Help! Thanks! and Wow! The Combo Platter

I got a phone call a couple of weeks ago from my sister-in-law asking me if I would be willing to say the blessing before the Rehearsal Dinner of my nephew, Andrew, and his bride, Jenny.

I paused.

I'm a big fan of blessings...any kind.

Lord knows we need them...

but I don't really feel like the person who should be giving them out.

But, this was a special ask...and of course, I couldn't say no.

At the end of the conversation there came a reminder,

"You know, Beth, not everyone who will be at the wedding is Catholic, so..."

and the unspoken message that this can't be too preachy...

too religious...

too Jesus-y.

Of course.

Now what?

I was gifted with the blessing of giving a blessing.

I had better figure it out.

It's been 32 days since I broke my ankle...

who's counting?

Me!

Which means that my normal gift of thinking deeply in the shower just hasn't been with me.

I'm too worried about not bearing any weight on my ankle in a slippery shower.

All of my focus is on the task at hand...

no time to think.

Like a yoga practice, I usually enter the shower with an intention.

Let my mind tumble it over as the water pours over me...

but all of that had gone out the window with my broken ankle.

After the conversation with Audrey, I tried to think of a simple blessing.

I wanted it to contain the magic of love,

the gift of family,

the power of the sublime mysterious.

In the shower, I was profoundly grateful to see my ankle, however swollen, once again.

My cast was off and I could (slightly) stretch this newborn ankle.

I could shower without a covering over my leg.

I still could not bear any weight...but I felt less broken.

I let the water run down and soaked in thanksgiving.

Thank you!

Thank you Dr. Angel for setting it right.

Thank you bones for slowly healing.

Thank you city for clean, hot water.

Thank you shower and soap and suds.

Thank you.

And that's when I remembered:

Anne Lamott

She's the one who distilled every prayer ever written in any faith into three simple one word prayers:

Help!

Thanks!

Wow!

Her book by the same title had intrigued me...

was it really possible to simplify prayer that much?

For me, for Anne, it was.

And so it came to be that in a candlelit room last Friday night I found the simple words to bless a beautiful couple.

Andrew and Jenny.

Andrew was a Wow from the very start.

My first chance to be an aunt.

A smart, funny, darling guy...who found his match in kind, intelligent Jenny.

Another Wow.

A Wow for the gorgeous spot where you are choosing to marry - Carmel, California.

A giant-sized WOW that both sets of parents are still married and here in this moment, healthy, 

getting to see this gift.

A Wow for the family and friends who traveled so far to be here.

A Wow for love and the magic of connection.

Just Wow.

And then there's Help.

I'm in the middle of the Help prayer almost everyday with this ankle so...

please always remember to ask for Help.

Look at this room, take a mental picture, remember this moment forever...

...because these are your 2am people.

You can ask any of us at any time to come and Help.

We will.

Look at each other and don't be afraid to yell Help!

You will need it...

marriage is like that.

And finally, there is Thanks!

Thank you for this country that lets us gather and keeps us safe and envelopes us in freedom.

Thank you for the careful parenting and love that has always surrounded you both so that you could be ready to find another.

Thank you for health.

For love.

For Anne Lamott and 

three simple prayers...

for blessings and blessed moments.

Thank you for the gift of family and friends.

Most especially, thank you for this moment right now:

A crystal moment of pure love and joy.

Sometimes one simple prayer isn't enough.

Sometimes you need the combo platter...

a deluxe portion of all three.

Last Friday night was one of those times.

Help! Thanks! and a whole lotta Wow!

Thank you for such a gift.

Blessings to you, Andrew and Jenny.

Congratulations! 

Girlfriends

Susan Branch font :)


Yesterday I was smiling...all day long.
Magically, it had happened again, the calendars were free, pockets of time were secreted away and I could make my way to have dinner with my girlfriend.

I got the kids handed off and properly freshened myself up from the dust of the day and got in the car...
hooked up Pandora...and drove like the wind.
Singing out loud...LOUD...to MY music...rocking out inappropriately, dancing in the car I could feel the tension of daily annoyances, lists of things to do, and chores that hang over my head just melt away...
an hour in the car all to yourself can be a very good thing.

Along with significant time with your dear friend.

This chick and I have been hanging out, spending hours on the phone since high school.
My dad would just be mystified as I laid on my bed and gabbed the hours away with someone I had already been with for six hours at school.

What did we talk about??

Looking back, I have no idea.
(Note to teens today: keep copious notes and journal like crazy so you can remember these things.)
I'm guessing it was:
Boys.
Drama.
School.
Homework.
Life's injustices.
Dreams.
The good stuff of high school.

I feel sorry for teens today who don't dish on the phone.
They are missing out on some serious fun.

We went to the same college and lived together for part of it, but we weren't joined at the hip.
We joined different sororities.
We had different groups of friends.
Our own interests and dreams.
But like a fantastic score for a movie, she was always in the background, making my world better.

We got our jobs, figured out our paths and saw less and less of each other.
We lived about an hour away from each other and would meet for dinner.

We've been doing it for decades.

There is something so magical about a good friend.
Someone who just gets it.
Who's always on your side.
Who cheers for you.
Who cries with you.
Who does crazy things on your behalf.
Who will pray or pay or play whenever you ask...and many times when you don't even say it out loud...she just seems to know.

I'm blessed to have several good girlfriends.
People who have my back...and whose back I cover whenever I can.
It goes both ways.
It's comfort and care...bravery and honesty...saying the hard stuff out loud.
Owning it...and figuring it out...
or sometimes just recognizing there's no solution to be had and finding a way to make peace with it.

It's righteous anger and hilarious mortification and breath-taking beauty.
It's the wonder and sacredness of getting to be a girl and getting to go deeper
and have those kind of friends.

Leisurely eating dinner last night, sharing salads and delicious taste treats and desserts and secrets and hopes,
I found myself so sentimental...so full of gratefulness  for
this right here...that moment right there...
the good stuff.
So so blessed by friendship...long lasting...
all-the-walls-down kind of friends.

It's easy to gloss over it.
So normal to not make the time
or find an excuse to not be together...
but these people are what life is about.

They are only lent to us...we can't take it for granted.
We need to carve out the pockets on the calendar and say out loud:
you are important...too important to act so casually about.
We must make the time to be together.

Time for laughter and joy and friendship --
 those are the real sparkly gems shining in our cave of life.

So thank you, Tara, for finding the time and making it happen...
today, you're my grace-in-the-ordinary...
have been for decades.






more Susan Branch adorableness!

Star Dust

"Babies are bits of star-dust blown from the hand of God."

 -- Larry Barretto

My friend Katie is pregnant with her first child.  She's about halfway along and so amazingly cute.

She's as ready as a new mommy could ever be.

She is deeply loved by her husband.  She is settled and confident and comfortable in her own skin.

She is a really terrific woman and I just know that her overflowing love, creativity, sense of fun and  joie de vivre is going to combine like some secret recipe into one heck of a mom.

But...I can feel her worrying.

I can sense her unease.

She's on the cusp of something big and she knows it...never wanted anything more.

And it's all out of her control.

I tried to help her know that the worrying doesn't help.at.all.

I tried to get her to see that "whether or not it is clear to you, the universe is unfolding as it should."

(Thank you, Desiderata...all time favorite life poem.)

I have so so much to tell her.

I want her to know that loving that baby full tilt IS enough.

It will be what gets you through the dark nights of sickness, worry, anxiety or confusion.

There's no wrong way to love your baby.

You can use the technique of "attachment parenting" and wear your baby 24/7 or you can snuggle that baby whenever it works or you can let your baby snooze by itself in a cradle.  

Your baby is still going to love you back...and here's a secret...she will love you back her way, 

not yours...which will be stunning and magical and exactly the way you need to be loved.

This baby will humble you and shock you and exhaust you and fill your heart to this cosmic depth that you didn't even know existed.

You will look back on things you have loved: a dog, a friend, a job that feeds your soul and truly look down from a mountain top the size of Everest and realize that you were merely playing in the sandbox of life until this moment.

You will laugh your butt off...at the hilarious things you consent to do for this child of yours, the way your body becomes a contortionist, at the absurdity of radical sleep deprivation and yes...

you will cry huge heaving sobs of vulnerability, compassion for all mothers, heartbreak for mothers who must say good-by way too early and those who may never know this bliss...you will cry for your child's journey, no matter how blessed, because we want zero adversity for the ones we love and that, my darling friend, just isn't possible in this difficult world we find ourselves in...

adversity potholes are everywhere.

You will cry in her tiny magnificence and cry in his towering manhood and cry through awkward adolescence and all the funny, joy-filled, heart-breaking moments in between.

You will feel like an exposed nerve...

you will feel so deeply that the travails of life will seem so utterly discouraging and the joys of life so impossibly amazing that you will feel like you alone 

(well, let's be honest, you've had a little help here)

have created a new and vibrant color that has never before been seen...

and you have!

It's all your own...well, let's include Bryan here too.

You get to define what family looks like.

You get to create traditions and sing funny songs and dance in the rain and try new foods and show someone what 

honesty and gentleness and trust look like.

You get to pray and hope and comfort in the way you've always hoped.

Motherhood and familyhood and babyhood are just lingo for hanging out together for a real long time.

I hope more than anything you get to do just that.

Linger.

Snuggle.

Cherish.

Steep in wonder.

Relax into this beautiful place and know down deep that you are the exact perfect person to mother this baby of yours and that this is no random collection of cells...this, my friend, is a full-fledged miracle and you, my friend, are the apex of that miracle...

the starting point.

The Table of Contents and the Dedication Page and the first few chapters...

but, my sweet friend, you are only that.

Your baby gets the joy and privilege of living with you in your daily life for awhile, 

a long while, 

but the time will quickly come when she gets to search out her own adventures and loves and laughs.

And you will have to smile generously when her new adventure begins.

You will hope that you have given her enough love to last through the trials that you cannot comfort and pray that you have given enough hope to know that drenching rain always brings new growth -- that beautiful deep green of life.

You will trust that faith and wonder and love and the strength of family will be enough.

And it will be.

Love is a beautiful circle.

You are enough.  It will all be just the way it should be.

Trust in the cosmic correctness of this moment in time.

Miracles happen.

Tonight I'm so grateful for my four beautiful, radiant, neon colors that brighten my world.

I can't wait to meet yours!

It Happened!

"We all have our own life to pursue, 

our own kind of dream to be weaving...

And we all have the power to make wishes come true, 

as long as we keep believing."  

--Louisa May Alcott

Last Friday, after years and years of trying, five different bicycle camps, three different bicycles and a whole lot of wondering if it ever would happen...Patrick rode a bike.

He didn't just ride it for a short distance. He's been able to do that for awhile.  

He rode it for three miles...out on a green belt, to a duck pond and back.

He came home sweaty and wiped out...but he came back a bike rider.

Hot and sweaty...still needs to get home...but a bike rider none-the-less.

In his mind, during that ride, he made the leap.

He jumped over the mental hurdle.

He now believes he is a bike rider.

He feels it.  He knows it.

He freakin' did it!

When he rode up to our house,  I ran out the front door clapping and cheering and crying like the guy had just won MVP at the Superbowl and we were going to Disneyland.

I was jumping, hugging him, holding him by the shoulders and telling him so loud 

and so over-the-top how proud I was that he had done it.

He got that small, shy smile that they all get.

You know the one.

The smile is one part: 

"Hell yes. I know. I did it.  I'm awesome."

another part: "Still trying to wrap my head around it...hey, wait, I did it."

mixed in with a smidge of "It's really no big deal, don't know why you're freaking out."

He got embarrassed that I was making such a big deal about it.

Our neighbor who is Mr. Gruff, Let-Me-Ignore-Those-Crazies-Next-Door, actually walked across the street 

and shook Patrick's hand.

I swear that Patrick can thaw even the coldest of hearts.

It was another awesome cherry on an already huge sundae.

Sarah, Patrick's amazing aide and personal friend to all of us Forakers, was the one who helped seal the bike riding deal.

You see, when you're 14 and you know your mom wants you to really do something, you can't help it, you push back.  

It's just in your teen-age DNA to refuse.

So, I couldn't be a part of it.at all.

Even though I really wanted to in my interfering-mom-knows-best way.

I had to hand it off, like the proverbial baton at the Olympic trials, and let her run.

The chick knows how to motivate.

She used every tactic available.

Donuts, music, cheerleading, videoing, deal-making...but mostly, her own belief that he could and would do it.

Day after day throughout the summer they practiced.

Day one was rough.

He couldn't get his balance.

He couldn't fit the bike.

He didn't believe he could do it...and so he didn't.

But, like the faithful friend she is, she just kept at it.

Kept encouraging.

Kept nudging.

Kept pushing...farther and farther.

Before we knew it, he started making the mental shift.

He started telling her that he could go further.

He started showing off.

She could no longer run beside him...she needed a bike too.

And that was the day they just rode and rode -- all the way out to that duck pond.

Yesterday, Patrick in the early morning suggested that we ride our bikes to school.

I smiled.

How do I say no to that?

He's still wobbly on the take off.

He still needs waaaaaay more practice with riding on the street and navigating traffic and other distractions...but he can do it.

Now all he needs are just hours under the belt.

Because now he believes.

He is a bike rider.

And we all know that being a bike rider is way more than having a new way of getting from Point A to Point B.  

Patrick got a little more freedom last Friday.

He got a ticket to expanding his world.

Just like the gift of learning to read, riding a bike affords him a little more independence and a whole new way of seeing the world.

I've been steeped in a full, grateful heart all week.

What can you say to someone who helped your child in such a profound way?

What can you give them to show your appreciation??

I gave her the only thing I had to give: my tears and my full heart.

I looked her in the eyes and told her that the day her first child rides a bike, maybe, just maybe, she will understand what she has helped to give Patrick.

But for now, all I can do is surround her with my love and appreciation every single time I go for a ride with Patrick.

I live in a bike riding town.  

You can bet that I'll be riding with Patrick all over the place...

each time I will send some sunshine Sarah's way -- she'll feel it.

I know it.

So today I'm grateful for two blessings: Patrick's own determination and ability to just keep trying...

no matter how many times it didn't work.

And I'm grateful for Sarah's enthusiasm, her coaching, and her perseverance through some 

hot, tiring days that looked awfully bleak.

Together they made it happen.

Unbelievable what friendship, faith and determination can do.

They make quite a team.

He's Going To Go Too

"Sometimes, when one person is missing,

the whole world seems depopulated." --Lamartine

Haven't seen this sleepy face in 5 days...but who's counting.

                                 When Patrick was born I was by myself at my six week check up with my ob/gyn. 

                                   I was feeling ridiculously fragile...already cracked and just waiting to spill out.

My baby had Down Syndrome.  He also had a heart defect that would require open heart surgery within weeks.
My world was rocked.

I kept having this direct conflict with the world around me.  I would look down at my new baby and see nothing but a new baby: delicious in his fresh-from-the-heavens newness; glorious with his tiny feet and smooth new hair and sleepy face.

But the world would keep pointing out his flaws:
Do you see his extra space between his big toe and the rest of his toes?
That's a marker for Down Syndrome.
Do you feel how "floppy" he is?
Another sure sign.

Of course, I could see none of these things.
I was a mother with a brand new baby...he looked perfect to me.
Yes, he did have a droopy eye lid...but that was as far as my nit picking could go.
And, like all new mothers, I loved every tiny morsel of him -- droopy eyelid and all.

So, there I am at my six week check up for myself and my doctor doesn't really know what to say.
It's an awkward space...me with my baby that doesn't make the mark and she with her obvious pity and bias against him.
She summons up some effort to speak and she tells me this:
"Well, you have two other children and you know the good thing about this is that this baby will never leave you and well, you know the other two will."

I'm horrified.
Me, the one who can chat with just about anybody.  The one who can make a quick reply to weirdos or bullies -- all I have is silence.

Actually, I had a screaming, yelling, out-of-control freak in my head
but cultural norms and expectations kept me quiet.
In my head my brain was coursing through options and setting aside disgust.
First there was the distaste of Patrick's reality -- shit, people really will expect him to do nothing but sit at home with me.
Second, came the outrage -- who the hell are you to limit my kid and expect that he will never leave??
Lastly, there was deep sadness -- maybe she knew the truth.
Maybe, with her doctor's education and her intensive training, maybe she knew something that I didn't.
Maybe she was right and having him by my side for the rest of my life was an unexpected blessing
and as good as it was going to get.
Her words weedled their way into my heart.
And, like a splinter, I could feel the calvary come out and begin to push it aside.

Hell no.

This kid was going to have his own life.
I was not going to define his future at a few weeks old.
He was going to get every chance the other two got and then we would figure it out.

*****

Flash forward fourteen years.
Patrick still has a droopy eyelid.
He has freckles and a very light dimple.
 He has a spirit that is simply radiant...and plenty of opinions.
He's an adventurous eater.
He loves Broadway musicals.
He has a wicked memory and often memorizes whole scenes or entire scripts quickly and easily.
He is funny and creative and gentle and interesting.
He is always ready to go.
He can't wait to get his driver's license.  He is itching for a paying job.
He is planning his life after high school and trust me, I'm not part of it...at.all.

That prediction oozing with subliminally low expectations was so far wrong that I secretly wish I could cross paths with that ob/gyn and have her glimpse my world.
But that's the problem with searing memories.
They only usually blaze bright for one person...the other person has long forgotten some side conversation that had no real meaning for them.

Five days ago, I dropped Patrick off at sleep away camp.  He's on his own for a week.
No communication.
No singing from his room any number of melodies from Annie, Wicked, Hairspray, Beauty and the Beast or Peter Pan.

It's quiet around here...real quiet.

I find myself missing his good morning, very sleepy visits.  I miss his voice.  His laugh.  His imaginative games that he plays with Caroline. I miss his teen angst and his daily texts of "I love you" that sprinkle my day ever since he got a cell phone for his birthday.

I miss his spirit and his light.
And, even though I have been hoping to stick it to that OB and prove to her that Patrick would have a life of his own...
the truth of his life, most definitely of his own making, is staring me in the face.

He's going to go too.

It might look different.  It might not be that far away.
But he is never going to feel happy sitting at home with me.
That much is clear.

He tells me routinely that he wants to live in Boston.
He wants to take his wife to Hawaii for their honeymoon.
He wants to teach young kids drama in school.

I don't hear the word "mom" in those plans really anywhere.

Like some preview to a major motion picture, I know what's coming.
Patrick will find his way and have a future of his own...very likely I won't be living with him.
It seems quite possible that I may be in another town.

He has dreams and hopes for a future just like anyone else --
and like any other parents,  John and I will work to support him in those efforts.

He has a life to live.
Like my other kids, I only have a finite amount of time with him in my daily life too.

There is joy and a thrilling sense of adventure in that picture of the future.
But, there's going to be a great big hole left gaping open too.

I'm going to worry about that later.

Right now, I'm going to check over the directions of where to pick him up in a couple of days.
I'm going to listen to stories on the way home and notice all the tiny ways he's gotten a bit bigger in this week away.

I'm going to cherish the view of his big smile and relish his huge hug.
I have about 36 hours to go -- I can't wait.

The Ending and the Beginning...Grace, Graduation and The Village

"The fireworks begin today.  Each diploma is a lighted match, each one of you is the fuse." -- Ed Koch


It is always so weird when something you have imagined actually comes true.  As usual, it was way better than the imagining, way more emotional, way more fulfilling and way more fun.

Yesterday, Jack graduated from high school.  I truly don't know how that happened since my own memory of graduating from high school is so vivid: holding my dear friend's hand and saying,"I'm not ready to graduate.  What can I do?  How can I stop the train?"  No luck.  The train had already left the station and we were on it.

He walked across the stage and they said his name.  We cheered wildly and with abandon.  We cried at the valedictorian's address and his sincere thanks to his parents, specifically his dad who could not be there.  We sadly remembered the parents who did not get to see this day and hugged and cried in relief with the parents who feared their child might not make it to this day.  We watched Jack move through the throng of red robes, smiling and posing like a celebrity.  We flashed back to our Christmas baby, our curious toddler, our artistic preschooler, our angel in the Christmas pageant, our soccer, basketball, baseball, karate and finally our volleyball playing kid, our Calvin and Hobbes fan, our tentative driver, our passionate homeless advocate and Rosebud Indian Reservation worker and our Relay for Life team captain.   Here he was: Jack on the brink of something new saying goodbye to something he loved: high school.

Proud grandparents, expert seat savers and the foundation for The Village :)

At his side were his siblings, his parents, his grandparents and his uncle cheering him on, savoring the moment.  Waiting at home were even more family members, cousins, godparents, dear friends (more like family than friends) and even that old faithful high school friend of mine.  Waiting to celebrate, cheer and congratulate...waiting to share college stories, waiting to ask questions, give gifts and high five.  They are The Village.  The ones who are there in the darkest hours.  The ones who bring coffee, dinners, friendship and hope in the trying times.  The ones who phone you and text you.  The ones who really care about your kid..who celebrate the victories and cry and worry or sigh along with you when it isn't working according to plan.  They are the net and when we fall, they catch us.

The cutest Trojan fans!

And how do you say thank you to The Village? How do you watch the love and the support and the encouragement and not wish that every single child were wrapped in this cloak of love and acceptance?  How do you not cry over the abundant gifts that have been given to your son by The Village? Let me tell you clearly: the surest way to my heart is through my child's.  Watching my friends and family support and love him on this day was almost too much.  I am grateful beyond measure for the privilege of being a mom.  The whipped cream frosting is that I get to share the journey with this group who shares my days, my genes or some great stories.  They make it a celebration and a marker in our family's history.  Today we have a new story: remember when Jack graduated and it stayed sunny until we got home and then it poured buckets?  Remember running for the food in the rain? Remember the cousins playing dress up and soccer and falling into the family comfort zone that just flows after a few hours of being together?

To The Village: Thank You!  Thank you with all of my heart for your love, support, kindness and celebration this week-end.  You are the cherry on a really beautiful cake, full of whipped cream frosting and a whole lot of love baked eighteen years ago in a hospital room at Christmas time.  I love you.