Darkness and Light

So, I need to confess something: I put my Christmas decorations up without fully cleaning my house first.

Truthfully, I do this most years. I know, I know. There are some of you who will judge me for that. But I imagine there are others of you who share this secret with me.

I wish I was the kind of housekeeper that my Mawmaw was. Her house was always so clean that I would feel 100% safe eating off of any surface, including her floor. The few Christmas decorations that I remember her using were always classy and immaculate - and so was everything around it. My decorations are beautiful, but if you look closely enough, you will see dust nearby.

Less than perfect housekeeping aside, the dust and the Christmas sparkles together say something to me. They reveal something of the imperfections of this season. We put on a really good show this time of year. We decorate our house and yard. We look for meaningful gifts. We cook and prepare meals and treats. We do all the things in the name of a perfectly joyous Christmas season.

But the harder truth is what we cover up. In the twinkling lights and merry-making, we fail to admit our painful places. Like the dust around my decorations, there is pain behind my picture-perfect Christmas.

The holiday season is hard for me, and I know I am not alone. It is hard for many - even more this year after the devastation and loss that 2020 has brought.

The first Christmas after being widowed, my pain was visceral and raw, and it was all I could feel. In each holiday season since our loss, there has been pain and sadness present among the celebrations. Even 4 Christmas seasons in, this time of year is still laced with pangs of regret and sadness and loss. But the pain doesn’t always hijack our story anymore.

Here is the thing - both joy and pain exist in this season. Loneliness, sadness, loss - they all hang out in the same places that lights are hung and carols are playing. Some of us cover it up better. Some years are less painful. But the pain is still there even if it only shows up in the dark hours of the night.

I think we do ourselves a disservice when we pretend that the holidays are only about joy and magic. The twinkly lights are just as beautiful in years when they are hung with tears in our eyes. Maybe they are most beautiful in those years. They are a reminder that hope creeps in even in the darkest times.

Dust and decorations exist together. Darkness and Light coexist in the same spaces. All of it is part of the human experience - the sadness and joy, the pain and the hope.

The thing is - we don’t have to pretend that life is perfect, that the jolly Christmas tree is the only part of the story. We can share our vulnerable places with one another. It is a risk. It feels scary as hell. But I am learning that the risk is worth it. We can only be truly seen when we share both the light and dark parts of ourselves.

I am learning to hope in the darkness. I am ready to risk sharing my painful places along with the happy ones. I am recognizing that tears and laughter can have equal value and beauty. I don’t have to be perfect or happy all the time or pretend that the sadness doesn’t exist.

Now, maybe you could remind me of this next time I forget.

Perspectives, part 2

This is a hard one for me. I am about to share publicly that I absolutely DO NOT HAVE IT ALL TOGETHER.

So let me tell you a story. Once upon a time (last week), I shared a beautiful narrative of an adventure I had while hiking, and how I recognized the importance of enjoying the journey we are on. That is all still true. But there is a second chapter to the story - one that is more painful and vulnerable to share.

So, a few days after I wrote Perpectives, I took the boys on a hike in Oak Mountain. It was Cole’s birthday week, and I wanted to see the autumn leaves during their peak. So off we went to the Peavine Falls trail. I had researched and knew the falls were accessible from a specific parking lot. As we drove, the views were absolutely spectacular! We took a ton of pictures and exclaimed that the drive alone was worth it.

Once we parked, we glanced at the trail map and took off. I had waterfall fever, and I knew this was going to be amazing. The early parts of the trail were easy, and the woods were an autumnal wonderland.

Soon though, the trail became more difficult, and I took a fall on some rocks.

I have a couple of autoimmune diseases that involve my joints. I had a stroke in 2016 that affected my visual field, which in turn affects my balance and depth perception. I deal with these things daily. But here is the thing: I am very stubborn and I hate admitting my weaknesses. So we kept going, despite the boys suggesting that we might should turn back. I desperately wanted to see that waterfall.

The trail got steeper and more difficult, but I was determined. Shaking from the adrenaline of the fall, and battling my joints and vision challenges, we climbed for another half hour.

Then, stepping over a rocky place, my foot got caught and I fell again. This time I was lucky I didn’t break my ankle.

We had to turn back, and the tears came as I cursed my body for its weaknesses. The hike back was long and painful; I didn’t make it to the waterfall; and I really wanted to just sit down and cry.

During that long walk back, I thought back to the post I had written.

My first inclination was to criticize myself - my physical limitations, my stubborn need to push myself to my breaking point, my refusal to back down, and the way I turn to shame when I fail. It is all a part of who I am.

But so is courage and resilience and hope.

I spent a lot of my life pretending to have to all together, only showing the world a made-up picture of myself and my life. I’ve been afraid that if people see my weaknesses and failures, I will be abandoned and unloved.

But the people I admire most are not perfect. They try and fail. They are honest about their struggles. And I admire them even more because they aren’t perfect. I can relate to not-perfect.

So here I am - bruised & battered, having to rest more than I want because I pushed myself too hard.

Here I am - risking vulnerability and being seen.

I don’t have it all together, and that’s ok. You can like me, or not.

I would rather risk rejection than offer you a fake perfection. I’d rather be seen and loved as I am.

And I know there are people who love me with all of my failures and weaknesses and quirks and aggravations. And that is enough. I am enough.

Oh, and as we were hobbling out of the Peavine Falls Trail, I saw this sign:

Perspectives

A few weeks ago, the boys and I went hiking at Noccolula Falls. It was somewhere I have been intending to take them for a while. And, I’ll be honest, I was desperate to see a waterfall and get up close to it. I really wanted to get one of those cool photos from behind the falls. Because…. you know, the backside of water.

We left our house early, got there before the crowds, and headed for the trails. I had done my research and knew there was a trail that went down into the gorge and allowed access to get up close and personal with the falls. I couldn’t wait. The recent rain made the falls wild and full and powerful, and I was so excited.

As we started down the main trail, we found the access point to the “secret” back-side-of-water path. But what we found was less of a path and more of a rock face that needed rappelling equipment. It was a LONG way down y’all!

I can get really excited and pretty stubborn about chasing adventures. I don’t want to miss out on anything, and I have been known to get pretty feisty about it all. I struggle against the limitations of the diseases my body fights. Sometimes, in the moment of my adventuring spirit, I try things that are really not very safe. But on this day, even I knew this was beyond me. I was not up to scrambling down slippery rocks. My joints would never allow it.

We shifted our expectations and stayed on the main trail. I was disappointed though. I had visions of conquering nature and seeing something amazing. My perspective was clouded by what I was missing.

As we walked the 2 mile Black Creek Trail that follows the curves of the river below, my perspective began to shift despite my disappointment. I started noticing what was around me, and nature showed me her charms. The waterfall we first encountered was wild and powerful, a little terrifying when you looked down into the gorge. We could hear the loud pounding of the water from the main falls long after we left them behind.

I began to think about the places in life that seem terrifying and wild at first - parenting, moving to a new city, starting a new job, a new relationship. We jump in and try to take the most direct path to get to where we want to be. But sometimes, direct doesn’t come together for us. Sometimes we are forced to take a roundabout way. We can hear the river roaring and know that is the place we want to be. But we are stuck listening and waiting.

How often do we miss the charms of what is directly in front of us because our hearts want to be on the most direct path? I know I have been there. I am impatient, and I want to get immediate and perfect results in everything I do. Taking the “long way ‘round” is not my first instinct. And very rarely am I on it by choice.

But sometimes…

Sometimes, the long way holds rewards too.

As we made it to the end of the 2 mile trail, we came to a bend in the river. It was peaceful and beautiful. It hardly seemed like the same river, but I know it was. We sat for a while and meditated and talked together about the ways the river had changed.

I almost missed the beauty and charm of the trail I was on. I wanted adventure and a rush of accomplishing a big task. What I got was a roundabout path that was (I am pretty sure) just as beautiful in its own way.

When we got to the very end of Black Creek Trail, we turned around and walked back the way we came. I noticed a lot more this time. I wasn’t so lost in the fog of missing my ideal adventure.

So often, my heart is in a hurry. A hurry to be healed. A hurry to know. A hurry to learn. A hurry to find perfection. But I miss a lot that way. There are a lot of beautiful things to experience when I slow down and notice the grace around me. I am learning. I will keep making mistakes and trying to scramble down the rocks to get to the end goal. But I will also keep breathing, keep learning my limits, and keep looking for beauty in what’s around me.

Oh, and the end of our hike that day? It was totally worth the wait.

Where do you find yourself rushing through to get to the end goal? How can you be more intentional in your journey? Where can you slow down and notice the grace around you?

Traditions and the Now Normal

We are in such an uncertain time. The pandemic has been shaking up our lives for eight months. The routines that once were so entrenched in our daily lives have fallen away. And somehow, November is half over and the holiday season is upon us. Nothing looks the same, and I have to wonder what the next 6 weeks will even look like. Certainly not like it has in the past. Everything from how we shop to visiting family is up in the air. I will confess, it makes me anxious and sad.

We have all been wrestling with our routines and rhythms. “Normal” is gone, and maybe it was never really a thing at all.

I should tell you that I despise the term “new normal.” I heard it a lot in grief circles and from people trying to help me cope after I became a widow. All I could think was, “there is nothing normal about anything in my life any more.” How do you find normal when your whole life has been blown to hell?

This year has felt that way for most, if not all of us.

My pastor has started using the terms “now normal” and the “next now.” The idea is that what is normal today may not be normal tomorrow. The choices we make today may not even be possible tomorrow. It makes so much more sense to me, in these Covid days, where everything changes in the blink of an eye, to keep flexibility in the front of our minds.

However, we are creatures of habit. We like to know what to expect. It gives us a sense of safety and control. The months of uncertainty have taken their toll, and we long for security. This is especially true in our holidays. And the holidays are upon us.

So how can we give ourselves the security we long for - especially during the upcoming holiday season - and still make room for flexibility in the “now normal?”

I think it ultimately comes down to learning to recognize what we can and can’t control. We cannot control what the virus does to our holiday plans. But what can we control?

What rituals in our history can we maintain in the uncertainty of right now? What traditions are still possible to continue in Corona-tide? What can we tweak that will still feel familiar? What new traditions can we adopt that will bring us joy this year?

I am still working all of this out for my family, but let me share an example with you.

We decorated our house last weekend. Our family has decorated for Christmas on the middle weekend in November since we were in seminary (usually this is also the weekend that Alabama plays Mississippi State in SEC football, and for many years that was also a part of our weekend decorating tradition.) Once Cole was born in mid-November, we used his birthday as the pivot point. We always decorate the weekend after Coley’s birthday. The boys and I make peppermint hot chocolate, turn on some Christmas music, and put up the tree together. It might seem too early to some, but it works for us, and it is a favorite tradition for the boys and me.

Decorating for Christmas this past weekend felt familiar and comforting. It was something I could continue that helps us feel safe and happy. We also celebrated our first “holiday” drink at Starbucks. It’s another small act that brings us a lot of joy.

Think about the traditions in your family. How can you make space for new ones and treasure the old ones? Those places matter more than ever this year. Things will be different. There is no way around that. But we can work to find familiar routines where we can and hold them extra close. As we strive for “normalcy” in a year that has brought so much change to all of us, familiar rituals and traditions can make all the difference.

So tell me, what traditions are you holding tight to this year?

Relationships are Messy

Today is my youngest son’s birthday. He is 15 today. I am really not sure how he got so old. I can remember his birth and the months nursing him so clearly - like it was yesterday. The years go fast, although it never seems that way when it is 3:00 in the morning and your toddler wants to play. Parenting isn’t always easier because my cubs are older though. As they grow, their struggles do too.

I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships lately - the ways we change and they ways we stay the same. I’ve been pondering my little family - the boys and me (and of course, Castiel - can’t leave out the fluffy one among us.). I’ve been thinking about the ways we have learned to communicate and hold space for each other in our emotional healing, and the way we love one another in our victories and our mistakes. We are not who we were 4 years ago and that is a good and healthy thing.

I’ve also been thinking about my larger family - my parents, my siblings and their spouses, my nieces and nephews. We are a big, noisy, chaotic bunch when we get together - laughing loudly and carrying on, talking over one another and arguing about theology and politics. It is beautiful and overwhelming all at the same time.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the way my family has been showing up for me over and over, especially since I became a widow. I was pretty isolated from them for a lot of years. We would see each other some, but there wasn’t the closeness I wished for.

After my husband died though, my family surrounded me despite the distance. My parents basically lived with the boys and me for months. My father literally held me up at the funeral home as I made arrangements. My mom and dad sat with me while I cried and while I was numb. They reminded me to eat, and they helped me pack to move closer to home. My siblings have loved me hard and have become safe places and cheerleaders and confidants again. My family held me and my boys together, even though the long isolation had stunted our relationships for a time. These wonderful people have been a safe container for our grief and pain, and they have been our encouragers as we found our voices and tried new things. They have been literal grace and hope to us.

Relationships are hard work. They are messy and imperfect. Let’s just be honest and name that.

It is so easy for us to choose safety and armor right now. Our country is deeply divided, and recent events have only made that more evident. We tend to circle the wagons with people who look like us and think like us and vote like us. Sometimes our relationships become an echo chamber where everyone we know sounds like us.

But I believe God created us to live in authentic community - the messy kind. We need to get better at hearing one another and listening to understand, not to find the weakness and attack. We are never going to agree on everything. But here is the bottom line: We need each other even when we annoy each other. There are things in this life that we cannot do alone.

Brene Brown often talks about how hard it is to hate somebody up close. That up close part is hard though. We need both courage and vulnerability to get there and to find true belonging. We learn to love and honor our own stories so that we can learn empathy and grace for someone else’s story. Our journey is to listen more than speak, to hear one another’s stories and find commonality. Our journey is to move in close and choose hard conversations and persist through the messy parts.

I will be eternally grateful for the ways my family closed ranks around me and my boys. They moved in close and persisted through some really hard conversations and messy parts. I needed them. I still need them. They are my people. They have been Christ to me in my most needy hours.

I know you have people too. It may be your blood family. Maybe your friends and chosen family are your anchor. Whoever they are, love them hard. Be brave and let them see your true and messy self. Tell them how much you love and need them. Invest in your people and let them invest in you too.

When we live in community, we are better than we would be alone. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, we hurt one another sometimes. But when we choose to love each other over and over, not just in spite of our quirks and faults, but because of them, we better represent the goodness and steadfast love that God has for us.

And Rickleses, I love you, and I am grateful for you every single day.

So tell me, who are your people? What do you love most about them? How have you persisted through the messy parts? How do you reflect grace to one another?