WORTH MY SALT (MY FAMILY'S PRIDE AND JOY)

 

The River Basins of North Carolina surrounded by a prayer by Adrienne Maree Brown doodled by me.

Before the car even stops,

they burst out of the back door

arms wide, teeth sparkling.

Love demands we mimic their movements

mirror their joy.

We must transform our anxiety into hospitality,

our lack into abundance,

our vulnerability into armor.

We must welcome the grace dumped on our heads

unless we want to be ungrateful,

cast out, or ugly.

It's a dance we've always done

since birth or maybe before

so with a few cues, we join in.

The crescendo of nicknames pour forth, 

lighting our hearts up,  

pumping our limbs until

we find the familiar rhythm.

There's no room for ambivalence

 in the urgency of right now, 

we are all together,

 once again,

hallelujah.

The jubilation at laying eyes on slight bodies,

wrinkled hands on smooth cheeks,

grips on necks and arms wrapped tight-

it's so much.

Too much too look in the face.

Too much to wrap your lips around.

Your pride and your joy have come home again.

Did anyone ask the prodigal child 

where the hell he'd been 

or what he'd been thinking?

How he could abandon them

to silence and withdrawal?

How he could take all that they loved 

away into the chaos of his whims?

No.

They feasted.

The Bible tells us so.

So we do the Lord's bidding.

With biscuits and black-eyes,

new potatoes and first tomatoes,

some ham, sliced thick and fried.

Fair trade for the gifts she's toted with her.

Whispy blonde heads and swaggering smiles

 cover for lavender shaded eyes and skinny spines.

The questions are begging but there is pound cake

and cool-whip and sugar-laced wild berries, 

steeping in their own blood.

If there are answers to be given, 

I can surely keep them until we're full up.

I am the smartest of us all-

they made sure I know it-

so that I know it is my job to learn and learn well.

I did (I do).

What did I want them to ask her?

The coffee is dripped and the cigarettes are lit.

The ring around the table invites confession.

Now is the time-to see what is real.

To notice what is missing.

To show them who she is when we are apart.

If only I wasn't so heavy.

Weighed down by dust and lard and sour-smelling shame.

If I could take a breath, I might steer them

towards the sickness.

If I could clear my head, I might know how to

explain to them her riddle.

I am almost able to live up to my birth.

Almost worth my salt.

I look at my brother, long eyelashes brushing

freckles as he struggles to lift his lids on Grandma's lap.

Her arm patting his back begs him to rest with her

where the shape of love is a seat at the table.

He will hurt himself to get even one more second.

Me too.

Belonging is the payment for our pain,

gluttony the balance of our sparseness,

rest the cost of mania.

I force myself to forget my queries,

stun my brain until it gives way,

close the door on the scales I just can't

make balance.

No questions tonight.

No righteous judges or hung jury.

Just three generations holding the knife's edge-

shared bread to tide us over.

The breaker masquerading as my mother

will decide to exile us all again.

This tide always turns.

Hissing sands still allow the withdrawal.

I am the smartest of us all-

they made sure I know it-

so that I know it is my job to learn and learn well.

I did (I do).

On reunion nights like these,

I learned to forget the questions

that would lead us dangerously close to the truth.

I learned to forget the bad decisions

and misplaced concern,

forget that it takes (at least) two to tango

but that a whole mob can get away with murder.

Forget the hunger, focus on the weight.

Forget the chill, eyes on the prize.

The big hello, the belonging and smiles.

The pride clutched tightly as if it is an honest reward

 for a job well done.

Those big greetings, bombastic starts, and outsized

moments always felt like the promise of a lifeline.

Until my grandparents were planted in

darkness.

Until my brother met them there.

Until the breakers stopped coming back to shore.

Until I was smooth as glass on the surface,

all my waves buffered in my depths

all my salt heavy on the floor.

I am the smartest of us all-

they made sure I know it-

so that I know it is my job to learn and learn well.

I did (I do).

It turns out, we mostly just live up

to the expectations of our origin stories.

Mine had expectations so high

that it destroyed their pride and doused their joy.

I tried several iterations of a life

lived the way I was told it had to be.

Then...almost on accident...but mostly because

I became who they wanted me to be....

 I decided to remember the questions.

To pull it up from the deeps

the things that were heavy and twisted.

I pulled a lot of muck into the light,

spread it around and bleached it in the sun.

I have a lot more answers to some of those questions

and I have been at sea ever since.

Unmoored but not adrift.

Saltier some days than others.

The questions I wanted to ask them then

are the ones I want to ask all of us now.

Are you proud of yourself?

Sorry.  Sorry.

Don't answer that.

 I know you aren't.  

That's not the real question.

I sometimes can't help my home-training.

I'll try again, less directly, more softly.

It's not your fault, it's the ocean we swim in.

We all learn to drown even while 

they say they're teaching us to swim.

Let me come alongside a minute

and say this without even accidental sharpness.

What I really want to know

is whether your pride was worth the price?

Does the reprieve last long enough

to hold the anxiety at bay?

Will you hurt yourself to get one more second

of that beautiful lie?

Or have you found a different way to be free?

This is a message in a bottle.

Some water is living and some water is dead

and the only way to know for sure 

is to taste it.

Well seasoned is well fed.

 

ARGUMENTS WITH MY BOSS (WORKING FOR KINGDOM)

I was pulling a shift at the coffee shop a few months ago

and one of my best friends came in before she headed to 

her current gig in the corporate world.

I introduced my friend to the manager of the shop 

and the manager laughingly said

"Oh yeah.  I'm her boss!"

We all broke into a chuckle, lauging together

at the ridiculousness of it all 

because according to this world, the capitalistic ideals

and one of my varied paychecks, she's correct.

In the coffee shop, she has final say of processes and procedures,

has to deal with scheduling and is the escalation point for 

any customer needs.

According to the sarcastic, laughing tone

she was using when she was talking,

she knows that she's not my actual authority in anything

past the coffee shop and she's not trying to be.

(I have a whole other thought about the gender differences

between leaders that I need to ruminate on before trying to articulate it).

She's a lovely person, grace-filled, kind and capable.

I appreciate working with her, alongside her in this season.

But she is not really my boss.

the business end of an espresso machine

Have you ever known something 

so true and obvious that you don't think to say it out loud?

And it's not until someone says something that is clearly

counter to everything you understand

that you think...oh, I should say this part out loud

so that we can avoid this kind of misunderstanding later.

Most often, I have these kind of ephiphanies

while I'm coaching someone and it's about them 

and their misalignment.

But every now and then-

like that moment a few months ago-

I can hear the things that need clarifying 

within my own relationships or posture towards things in public.

The thing about these kinds of moments...

they can be profoundly formative but not always in ways

that lead to popularity or comfort.

Sometimes, clarifying your position might get you kicked

out of a place or a group that you lurked secretly within,

seemingly welcome and allowed.

Which is why so many times, we just let the thing pass,

let people think about us what they like, smug in the knowledge

that we know the truth.

That works.

Until it doesn't.

Sometimes, it's important for us to say the thing

that we know to be true or authentic

so that it doesn't become a weird little shame nugget.

I've tried to talk myself out of posting this online

for anyone to read and analyze but 

I need to come clean about something

that might get a little hectic with potential clients or employers

because while it's true for me,

and has been true for decades

it doesn't jive with how the world tells us to live.

an attempt at latte art (by me)

The thing is...GOD is my BOSS.

Don't ask me how I got the job-

I don't even remember the hiring process

so I'm not sure I could get out of it even if I wanted to quit.

It's not a cool kid gig and the pay...

well it's frankly shit.

We talk about it a lot, me and the boss.

There is a lot of swearing on my side

and an abundance of patience and laughter

from GOD's.

Nothing is more infuriating than having

someone laugh at you when you are resistent, angry

and just plain stubborn but my boss apparently feels

that this is the proper way to motivate me.

The fact that it's working is another point of contention

within our relationship.

Quite often, the energy and focus I expend resisting

what GOD wants me to do ends up convincing me that 

I need to do exactly what GOD told me to do in the first place.

attempt number two

Having GOD as a boss is frankly, kind of a bitch.

Not only is GOD infinitely creative but 

THEY leave most of the details around how to execute

my part in THEIR ideas completely and utterly up to me.

When I ask for guidance, I'm often just told

to wade in, one small step at a time with

my broken open heart on full display as if that isn't

the most terrifying action anyone can take.

All the training I've received is on the job

and no matter how much experience I have,

it always feels like I'm completely insufficient for the moment.

Also, we have some real differences in 

what it means to plan for an effective work day.

God puts people on my schedule willy-nilly,

ignoring what I had planned and disrupting 

my comfort in favor of an agenda I barely grasp.

Most of the time, God doesn't even let me know about the appointment.

Someone shows up in front of me at the coffee shop,

finds me on the internet,

or randomly says words to me during planned connection

that land in irritatingly prophetic ways.

I mean-couldn't I get the memo that the conversation

was going to be an important one?

Wouldn't it be better if I could prepare?

My only explanation is that God seems to be

relentless in the use of whatever I have on me in the moment.

Even when I do it wrong or poorly-God seems to be able to use my worst

to help someone else find their best.

I guess it's a good thing that I can't seem to get fired because 

while I'm good at a lot of things the world loves,

I'm barely competent at this job.

I'm can be lazy, argumentative and avoident.

I prefer to do things that pay me in money

even though they are never as rewarding or urgent as what my boss wants.

It's only in the past decade that I've actively decided

to focus on accomplishing some of the deeper work my boss wants

me to take up instead of just grabbing the low hanging fruit.

I thought maybe giving my boss a little more focus

would improve our relationship.

That maybe THEY would back off a bit

and appreciate that I'm finally owning my place in the company,

maturing a little bit as a junior associate.

It hasn't worked out like that though.

We still argue A LOT.

There are things that I know my boss cares about 

that I would prefer to ignore.

My timeline on when I'll get to 

a few of those late night memos is never.

I know GOD uses 'read receipts' on these memos,

I know GOD knows that I hear the message

and I spew 'can'ts' and 'won'ts' in GOD's direction regularly.

Still...some of the memos I thought I'd never actually

act on have proven to be the greatest,

most beautiful assignments I've ever had.

Staying -married, at the table, in the conversation, or with the complicated

Quitting -alcohol, jobs, diet-culture, people-pleasing, driving other people's lives

Refusing -to go along with the easy narrative, the trite labels, or the lies that chip away at authenticity one slice at a time

cup art by a sweet coworker

Which is why I keep at it.

There's a still small voice inside of my soul

that speaks to me with relentless insistence

about a whole host of tasks and opportunities and beautiful

possibility of what WE could be if I just do my damn job.

And of course, all the other employees did theirs too.

I'm not all-in for the church.

I AM all in for us though-

wherever two or more are gathered

I'm open to the fact that my boss sent me and might have sent you.

There is enough work to do in the name of LOVE

and I'll use all the tools available to build a place here on earth

that includes all of the love, acceptance and grace that

exists in the heavens.

Arguing and grumbling and wrestling with my boss the whole way.

If you want to give me feedback,

wrestle around about it in real life

I'm down.

In fact, I'm positive my boss will put you on my calendar

if this is a conversation we need to have.

If you'd rather schedule it yourself, drop me a line.

📷 by my daughter...

 

A TIP TO REFRAME FAIRYTALES (ACCEPT WHAT IS)

A side effect of a childhood filled with near constant chaos is that I know how

to live through a lot of weird and disorienting crap.

I developed several coping mechanisms in my late adolescence

to help me waddle through situations that the fairytales didn't cover.  

Today's tip has been particularly

helpful when my expectations

for how someone should act or behave

isn't lining up with how they're actually acting.

While I've used this little tip on and off for years,

in the past weeks I've heard it come out of my 

mumbling, prayerful mouth at least 10 times a day.

Shock and grief have barrelled through my extended family

and friends and I find myself sending it to them

more often than I ever have before,

sometimes with swear words on the ends to give it 

an extra push through the heavy mists of grief.

This little ditty has kept me from extra suffering

and from doing several meme-worthy acts for many years.

Accept what is.

It's is a short way to remind myself

to stop over-romanticizing about what should be

or could be and just accept the data around me as accurate.

I can feel your chuckle from here.

Who doesn't accept what is?

Fuzzy headed nincompoops or naive little babies

are the only people who don't accept what is.

You have to accept what is!

Living in a fantasy land is totally ridiculous!

I never do that!

Bless your heart.

Telling yourself that you never do this

is in itself a fantasy.

Unless of course you're not a human reading my words

in which case feel free to impart some of your own cultural 

obeservations in the comments or my DMs.

On the wall at Cafe Diem, a great little coffee shop in PBO

Humans constantly tell ourselves all kinds of underlying stories,

a kind of collective experience to be able to tolerate

the bullshit that happens whenever two or more of us are gathered.

Here's a non-familial example for you to examine for a sec

that might illustrate the most benign version of what I'm talking about.

In the US, we all drive on the right

side of the road and stop at the big red octagons at intersections.

If someone drove on the other

side of the street or failed to stop at the stop sign, we would agree they are 

out of bounds, wrong, deserve to be fined and are acting dangerously.

This is a collective expectation of behavior that we've codified with law

and we reinforce with signs, infrastructure and consistent training.

If anyone argues that the car in the scenario above 

wasn't on the wrong side of the road

we would cite witness testimony, video evidence and damage to other

people or things to convince the confused party.

If anyone still insisted, they would be considered crazy or dangerous.

We would be frustrated that they won't accept what is

in favor of a story that rejects the facts or the data.

However, when it comes to human relationships 

we've got a different kind of dynamic going on in our western culture.

The closer or more intimate a relationship is supposed to be

the deeper the fantasy story is embedded in our psyche.

We have a collective understanding

of what makes up a family and the roles of each of the key members.

We also have a pretty robust outline of what kinds of feelings

each of those members have for each other based on their roles.

There are parents and grandparents,

children, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings.

These are the main roles right? 

We call anyone who has these roles 'family'

and then we make all kind of prouncements about 

what someone with this role feels, does, owes the other labeled people.

It's universal!  This connection is thicker than water.

Right?

Highly recommend this book-click here.

I have a very large, very chaotic family and 

when I was younger, I had a lot of suffering

because almost everyone in these roles inside my family

acted differently than I was taught to expect.

Sometimes the feelings and behavior and values of the people with these labels

lined up with what I was told the job description was.

But often, it didn't.

Wives who didn't respect or value their husbands.

Husbands who belittled or beat their wives.

Parents who neglected and abused their children.

Siblings who cheated, slandered, or actively worked against each other.

Grandparents who were neither wise nor measured.

Children who honored neither parent or themselves.

After several years of trying to reconcile the actual

humans in my life with how they were supposed to be

I gave up and decided to accept what is.

I quit trying to make the data match the story

and I accepted that the story might be wrong

or at the very least grossly over-simplified.

Parents don't always nurture and protect.

Women are not universally helpless, gentle or maternal.

Men are not universally aggressive, strong, or protective.

Deep emotions like trust, respect, and adoration are earned

with persistent action over time, not awarded blankly because of a title.

Everyone can make mistakes, some of them catastrophic, illegal 

or seemingly unforgiveable.

Unfortunately, we're all human and that means we're all messy

in some fashion.

There are collective expectations that we don't fit into.

Accept what is.

This also means that we often get some things very, very twisted.

There are a lot of people who equate violence with love

in a gazillion ways.

For example, if you love your children

and your parents beat you

then beating your child means you love them.

This is a false equivalency.

You actually don't EVER need to spank, slap, beat,

belittle, shame, or hurt a child for them to learn discipline.

Discipline is self control and you can learn it from other people 

who have self control in non-violent ways.

Growth is always uncomfortable but it doesn't have to be traumatic.

The fairytales make it more traumatic, not less.

The sun setting off the edge of the world at Ocracoke Island, NC (not a fantasy)

Many people have a hard time separating these fairytales from reality

because to call the physical or emotional violence

they experienced by it's real name would threaten

their underlying role of the parent they love deeply.

This is really hard to communicate in a straight way.

To say it more clearly:

There are a lot of people that still think beating a child

is a loving act because their parent beat them and to question it

would threaten the fantasy they hold of their parent.

It would also threaten the fantasy role they hold of themselves as a child.

It may threaten the fantasy role of the parent that failed to protect them.

It may threaten the fantasy role they hold of themselves as a parent.

It's a mess to try and accept what is!

I recommend a therapist to help if you are struggling here.

It's one of their primary gifts to you-the holding of the feelings

while you navigate the complexity of your family.

You can choose to accept what is instead of pretending.

That doesn't mean that you're judging or rejecting

or blaming the human person in that role.

I mean, you may do that for a while but in my experience

it passes pretty quickly once you stop trying 

to make the person fit into the fantasy.

It's much easier to forgive a real person for being human 

and making mistakes

than to forgive a super-human fantasy 

person who was supposed to be perfect.

I'm not saying this is easy.

It can be very painful-mostly because the story that everyone else

seems to share will never apply to the thing you're having to accept.

It is better though.

I notice that once I let go of my expectations

of how it is supposed to be, I can

 create something different to take its place.

Acceptance relieves me of my anger at what should have been

and allows me to appreciate what is.

I've applied this to so many relationships over the years.

Professional, familial, friendships and religious affiliations.

When things get complicated, I find it really helpful

to break it down into facts and data

instead of archetypes, shoulds and expectations.

It is always uncomfortable but it has improved my quality of life

immensely.

Accept what is.

About your family member who is also an addict, mentally ill, or just a jerk.

About your child who is angry at you for your abuse of them.

About your own failures and imperfections.

About your boss who really sucks at some things.

About your friend who keeps trying to hand you that crap.

About your religious leader who is struggling with affirming GOD's creation.

About your political leader who is putting power over your interests.

There will still be suffering, but it will be clearer 

and more accurately named.

A sweet note from my friend Elise with a few of her memories of Andy

BITTERSWEET (WHEN JOY AND GRIEF UNITE)

 The school of parenting has many lessons to impart 

to both parents and children.

Those lessons tend to cycle back around when you need a booster

shot to remind you of what this job entails.

I just dropped my oldest off at college

and I was reminded of a lesson

that I got really early on:

Parenting is equal parts grief and joy.

You are always mourning who they were

and celebrating in the streets over who they are becoming.

Always.

When they learn to walk, you grieve that it is difficult to contain them.

When they learn to talk, you grieve the simple silences.

When they make friends, you grieve their dependence.

When they learn the new math, you grieve your ignorance.

It's always both/and.

When I brought my firstborn home from the hospital

I was a fairly normal new mom in many ways.

I had read all the books, 

cleaned and sorted all the onesies,

made sure to have seven kinds of diapers on hand 

and an assortment of pacifiers.

I had charts and timers and boppy pillows.

I knew the basics of caring for an infant

from my time as an older sister for a slew of siblings.

I'd also managed to keep two puppies alive

so I was reasonably certain I could do the basics.

But in one essential way,

I was very different than a lot of new moms.

I was motherless myself.

I mean to say, the woman who bore me

is not a mother.

For many reasons,

we have both chosen not to have a relationship.

And the example that I had from her

is not something I wanted to repeat in any way

with my own children.

The impact of that separation 

to my own perspective on mothering

and motherhood has been interesting.

It's often meant that I've been able to approach

this vocation with some objectivity.

What kind of mother do I want to be?

What themes need to be present for children to be healthy?

What does it mean to love and care for another

when the goal is for them to become 

whole, independent entities of their own?

Who do they need me to be and 

when does that person need to evolve?

It has also meant that I've had to look down a set of 

'what-ifs' that most people can't imagine because

they haven't ever experienced them.

I have and I knew them to be a potential (and likely) reality.

In many ways, it felt inevitable that I would fail as a mother. 

 

There are a lot of ways to parent well you see

and just a few ways to screw it up so badly 

that there's a point of no return.

I have been in a parenting relationship

that was one of those impossible ones.

I have witnessed my spouse in another one.

We knew what not to do but understanding 

what is the right move was more mysterious. 

While the instinct is to go the exact opposite

way from the example that was set,

that's not always the right move.

We so often become what we despise.

The tension I've held around mothering 

and doing it well has been palpable my entire life.

What if I let them down so irrevocably that they 

can't maintain a relationship with me?

What if I fail to instill something vital to their 

flourishing?

What if I do my best, try my hardest and OVERDO it-

smothering them in my need to get this right?

We've been unraveling that mystery

for 18 years now.

My little nuclear family adores each other.

I know I've said that before 

but it is the most precious and satisfying gift 

I have ever known.

A family that supports, nurtures and uplifts each other.

Without really any idea how to do it.

I had no map but more importantly

I had no experience within this kind of family.

And neither did my spouse.

We were both statistically speaking

destined to fail at this endeavor.

Thank GOD we realized we needed 

help and support if we didn't want to repeat

the things we went through.

And if this is an acceptance speech,

I'd also like to thank several therapists,

our friends and church community,

the public library, and all of my aunts.

Oh, and coffee shops. Always the coffee shops.

The job of parenting is the only job

I really care if I get right.

It is the hardest thing I've ever done.

And it is inherently bittersweet.

He's very well prepared and he's ready for this step.

He has an incredible amount of love and support.

From his nuclear family but also from his extended community.

I do not doubt that he'll be home or that he'll thrive.

We've done our job and done it well.

But he's off on an adventure and for the first time

we can't really tag along.

I am doing cartwheels.

I am heartbroken.

Both.

And.

Which is exactly how it's meant to be.