have been blessed in that respect--but it's just not quite the same.

Alas.

* * *

Father's Day is tomorrow.  Yay for fathers, and for those of us who have fathers in our lives who are worth celebrating.

I bought a card for Mr. Squire that features a big bear on a bicycle with a little bear in the bicycle basket.  It is so appropriate (SO appropriate!) because he always takes her to and from school on the bike, and she sits in a seat directly in front of him.  Everyone in our neighborhood recognizes the baby in the green helmet on the bike with her daddy.  

And she is, indeed, so so lucky to have Mr. Squire as a dad.  

He changes all her diapers without complaint.  

He makes her laugh when she is sad.  And when she is not sad.

He prepares her lunch, cutting all those mushrooms, beans, strawberries, oranges, and pieces of chicken without fail.  

He packs her lunch, making sure to include 2 cups (milk and water), 2 containers (fruit and lunch), and a half piece of whole wheat bread in her bee bag.  

He plays with her after school for 3 hours each day until Mommy comes home--taking her to the playground, chasing her around the house, helping her perfect the art of lounging, feeding and cajoling her into finishing the remainder of her lunch (while bribing with cheese and goldfish), helping her water Mommy's airplants, etc.

He constantly studies her behavior in an attempt to understand her better.  He knows that when she is not feeling well, she wants to sit in our lap and read "God Bless You and Good Night" (her book from Auntie Cze-Ja).

He cares for her so deeply and lovingly.

He teaches her new things constantly.

He shows love to her mommy.

He's the best daddy ever.  You're welcome, Junior.  Mommy picked a good one.  (Okay, okay -- time to be humble... you're welcome, Junior.  Mommy can't take any credit: God gave BOTH OF US a good one.)

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.  We love you so much.

Reflections, Part II

Well, this rarely happens... when Junior is napping and Mr. Squire is at basketball, and I am awake enough to not want a nap, and... I finally have the physical and mental space to reflect.  Feels nice.  :)

One of the things that we're challenged with is the single mom living with us (without her child).  Yesterday she put us on notice that her aunt in another state (who is caring for the child) told her that she doesn't need to rush in reuniting with the child; she should take the time she needs to restore her own life.

This puts a bit of a wrench in our plans... our plans had been to give her a home to stay in, for free, for 4 months so that she could get her life in order enough (e.g. find a place to live, move in, get things ready) to reunite with her child.  She has a job--a decent-paying one--and no substance-abuse issues, and she's clearly intelligent, so we figured 4 months should be sufficient.  Looks like she'll be with us longer than that.

But we can't have her live with us forever; that's not good for her or for us.  So it leaves us in a bit of quandary as to what to do next.  We never expected to essentially be parenting a teenager at our age (it's as if we had had a kid at 16!).  We (Mr. Squire and I) talked about it at length last night, though, and I think we have a go-forward plan... I just hope/pray that it works out and doesn't blow up in our face somehow.  

Starting next month, we're going to set monthly progressive goals for her that will build on one another (the ones we have in mind are:  wash dishes twice a week, and prepare a meal for the whole family once a week; set a budget for the future; attend a support group; wash dishes twice a week and prepare a meal for the whole family twice a week--and "look for housing options" will be on each month's goal list), and starting in Month 5, we will start charging actual rent that she will not get back (instead, we will subtract out what it costs for her to live with us, then forward the balance to a battered women's shelter or something like that).  

The thing is, if she's not going to reunited with her child, then...I guess the only thing we can really work toward is helping her gain her independence, since she claims that her ex emotionally abused her to the point where she couldn't make any of her own decisions.  So my hope is that by setting these monthly goals for her--and making her continued stay with us contingent on her meeting those goals--we can give her structure and incentive to do the things she needs to do.  I've never really dealt with someone who claimed to have PTSD as a result of emotional abuse, and I told her at the outset that we were here to encourage and support her and give her a safe place to heal and grow, but that we weren't here to be her counselors.

I feel like our role is to give her a bit of tough love and guidance, to teach her and not enable her.  I feel like so many voices in her life are just giving her license to wallow in her misery without a real step forward.  And there is a definite place for grieving and processing and working through that mess (and that's what counseling and support groups are for), but there's also an entire life that needs to be moved on with...and a child who is waiting for her mommy's return.

It's hard to know what is the right thing to do.  It's challenging to balance our sense of "come on, get with it" against our recognition that she needs compassion and mercy.  I'm not quite certain what the point of this exercise is, and we did kind of jump into it headlong without a lot of time to fully weigh the way it might play out.   But I'm sure God will help us figure it out...

Reflections

There's nothing like being sick--and spending more than 36 hours in bed over two days--to get me to stop and reflect.

And be thankful for health, and all the other days that have come and gone, without enough sleep, without enough decompression time, without enough exercise, (probably) without enough nutrition... without issue.

And be thankful that at least my child is healthy again, because seeing her suffer through a fever and a bout of hand-foot-mouth last weekend was awful, and the only consolation was that I was able to be there to hold her in my lap, the only place she wanted to be, all...weekend...long.

And linger a nice while on that thought, of little Junior on my lap.  I love it when she's on my lap.  She loves to climb onto my lap when I'm sitting in a chair.  She loves to plop down on my lap when I'm sitting on the floor.  She loves to walk up to me expectantly and look up at me with those eyes that say, "Pick me up, bosh?"  (Because "bosh" means please in Junior-speak.)  She loves it when Mommy holds her.  It can stop her from crying in a second, it can bring a joyful smile to her face (with an excited kick of her legs), it can make her squeal with delight, it can bring her to her safe and comfy space.  What a privilege to be the arms that hold this little one! I never say no, and I will carry her for an entire afternoon, through Costco, through the gardens, through the Science Center, whatever...because I know the day will soon come when I can carry her no longer.  Or she won't want me to.  These days are precious and limited, and I am enjoying each one.

And sign onto Facebook and consider the brevity of our lives here.  The number of friends, or friends-of-friends, or law school classmates, or family-of-friends who have lost their lives under the age of 35 is astonishing.  A lot of cancer and other health problems.  Mostly, actually.  The occasional freak accident.  All sad.  All reminders to enjoy each moment that we have.

Which...I mostly do.  But I feel the insidious monster of discontent creep in eventually, and it has been visiting me as of late.  Oh, who are your friends here, really?  Who's your bestie at work?  Oh, you don't have one?  You get along with everyone great, but no bestie -- even though nearly everyone else has a bestie, how about youuu?  And no mommy friends?  Well, no close mommy friends?  Well, that's what happens when you're a working mommy...no mommy friends for youuuu...

and on and on.

I could finish, but it's time for my next nap!