The Mystic Mom

21 Days

March 6, 2013March 8, 2019 TheMysticMom2 Comments

By this midpoint of Lent, I hope you’re finding your Lenten journey has been fruitful! It is amazing the things that can be revealed to us, as we sit quietly in the desert of our hearts.

I’ve had a bit of a startling realization myself this morning. Although, to be honest it really shouldn’t be that startling, because it’s almost always the same realization, shown to me in a new way: the realization that I have a real knack for getting in God’s way.

This morning’s realization came to me after finally writing out in my journal exactly what I’d hoped to accomplish when I began this blog last Lent. And when I wrote out those memories of what I’d hoped to achieve, I had to face the reality of what was wrong now.

Here’s what I remember about my reasons for the launching of The Mystic Mom:

1. To share with “the world” (which at that time consisted of my mom, my mother-in-law, and a few friends of mine–Hi, Faithful Readers!), how I “see” God working in my life all the time. Since I felt that the “mud had been wiped from my eyes” after reading several books by and about mystics (in various faiths…not just Christianity) I wanted to share how the Being that I call God really is a very ordinary and real part of our everyday lives.

And that’s it! That was the start and end of my list at that time for starting this blog.

But, here’s where I get in the way. Because as soon as I hit that “publish” button for the first time, a whole new list of thoughts began to form. You know, those sneaky little thoughts that you try not to even entertain, but somehow seep into your being and attach themselves to the other, simpler, intention? Thoughts like:

Maybe someone would tell me how much my writing has changed their life.
Maybe that person will tell some other people and one of those people will be a publisher.
Maybe that publisher will want me to write a book.
Maybe I won’t have an idea for a book, and my one chance for ever writing one will be gone!
On the other hand, maybe I will have an idea for a book and it will be published, but not sell.
Or, maybe that book will be a New York Times best seller!
Maybe I will become famous for that best seller.
Maybe I will have to travel the country promoting my book.
Maybe I’ll have to travel the world!
Who is going to watch my children while I’m traveling the world?
Will my husband be jealous that I’m now traveling the world and the kids are more his responsibility than ever?
Will our marriage survive this jealousy?
What will we do with all the money, too? Will we give it to charity, or hoard it for ourselves and become all focused on riches and wealth and forget all about God?
OK, Reality check. The book will never get written. The world doesn’t need another book. Especially a book by me.
I’ll just blog sometimes. For fun.
Or , when I have something really important to say. And that I know is coming from God.
And also if I have the time to blog. If I don’t have the time that’s OK, too. God will surely understand that. I mean, he blessed me with motherhood three times over. Surely he knows how busy I am!
God probably doesn’t really need me to say anything anyway. He’s got a whole slew of angels to deliver his messages.
Plus, there are lots of better messengers than me. More gifted. More talented. Just…better.
Why am I doing this again?

Do you see what happened there? Over the course of the past year, I’ve drifted away from my original intention of taking my enthusiasm for understanding God through mysticism to “the world” and convinced myself that I should fear failure, and success, and just about everything in between. So the posts have dwindled, the keyboard was broken, and The Mystic Mom was silenced.

And in that silence, God was able to be heard.

So this morning, when I asked God to walk me through this whole process again and show me what it is HE intended (if anything) for me on this whole blogging journey, he very conveniently pointed out how far I’d strayed from my original intention.

Then he very conveniently also pointed out the one thing I’d promised to “give up” this Lent…my excuses.

And I know from experience, that excuses can only be extinguished with actions. If I begin to act, then the excuses disappear. This type of action is called discipline (from the word disciple), and it takes a lot of effort–especially in the beginning–to follow, and trust, and allow yourself to be transformed in the being God intended you to be.

For me, the act of discipline is, in most cases, the same thing as forming new habits. I’ve heard it said that forming a habit takes only 21 days. I hope that’s true. That’s why I’m announcing today that I will now be forming the habit of publishing a blog post every Monday, Wednesday and Friday through the end of Lent. I will also tweet and post some other encouraging words on my Facebook page five days a week.

It’s a start. I don’t promise my posts will be good. And I’ll probably surely fail the schedule at least a few times. But, I promise I’ll get up again, when I do. Also, in the beginning at least, I’ll probably be doing a lot of sharing of other people’s writings and words instead of my own. But it’s the action of writing every day that I need in order to get rid of the excuses.

I learned a long time ago that what the Catholic church calls “sacraments” are really actions, not things. They are actions of God for people. We call them visible signs of invisible grace. They are not “received” by us, so much as they are “celebrated” by us. Because God is always everywhere, so is His grace ever-present. Sacraments are the principal action through which Christ gives his Spirit to Christians and makes us a holy people. We celebrate by affirming, honoring and praising our life in Christ through the sacraments.

With that reminder, I am now keenly aware that my writing…this blog, my journal, (a book?), whatever…is my sacrament.

My only real “job” here is to TAKE the experiences God gives me, BLESS them with a grateful heart, BREAK them into a lesson, and GIVE that lesson to others.

Why would I want to make an excuse for that?

A Technology Fast… I’ll Call Him John

February 18, 2013March 8, 2019 TheMysticMomLeave a comment

For a little over a week now, I’ve been taking what I believe is a Lenten fast from technology.

To be fair, I can still browse using technology without much difficulty. But, this has a bit of a one-way mirror effect for me. I can browse out in Bloggyville and throughout cyberspace, but I’m almost forced to abstain from corresponding with it, or sharing my thoughts. In effect, I’ve been the equivalent of “struck mute” in the technological arena. In other words…I can really only “listen” to you, and can’t really “say” much in reply.

Perhaps, not surprisingly, this fast has NOT been voluntary.

Regrettably, a family member (who shall remain nameless) spilled apple juice on our laptop over a week ago. This resulted in keys that very inconveniently now type two letters at a time (and sometimes even perform random functions!) with the touch of only one key. Were it not for our family Christmas gift of an iPad (or some serious patience with editing, I’d not be able to write you at all).

Ju6st so you6 know what I+’m talki=ng abou6t, I+’ll leave thi=s sentence u6nedi=ted.

See what I mean?

And for added fun, when I try to delete something, I get this: 33333

Currently, we are working on trying to figure out the best way to replace the keyboard. Until we can figure out the most cost-effective cure for us (yes, we are even running the old keyboard through the dishwasher), I am mostly silent in cyberspace. I trust there is a reason for this, though I find it incredibly frustrating to have been rendered “mute” in the season of Lent. I think of Zechariah and his being struck mute until his wife, Elizabeth, gave birth to and named their son John (the Baptist), as God directed.

Right now, I’m not sure what this forced “silence” is trying to tell me, but when I figure it out, I promise I’ll share it with you.

In the meantime, until my technological “voice” is returned to me, I ask that you head on over and visit my good friend, Anne at Making Room for God. She has been kind enough to share her insights and observations with all of us daily as a Lenten Reflection. So, please go on over and visit her, and I’ll be sure to let you know when all my technical difficulties finally cease.

Until then, I promise you all that if I give birth to anything new in the days to come, I’ll share the news.

And, of course, I’ll name the newborn John.

Little Rays of Light

February 6, 2013March 8, 2019 TheMysticMom1 Comment

Every once in a while we moms have a moment where we are caught off-guard and realize that maybe we’ve not done EVERYTHING wrong.

This morning I had one such moment.

Between bustling one kid off to the dentist and dragging another along who woke up with a fever, I felt like this was going to be one of those mornings where I just couldn’t win. But then, after dropping the Middle One at school after his appointment, there I was with my Little Bean in the van when I noticed off in the distance, through our overcast, cloudy, sky a hole in the clouds where a bright ray of sun shone down.

“Look over there, Bean, isn’t that pretty?” I asked.

She looked up. “Wow!,” she said, “It looks like Heaven!”

She read my mind, I thought.

There was a pause.

And then, “I bet it’s Baxter looking down on us from Heaven,” she said with a smile.

“Hmmm. That’s a beautiful thought,” I said, “I bet you’re right. He probably dug a hole through the clouds to peak at us.”

She giggled. “Hi, Baxter! Hi, Jesus!” she shouted from the back seat. She was so happy and matter-of-fact about her greeting–so sure of herself and her faith–that for a moment, I wondered if she might actually see something I didn’t.

But then.

Then, God pressed down on my heart real hard, and said, “Or maybe she just remembers everything you’ve taught her.”

Amen.

“Let the children come to me; do not prevent them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.” – Mark 10:14

The Post I Didn’t Think I’d Have to Write

February 4, 2013March 8, 2019 TheMysticMom6 Comments

This is the post that, two weeks ago, I really didn’t think I’d have to write.

I really thought our miracle dog was going to somehow rise above it all and provide me with some miraculous (and hopefully funny) stories to share with you about the tremendous odds he’d overcome to stay with us.

Instead, two weeks ago today, on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I had to take Baxter yet again to the vet. He was in bad shape this time, having thrown up three times that morning between my getting up at 6:00 AM and the vet’s office opening at 8:00 AM. I was able to get him in at 9:40 AM for another appointment, but he threw up again before we left. He also barely moved. He just laid on our bathroom floor, not complaining, not whining or whimpering, but looking miserable all the same. And, most disturbing to me at that time, weird as it may sound, was the fact that he wasn’t trying to eat his vomit. That’s when you know your dog is just not even able to be a dog. I mean, come on, on their best days a normal dog would eat ANYONE’S vomit, not just their own!

Not wanting to alarm the kids (who were all home for the national holiday), but also wanting them to understand the severity of the situation at hand, I told them that they might want to take some time loving on Baxter and wishing him well before I took him to the vet, because I didn’t think things looked good. They, not surprisingly, grew sad and anxious, and each of them quietly cried at the news. “I could be wrong!” I kept saying, perhaps more for my benefit than theirs, (because I was hoping like crazy I was).

“I want to go with you,” said the oldest.

“To the vet?” I asked. He nodded. I sighed. My real concern at that time was that Baxter’s stomach had somehow twisted in the night and he seemed to me as if he were suffering some of those symptoms. I thought he was either going to need another surgery, or he was going to have to be put down. I was hoping for the former, but bracing for the latter. I wasn’t sure if the kids would really want to be there for that. But then again, I thought, me leaving the house with their dog and coming back without him, wouldn’t exactly be a picnic for them either. Plus, I could remain stronger if they stayed with me.

“OK,” I said.

“Me, too!” piped in the middle one.

“And me!” said the youngest (which is a good thing, because if the other two were going, she wasn’t old enough to stay home by herself anyway, so I’m glad she was able to make the choice).

I let out a long slow, breath, praying for strength, courage and wisdom as we got ready to go.

Trying to keep the mood up, I asked Baxter in my usual peppy voice, “Wanna go for a walk?” to which Baxter dutifully thumped his tail on the tile, but made no move to get up. I showed him the leash. He didn’t even stand. I scooped him up (all 75 lbs.) and walked him down the stairs to the garage. I noted to myself, that while I rarely carried him, he felt heavier than the few times I’d lifted him in the past. Outside, he wouldn’t step into the van either. Normally this was no problem whatsoever, since he was consistently of the mindset, Wherever you go, I go. But this time he just stood there, looking helpless to step up. I lifted him again.

He threw up a fifth time on the way to the vet.

At the vet’s office, Baxter and I had become such regulars that our arrival reminded me of when Norm walked into the bar on the old TV show, Cheers. It was as if the whole team of workers looked up and, at the sight of the dog they couldn’t help but love, let out a warm sunshine chorus of “Hi, Baxter!,” but I could see their faces turn to concern as they took him in this time. They saw what I was seeing: his eyes a bit distant and his gait a little “off.”

They ushered us into a room and when the doctor came in, he tried so hard to be positive. He didn’t want to believe any more than the rest of us, I’m sure, that after all the hard work that had gone into “putting Humpty Dumpty back together again” he would already be falling apart. Baxter was again laying on the floor and wouldn’t stand to greet anyone (which was just unheard of, because a person walking in the room meant a new crotch to sniff, which was the creme de la creme for Baxter). The doctor and his staff looked Bax over asking me questions, checking his eyes, and mouth for signs of dehydration and shock, taking him temperature, etc. Nobody knew for sure what was wrong at that point, but when the doctor pushed on Baxter’s abdomen it made a very disturbing sloshing sound. Like he’d just poked a water bed. And the doctor got real quiet. “I think,” he said, “we need to do another x-ray and see what’s going on in there.”

So, the kids and I said our goodbyes to them and to Baxter, and in a last-minute flourish, I took a bottle of holy water out of my pocket (my intuition led me to grab it before I left the house) and gave Baxter a blessing.

And I’m so glad they went with me… because that was the last time we saw him alive.

It turned out he had internal bleeding, and though they tried their best to repair and correct it, in the end he’d just lost too much blood and his heart gave out.

But, through our taking him to the vet together, I was able to assure the kids of one thing: that Baxter knew we would never leave him until we had to. And for a dog who suffered from severe separation anxiety, we all knew how much that meant to him.

As a family, we’ve spent the last two weeks grieving in our own way. We’re making a scrapbook of Baxter and we have a paw print and a swatch of his hair to remember him by, among other things. His cremains arrived last Wednesday, and we put them on the bottom shelf of the end table in the front office. He spent most of his time on the floor in here at my feet anyway, so it seems fitting.

But we still struggle with the emptiness.

The quiet.

The space that is the *lack of* Baxter.

But, as I continue to work through the many stages of grief (denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and– eventually–acceptance, I’ve read), I’ve held on to one thing through it all: the outpouring of kindness, understanding, support and love from those people who know and love us and who knew and loved Baxter.

He was a DOG, I keep thinking. Not a PERSON–like a grandparent, or parent, or (God forbid) a child. But still, a part of our family all the same. And so many of you know that that means a part of my heart that I didn’t even know was there until I had a dog, is now experiencing a loss.

And I hold tight to your words and your kindness as time marches on. Each day is a bit better, the quiet a bit more peaceful, the emptiness a bit more bearable, all because of YOU.

Thanks so much to the doctors and staff who did their best to save him. Your efforts were heroic and your love and concern for Baxter were clearly visible. We have no regrets entrusting him to your care.
Thanks so much to ALL the dog lovers whom I’ve come to know through Baxter, the trainers, the behaviorists, the kennel workers, the pet store staff, and my circle of friends–old and new–who have cried with me, sent a card or enote, left me a message or lent me their ear to bend for awhile with my stories, or lent me their shoulder to cry on (or both).
Thanks to my family for understanding that Baxter was so much more to me than “my first dog.” He was a childhood dream realized, he was a reflection of “my own soul with fur,” my trusted spiritual advisor, and my loving and faithful confidant–even though, from time to time, even I would refer to him as “the damn dog.”
Special thanks to my brother for turning one of my favorite pictures of Baxter into the beautiful and loving memorial above.
And, finally, thanks to Agape Pet Services for their understanding of our loss, and their loving care of Baxter’s remains. I am perhaps most grateful for the words they found in Scripture that I have always believed to be true, but have found most comforting all the same:

“…in His hand is the soul of every living thing…” Job 12:10

Because, now, it is only through the power of His loving hand that my soul is able to know and feel Baxter still.

LOVE IN ACTION and THE FAMILY DOG

January 16, 2013March 8, 2019 TheMysticMom17 Comments

It’s important to me that you understand something. When I embraced SIMPLIFY as my theme for 2013, it wasn’t my intention to never blog again. That would be OVERsimplifying, which I almost never do. In fact, I had intentions to blog at least every Monday, and then add a second day to each week next month.

The thing is (as is often the case), Life had other plans for me.

So, in my case, instead of blogging, Life has kept me preoccupied by playing nurse to my golden retriever. In an attempt to keep the story SIMPLE, let me just outline for you the past two and a half weeks of my life:

Left Dog in kennel for vacation.
In an attempt to escape and find us, Dog tried to secretly eat his way out of the kennel, but told no one.
We returned from vacation and brought Dog home.
Dog was happy, but had trouble sleeping and seemed unable to relax. Since, in our presence, Dog can easily be confused with a throw rug until you say the words, “walk” or “yum-yums,” this had us concerned.
Dog went to vet and was treated for acid reflux.
Dog slept like a baby that night, and we breathed a sigh of relief.
Symptoms returned for Dog the next day and we took him back to the vet.
Dog was given a special “cocktail” to soothe his stomach and “clear things out.”
Dog slept like a baby, but refused to eat the next morning.
Dog went back to vet to undergo x-ray.
X-ray revealed a mystery item in stomach that would not move.
Dog had surgery to remove the “largest mass of foreign body” our vet has ever seen in his 20+ years of vet medicine. They saved a “small fraction” of it for all of us to enjoy (it’s a gallon-sized bag, just so you know):

We feel Dog deserves a plaque like on Man vs. Food that announces “Food Won” (or in this case, “Foreign Body Won”), but I guess the vet thought we were joking because no such plaque has yet been presented to Dog.
Dog seemed much better.
The next day Dog got worse again.
Dog has been at the vet two of the past three days and was treated for gas and other things.
As a result of trying to guess what all may be wrong with him, I get to give him all these meds at least twice each day. On a good day he’ll take them wrapped in the cheese slices, but he hasn’t had a good day yet this week:

To date Dog is still eating very little and/or refusing to eat altogether.

So, I’m at that scary place right now where I don’t know how the story will end. And so I don’t want to write, because it’s difficult to write when you’re in the middle of something scary and painful.

But that’s kind of why I realized I had to write. Because I want you to show you how my mystic mind has learned to deal with scary, painful times.

Here’s a punch list of how I’ve been dealing with this:

I write down the things I’m grateful for every day. It can be as simple as “The dog pooped!” and as deeply sad as, “I am so grateful that if I have to experience a loved one suffering it is my dog suffering and not my children, husband or other human loved one.”
I lower my expectations for the day. I don’t expect the world to understand how much my dog means to me. But I know our story. I know how much he means, and so I know I need to hold myself more gently right now. I’ve cleared my schedule so that if I need to stay busy, I get busy with housework, and if I need to lay low and watch TV for a bit while the dog walks around backwards into things (which he’s been doing a lot), then I can watch him and use the TV as a distraction.
I stay focused on what matters. This is, for me, at least, much harder than it sounds. I get distracted so easily with thoughts of “what if’s” and “then what’s” that I tend to miss the big picture of what these series of events will mean in my WHOLE life. Yes, it’s hard to watch my dog in pain. And yes, it is EXPENSIVE. Yes, it’s hard to think of having to let him go (if it comes to that). Yes, it would be sad…BUT…Yes, my kids are healthy. Yes, my husband is still gainfully employed so we can pay those bills. Yes, when you can fix a problem with money it’s really not the biggest problem you’ll ever have. Yes, in spite of however this ends, I am still so happy and grateful and better for having known my dog that I would do it all over again– even if the end of our relationship comes much sooner than I’d expected.
I (force myself to) practice what I preach. I’ve embraced a new mantra, and when I do that, I know from experience that Life has a way of testing me on it. My new mantra has been this: THERE IS NO BLAME. And these are the words on which I’ve tried to focus this whole episode. The people who supervised my dog at the kennel where he ate the stuff? They are not to blame. The doctors who didn’t have x-ray vision and know that my dog ate something? They are not to blame. The dog who should just KNOW BY NOW how to be calm in our absence? He is not to blame. And that leaves me with the one person left I like to blame the most for things going wrong: Me. The old habits are hard to break: I should have known….I should have said…I should have told them…I should have been more diligent…. But if I go down that road, I’m not helping anyone. Not the doctors, not the kennel workers , not my kids and husband who are just as concerned and hurting as I am watching our family pet suffer, not my friends and family who have called to check on his progress through this seemingly endless journey, and– most especially–not the dog.

In the meantime, I’m waiting and watching and praying. These acts are the silent language of LOVE IN ACTION that my dog understands. And whether these past few days end up being but a bump in the road of an otherwise long, enjoyable life with him, or they end up being his *gulp* dying days, it is most important to me that he see his life lesson has not gone unnoticed, that his message for me has been received, that his purpose for being has transformed me.

And I feel the Spirit within smiling and nodding and bringing me peace with this SIMPLE revelation: Through the ages, few earthly beings have been more consistent about the message of LOVE IN ACTION than the family dog.

Closing thought: If you have a family dog that you love and have learned some of life’s SIMPLER lessons from, feel free to post his/her name (or names if you have more than one) in the comments section below. I will know through that SIMPLE act, that you are joining your hearts with ours in prayer for a speedy recovery for our beloved Baxter.

xx oo

Lisa

2013: Simplify

January 7, 2013March 8, 2019 TheMysticMom1 Comment

Happy New Year!

It’s obviously been awhile since I’ve posted. And the problem with not writing for a while is the same problem as anything else you like to do that is good for you, but is also lots of work: the longer you stay away from it, the more difficult it is to start up again.

But, I’ll tell you this much. I had a great time while I wasn’t writing.

I had a very relaxing Christmas with my family. We took a road trip to Florida and hung out and did all kinds of fun stuff while we were there. All our worries, and troubles were left behind.

All too soon, of course, I found myself back wading through waist-high piles of laundry, and sorting through endless emails and junk mail. Hard as I tried to stay in the frame of mind from that vacation, it didn’t take long to feel overwhelmed by life’s chores and duties. There was a scene from Finding Nemo that kept playing through my mind. (Probably because we played it in the car about four different times in both of our 17 hour drives). You know the scene where Marlin and Dory are all caught up in the peaceful feeling of staring at the phosphorescence emitted from the angler fish that’s luring them closer, until finally Marlin notices (almost too late) that the light that’s making them feel so good is coming from a fish that is about to devour them and he says, “Good feeling gone!”?

Yep. That’s about how I felt: good feeling gone.

I was back to making list after list of chores that needed to be finished. Volunteer work that needed to be completed. Kids appointments and activity arrangements. Errands that needed to be done. Odds and ends that needed to be completed around the house, and of course, the then looming task of coming up with some resolutions for the New Year.

Buried under all these lists and plans, I thought back to the last day of our trip. On that day, we were going to spend the day at Busch Gardens in Tampa and I was determined to plan and plot out the day, so we could get all the things we (mostly me) wanted to see and do crossed off the TO DO list before we had to return home. So I was marking maps and taking surveys from the family wanting to know everybody’s TOP 3 THINGS THEY WANT TO SEE AND DO AT BUSCH GARDENS. And I tried to plan them out. Then, I panicked with the realization that there were eight of us on this trip and that would result in 24 things to see and do in one day with a wide area of interests since we ranged in age from 7 – 66. So, I went back to the drawing board, and re-surveyed everybody asking them OF THEIR TOP THREE THINGS THEY WANTED TO SEE AND DO AT BUSCH GARDENS WHAT IS THEIR NUMBER 1?

That was better. It narrowed our list to only 8 things to HAVE to do, which felt much more doable. Then, I only needed to plan out lunch times, and locations, times of some of the things that were scheduled events people wanted to see/do, etc.

Even in that moment I could feel myself beginning to go a little crazy with the need to control and plan and plot our move down to every last detail, but it will all be worth it, I told myself.

That’s when my brother, who is every bit as prone to nervousness and worry about controlling time as a Zen monk in deep meditation, piped up and said, “How about we not plan anything and just go to the park and see what happens?”

I looked at him confused.

What was he suggesting, exactly? That we just show up haphazard and leave a day at an amusement park to chance?

I thought about it a bit. If we did that, it would certainly mean I could just “stand down” the rest of that evening. I wouldn’t have to do anything else but go to bed, wake up the next morning and head out the door to the park. (Well, I am a mother of three, so it’s not quite THAT easy, but you know what I mean). It was certainly a different approach than anything I was used to.

So (with some reluctance) I agreed and that’s what we did. Left our day to chance.

And you know what? We ended up getting into a really short line for a big roller coaster, and we saw an animal theater show that hadn’t made it onto ANY of our LISTS OF THINGS TO DO AND SEE, but we all agreed afterwards it was a highlight of the whole day. We also ended up walking past a BBQ chicken stand right as it opened, so we were at the front of the line that quickly grew longer behind us.

Whaddya know? I had to ask myself at the end of that day, maybe NOT planning isn’t such a bad thing after all.

But still, I thought as I starting organizing and listing all the things that I was resolving I would do and get right this year, that was vacation. REAL LIFE doesn’t work that way. If you want to change, you need to plan.

Clearly, I hadn’t yet learned the breadth of the genius lifestyle my brother has always known.

Suddenly as I began listing improvements in the sixth area of my life (yes, six areas, one per page with 12 points to work on in each area, one for each month…makes sense, right? :)) that I was resolving to improve in the coming year, I realized I was growing so tired from the list, I was pretty sure I’d not even have the energy to ring in a New Year let alone make changes in one. Overwhelmed yet again, my brother’s words came back to me. “How about we just show up and see what happens?”

But this isn’t a vacation, I thought. This is LIFE. There’s a difference.

Then I thought of my brother, who, in the best possible way has made his entire LIFE a vacation.

That’s when I realized that maybe vacation isn’t really a trip you take to get away from everything, but rather, a state of mind.

I know I’m still a long way from being able to approach life with the same kind of open-ended questions as my brother, but I can make an effort to try it out more often. And around the same time I was thinking that, is when this little word popped into my head:

SIMPLIFY

And I began to think, what if I only made ONE resolution for this year…and it was this word ? Could it work? Would I get results?

I have no idea. But, I’m sure if I asked my brother he’d say, “Let’s find out.”

So, I am.

And with that, I give you my entire list of resolutions for 2013: Simplify.

I hope you’ll join me!

I May Be the Only One

December 13, 2012March 8, 2019 TheMysticMomLeave a comment

I’m probably the only one who experiences Advent this way, so don’t feel like you need to read on today.

Because it’s probably just me.

I feel like I am the only one, at least.

The only one who, despite all my God-and-Jesus loving talk the rest of the year, finds myself year after year during Advent in a very dark place. All the JOY of the season that I want to feel, all the LOVE and PEACE and CALM that I pray for everyone else? I can’t find it myself. I barely even know how. I can’t seem to string two words together to complete a thought, let alone find LOVE and PEACE and JOY and CALM this time of year.

And every year I wish it were different.

Until the darkness envelopes me so much that I’m blind to everything. Left straining to see.

And eventually I do, if I squint real hard, I begin to see.

Those little bits of light that shine in even the deepest darkness.

The first glimmer of light was in the sound of my son’s trumpet at his jazz band concert this week. And in the voices of the choir at his school as they joined together in song for the season. JOYful music is contagious. My heart was dancing inside me as I returned home that night, content–even if only momentarily– for the first time in weeks.

There were bits of light in the very dog hair that I’d been cursing the past few months (because it’s EVERYWHERE), when I happened to look at the calendar and see that we brought our dog home for the first time–“rescued” him from eight months of not belonging anywhere –this same week last year, and how he didn’t have any hair to lose then, because the stress of having “no room at an inn” must have really gotten to him. Now, a year later, he is every bit the beautiful and hairy Golden Retriever he was meant to be. Suddenly I found myself weeping with LOVE for this hairy dog that somehow misunderstood the whole “rescue” thing… because in the end the one who feels rescued is me.

There were bits of light in the hustle and bustle of this whole season as I went to the post office today, dropping a bunch of packages right before the lunch hour of our tiny little post office, only to find the post office worker in no hurry to break for his lunch, but instead taking his time to care for my packages and make sure I had everything I needed. Did I want insurance? Did I want priority service? Which Christmas stamps did I want? Suddenly I felt his CALM and I wondered why in the world I’m running around like a lunatic when this time of year his job must be pretty stressful. If he could take it in stride, then I might be able to, also.

And then, a hint that maybe I was finally beginning to understand. It may have been a “sign” if that’s how you like to say it…there were even bits of light in the black sky last night as I walked with my dog. Even though it was still early evening, it felt like bedtime the sky was so black. Until I noticed the shimmering stars in the crisp night air. And suddenly, I thought of the Wise Men, and how they trusted those little bits of light to lead them to their King.

And I realized that maybe the way I have been experiencing Advent once again this year isn’t really all that “wrong.”

Would I like to be more organized? More giving? More cheerful? More loving?

You bet I would.

But it’s quite possible that if I were so busy being all those things, I’d miss the Truth of where the Light comes from.

Suddenly, I realized the only thing really “required” of me this season is to trust in the darkness, and cherish the bits of light I see.

And it’s only in realizing this, that I am just now–finally– able to usher in a sense of PEACE.

A JOYful “To Do” List

December 3, 2012March 8, 2019 TheMysticMomLeave a comment

It’s been a looong time coming, but I finally did it.

I took the day off.

As a housewife, some people may think that that’s all I ever do– have “days off.” And that’s fine for them to think, but I know it’s not my reality. Before I became a housewife, I may have even thought that myself. Instead, what’s been my reality in my 12 1/2 years as a housewife, is that since my “work” is my life and my life is my “work,” when I’m doing nothing, I feel guilty (even all weekend long), and when I’m doing something, I can only think about all the other things I still need to do. Sure, I’ve spent many days getting nothing done. And I’ve had many “off” days where things just didn’t go right. What I’ve never done, ever before, is picked a day that would otherwise be a “work day” and just taken the day off. You know what that requires? It requires permission from yourself. And that can be a challenge. Especially when the laundry is mounting, the Christmas shopping has only a dent in it, and (in my case this year) there is a trip to plan.

Today, I decided it didn’t matter. In fact, I kind of had to decide it, or very quickly I think LIFE would have decided it for me, by making me sick. You see, I was already feeling run-down, stressed out, ragged, exhausted, and overwhelmed.

All last week, I didn’t post here on my blog one time (you may have noticed), because I had the worst writer’s block I’ve ever had. And THAT was stressing me out, too.

So last night, I went to bed with the intention that after a good night’s sleep, I would wake up revitalized today and start knocking things of my very long and very demanding “To Do” list.

But guess what? I didn’t get a good night’s sleep. I had a terrible night’s sleep.

I woke up at 2:30 in the morning and NEVER got back to sleep. I could have slept in, but I had so much “To Do”, that I didn’t think sleeping in was possible. So, at 6:30 AM, I did what I always do and spent some time reading Scripture and meditating. At 7:30 AM, once I got the first child off to school, I decided to do what I normally do, and I did a quick workout. I knew if I was going to have any energy today, it would only come from taking care of myself. Then I got myself showered and ready, got the other kids off to school and walked the dog. After that, I normally start the “To Do” list of the day and I don’t stop again until the kids get back home, which usually involves more stuff “To Do,” just with others involved.

Not today. Today, I decided when I got home from walking the dog, that everything I’d done up until then was really all I could “Do” on so little sleep. So I gave myself permission to sit, watch TV (very life-affirming TV, I might add, as I had DVR’d “Super Soul Sunday” on OWN, The Oprah Winfrey Network, yesterday) and I sat down and watched hours…literally hours…of uplifting stories of faith, spirituality and healing.

Then I wrote in my journal for a bit, did a little more meditation, and took a nap.

I woke up just in time for my kids to get home from school. And you know what? Aside from their homework, I’m going to give them a day off, too. No chores for anybody tonight. No need to race and rush and struggle to “get it all done” for tomorrow. No harping and nagging to put this away, do this, do that.

I spent all last week desperately hoping and praying to channel some brilliant message from God (as if I can control that), to share with you this week, and it just didn’t happen.

So I knew something had to change.

What changed was that, after a “day off,” I realized I needed to actively put into practice the message and lesson I’ve been learning (and re-learning) all year: love yourself.

And you know what? About the time the kids got home from school, I realized that in taking a day off, I’d succeeded in completing the very form of “loving myself” that was needed. It felt good!

So good, in fact, that I feel I am better equipped now to handle all that this season demands of us…both the” inner” work required of the religious season of Advent, and the “outer” work of the secular world and all it’s hustle and bustle. I feel more clear of mind and more loving of heart than I have since the first signs of Christmas appeared in the stores before Halloween. For the first time in awhile, in fact, I feel like I’m in the rightful spot of giving from love and receiving love as it comes my way.

And that’s when I realized that God’s message doesn’t change for this season. We change. We look inward. We wait and watch. But the message is as old as time: love Jesus, Others, Yourself. Do this and you will know JOY for this– and every– season.

It’s a simple message, but I sure do try to make it complicated.

Not today, though.

Today, after giving myself permission to do nothing else, it was the only thing left that was still acceptable “To Do.”

Impossibly Grateful

November 21, 2012March 8, 2019 TheMysticMom2 Comments

One of the down sides of having something you perceive to be “impossible” happen for you at a young age, is that it becomes pretty easy to believe that “impossible” things will become possible for you just because you write them down and want them to happen.

I think for years I believed (still do sometimes, when I forget that I know better) if I just wanted something enough, willed it into my life, it would happen. Then, when those things did happen, not knowing any better, I’d call it “karma” or “dumb luck” or a “blessing.” And as long as life continued on, more or less as I planned for myself, than it was easy for me to continue believing that way.

The problem came, though, when suddenly life was not going according to my plan. People I loved died for no reason, friends turned on me, distance came between me and the ones I loved. What was I to make of my “dumb luck”, then? Was this what I’d willed for myself somehow? And, if so, how could I will it away?

Very often, for most of us, it is in these more desperate hours that we turn to God. What do I have to lose?, we reason. And so we try our hand at prayer. We hope that the Being we are praying to somehow picks up on our invisible “smoke signals” of desperation and makes things right for us. But until then, we have to live with the unknown. Which can feel a lot like suffering.

But then eventually, somehow, in a way we can’t explain, things do get better for us. Easier somehow. Is it time that has healed our hurts? we wonder. Is it maturity? Wisdom? We don’t really know, but life is suddenly good again, so we do not question. We simply pick up the pieces and move on. Hoping for the best, once again. Perhaps a little more cautious now, but moving forward all the same.

And that’s a shame.

Not that we move forward, or that we remain hopeful, but that we Do. Not. Question.

On a spiritual level, if we do not begin to question our own thinking at some point, especially when life is “good,” then it becomes really easy to say that either God does not matter at all because he has no part in anything we do, or contrarily, that when we make “good” choices God “rewards” us for them, and when we make “bad” God “punishes” us for those.

Because I’d been brought up a “believer,” I never really considered not “believing. ” Instead, my belief system for years was more that of “reward and punishment.” I was especially mindful of it in college and my early adult years. I’d go to church to “earn God’s favor,” and I’d find life looking up for me. Then I’d get cocky or bored or self-righteous, stop going to church for a while (which for me was virtually the only time I would pray), and eventually find myself struggling again. The problem with this kind of thinking is that this makes God moody and vindictive. A God who wants for us what is good, only when we ourselves have earned that goodness. A God who then punishes us unless and until we can figure out where we went wrong. This is very often the God we are introduced to as children in nearly any Old Testament story: God creates the world and it is good. Woman (and man) makes a wrong choice, therefore they are punished. They begin to make better choices, life gets better. The world they populate continues to make bad choices, so God sends a flood to wipe the earth clean. It goes on and on.

Hopefully all of us at some point, reach a time in our lives when we are forced to ask, Is this really the God I believe in? One who gets great joy out of watching me walk through a minefield of missteps and explosions only applauding me when I’ve avoided the mine? And if we don’t ask different questions, force ourselves to see a bigger picture–ask God to show us a bigger picture– we can all too easily think this is how we are meant to live. As if God is some sort of Master Programmer who insists on making us guess the rules of the game. The problem here is that, if we don’t question Who it is we believe in, we might easily end up believing in a God whose love we must earn, and we forget entirely about the God who from the very beginning “looked at everything he had made, and he found it very good.” (Gen 1:31)

For me, it wasn’t until I became a parent myself that I finally began to ask the bigger questions. Suddenly, I had to take into account what I would teach my children about God. And I had to take into account how I felt about my children, and weigh that against what I believed God felt about me — one of His children. This helped me grow a bit and see that while, yes, I do punish my children from time to time for making bad choices, I also –most of the time, in fact–am simply content to let them be, discover, learn and grow on their own. They do not have to earn my love. Ever. Because, as the famous movie line goes, “They had me at hello.” And if I, in my fallen human state, can feel this kind of love for my children, I reasoned, then how much greater must God’s love be for me? For us all?

The journey becomes easier then, when we change to that mindset. Suddenly, from this perspective we realize that the question is not “What did I do to deserve this suffering?,” but rather, “Have I ever done anything to deserve any part of my life–good or the bad?”

And the seed of gratitude is planted.

Gratitude is often the “cure” for just about anything that ails us. In a state of gratitude, I am reminded that nothing is promised me. Not wealth. Not fortune. Not fame. Not motherhood. Not marriage. Not success. Not recognition. Not power. Not wisdom. Not even My. Next. Breath.

It’s all a gift. Freely given.

From the vantage point of gratitude, I can see that while I’m disappointed because I’m not getting what I want right now, at the same time, I can see all the things I’ve been given up until now that I also didn’t deserve.

For me this makes God a much more lovable Being. A Being worth believing in. Someone with whom I really wouldn’t mind spending all of eternity.

That is the pilgrim’s journey that I am celebrating this holiday.

It is the best and only way I know to honestly “give thanks.”

Doing the Impossible

November 19, 2012March 8, 2019 TheMysticMom1 Comment

The greatest danger for most of us is not that our aim is too high and we miss, but that it is too low and we reach it. –Michelangelo

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I may be settling for less than my full potential. When I’m feeling this way, I spend some time writing down some things that I would love to be able to say I’ve done, but that I really don’t think are within my grasp of doing before I die.

I’ve been doing this since I was in high school. At that time, I was invited to a youth leadership conference at one of my home state’s three major universities. I was 17 years old, and one of the motivational speakers at the conference challenged us to write 100 things that we would like to do before we died. Today such lists have grown in popularity and have been dubbed “bucket lists,” because they are things you’d like to do before you “kick the bucket.” But back in 1990, this was the first time I’d heard of such a thing. I was hooked!

I went home and made my list.

Now, crazy as it may sound, one of the things that I really wanted to do at the age of 17 was fly an airplane. No doubt this was in large part due to having just seen The Navy’s astonishing and very impressive Blue Angels that summer at our local air show. The thundering of the engines, the deafening roar of the jets, the formations and aerobatics were spectacular and made an impression on me. So, it was a no- brainer, of course. And we’d been told to put anything on there, no matter how crazy and ridiculous it sounded. I had no desire, mind you to get a pilot’s license, but I also had no intention of just flying as a passenger either. How will I ever be able to fly an airplane, with nothing more than an expectation? I wondered. I had a pretty good idea that this would be one of those dreams I would probably eventually outgrow before I’d had a chance to do it, but I was willing to see what the world might offer me.

Fast forward a few months when I started dating a long-time friend (who is now my husband, I might add). I was fascinated to learn one day that one of his 4 brothers was a flight instructor at the time, at a nearby university. I can’t even recall anymore how the rest of the story came to be…did my husband tell his brother I wanted to fly a plane? Were we just bored one afternoon and decided to go flying? The details of how we made a decision to fly around for the afternoon escape me now. What I do remember is that we pulled into the small airfield where his brother worked and I thought my (future) husband and sister-in-law and I were all going to be passengers in the little four passenger Cessna, but as we climbed in, his brother said to me, “Did you want to be the pilot today?”

“WHAT??!?!?! How is that even possible?” I asked, dumbfounded (and slightly giddy).

“This is an instructor plane,” he informed me. “We both have all the same instrument controls, so I can override any mistakes you might make,” he said. “Except the brakes. I don’t have brakes, ” he said.

Aren’t those kind of important? I thought, but I didn’t dare ask out loud. Instead, before I could change my mind, blink, or most worrisome of all–wet myself –I was sitting in the pilot’s seat ready for takeoff.

“Clear prop!” I bellowed out the window. To which all three passengers on board with me laughed as there was no one around but maybe a stray cow or two. Still…it was part of protocol on the checklist my brother-in-law had shown me . (There was just no need to say it so LOUD, he informed me later.) Next thing I knew we were taxing down the runway, reading the gauges, pulling back the wheel and in the air!

Whew! We made it! Now what? I wondered. We circled around in the air for a half hour or so, taking in the views of the Mississippi River as it bent its way around the river town of Dubuque, Iowa. As our air time was nearing its end, my brother-in-law radioed the tower for something called a “touch-and-go.” This meant, he informed me, that we would be touching down on the landing strip, accelerating, and taking off again. As we touched down, I pulled back on the wheel, accelerated and before I knew it, we had left the ground again, all under the control my own two hands! In case there was any doubt later in the minds of our two other passengers, my brother-in-law grinned at me and turned back to look at them with his hands in the air to indicate I had just landed and taken off in the airplane– all on my own!

Though we’d landed safely shortly after our “touch-and-go,” I didn’t come down off the proverbial “Cloud 9” for probably another week or two. I could hardly believe that one of the FIRST things I’d been able to cross of my “bucket list” was one of the seemingly most impossible things! This left me both thrilled and somewhat disappointed. On the one hand, if I was able to cross this item off my list–an item that had seemed laughingly impossible–then what other seemingly impossible things might I be able to accomplish in my lifetime? On the other hand, to have something so seemingly impossible come to fruition so easily made me wonder for a moment, did this mean I was going to die soon? And, if so, it was disappointingly obvious that this single event, though thrilling, was hardly enough to leave me satisfied leaving this earth for an early grave.

Then I remembered something the presenter had told us when he challenged us to write the lists. He said to never stop updating them. So after a few days’ time, I wrote a new dream in it’s place: Fly with the Blue Angels.

Of course, when I first wrote down these desires at the age of 17, God and His plans for me was not near as much a part of my daily life as it is now. Still, I can’t help but think now that God was sending me a very powerful message at that time, and His Spirit is reminding me of that message in the memory of it all: anything is possible. Don’t settle.

Now that I’m older, I still have the list. I’ve realized an added benefit to it, too, as the years tick by: the more things I write down, the more I force myself to realize what I really want out of my life instead of what others may want me to do. Plus, I have the added benefit of an ongoing relationship with God now, which of course means that I now know with even greater faith and understanding that “all things are possible.” Mt 19:26

It’s been years since I wrote down that desire to fly with the Blue Angels, and it still sits untouched on my list. Now, as an almost 40-year-old mother of three with no connections to the military it seems all but impossible I’ll ever get that chance. In fact, a few years ago, my husband worked with someone who had been a mechanic on an aircraft carrier for the F/A-18’s, (the same model as the Blue Angels) and told him I had dreams of flying with the Blue Angels one day. My husband then asked him what the “odds” were of me ever being able to fly with the Blue Angels. His co-worker told him my chances were “pretty much impossible.” My husband came home and shared this little insight with me. “You may just want to cross that one off your list,” he said.

While I realize that he’s right–my chances really are almost impossible–the thought of taking that dream off the list makes me feel as though I’d be letting myself down. What it stands for means so much more to me than actually getting the chance to do it. That’s when I realized that I hope to never stop coming up with things for my list because the more I see some of the seemingly impossible goals get reached, the more I stretch myself to go further. I shook my head at my husband and flashed him a grin. “Nope.” I told him, “Not a chance. I’ve done impossible things before. It’s staying on the list.”

And I can’t help but wonder if that’s exactly the kind of “impossible” thinking God was hoping to spark within me all those years ago.