Brave in September

Remember when I talked about wishing out loud? Well, here goes...Jack is graduating from college in May.  That's right, clearly, I was a child bride, and my oldest is now old enough to be darn close to a college graduate.  

That means that I've been thinking and wondering and pondering about the many, many wonderful gifts of congratulations I could give him.

I got nothing.

And then it came to me...I will give him my words.

For the next ten months, I'm going to write one blog post a month, just to him. And then at the end, in May, I will find a way to publish just those ten posts.  It can't be that hard,right?

How cool would it be to give him an actual book?

So, I'm wishing out loud.

right here.right now.

Physical book to wrap up and hand over.in May.

*****

Dear Jack,

So, do you remember way back in 2011, when things were very very unclear and you were going down to Los Angeles but we weren't sure what that would look like and we weren't sure how that first semester was going to go and it was all confusing and cloudy and funky?

I do.

It was then, at that point, that one day I was walking down B Street with Caroline -- her tiny five year old hand in mine, when we began a conversation about all of the changes going on in her life.

One of her favorite people on the planet was leaving her world -- hint: you -- and she was beginning kindergarten and she was scheduled to go to the dentist for the very first time and that was the one biggie we were talking about.

And she kept walking and sort of mumbled, 

"I don't want to go to the dentist.  I'll be brave in September."

I stopped and was shocked at the beauty of that.

Brave in September.

Her five year old self figured out that human of all traits: 

postpoing the hard stuff.

Yep.  She wanted to avoid.

Avoid.Avoid.Avoid.

I got it.

I really did.

In fact, I was in the aovid-at-all-costs mode right then too.

I didn't want to think about my family changing.

Didn't want to contemplate you being out of my daily life.

Didn't want to deal with my dirty house.

My back-logged work.

All of the many things I'd been avoiding for a long long time.

But when Caroline said that it made me contemplate my avoidance techniques.

I needed a due date.

September.

September became synonymous with pausing the big old freight train of life and checking out what I had shuffled under the rug.

In September I would face it.

Caroline never knew she gave me that gift...but ever since, I've used September as my get-it-done month.  

I've tried to be brave in September.

Maybe it was Patrick who made me brave...

it was his heart surgery that made me want to run for the hills.

I remember nursing him just two days after open heart surgery and looking right in his eyes and saying, 

"You are making me brave, Patrick. I can't believe I'm doing this."

All those Septembers ago I just didn't think I could do it...

but I had no choice.

And I got through it.

As you get older, you tend to put off more and more things.

You don't travel to the places you think about because the time never seems right or you don't have the money or you should be more responsible and use your time or money some other way.

You don't go after the job you think you should...or the education that you need...

or the _____________ . (insert dream here)

You have lots of reasons and most of them are very mature.

Other adults nod and understand because they are putting stuff off too...

or just not dreaming anymore.

So that's where you come in.

I am so proud of you.

Immensely proud of the man you have become.

As far as I can tell, you don't put things off.

You seize the opportunity.

You find a way.

You gut though.

Just like you did in that crazy, awkward, kind-of-in-kind-of-not first semester at college.

I guess I just want to encourage you to always live like that.

Don't let adulthood be the excuse for not trying something.

Don't let "real life" bog you down.

Please, please, please continue to dream and reach and fight back when you get shot down.

Cause it's gonna happen.

Life has a way of wearing you down.

Stop right now.

Listen to your heart.

What are your wild and precious hopes?

List them all.

Even if they seem crazy -- especially if they seem crazy.

Those are usually the best ones.

Promise yourself to be Brave in September and set a due date.

Go for it.

Most of all, know that you can do the hard things...

you can make the miracles happen...

you will find your way.

It doesn't have to be perfect 

or sane

or what I think is right.

It just has to be yours.

Hold it close...use the flint...blow on it...and light that fire.

It's gonna be amazing.

That hero is YOU!

The Egg and The Thank You

So a few weeks ago I was on the phone with my husband at midnight and I heard a loud knock on the door.

I asked my husband to wait and I went to the door.

My dog was growling -- a low, guttural sound that he rarely makes.

Awesome.

The dog is freaked out.

I opened the door, stepped outside and saw nothing out of the ordinary.

I asked into the darkness if anyone was there.

It was quiet.

Buddy was still not quite right and about 20 minutes later I opened the door again to prove to him things were okay.

He sniffed around, marked his territory and settled back into his nighttime sleepy fluffball position.

I didn't think about it until the next day.

I went upstairs to open up the windows to let in the cool morning air before the heat of summer pressed in...

and I saw it.

An egg smashed on my window.

I opened the window and looked around.

Suddenly I'm Sherlock.

I search every other window in my house.

I patrol outside.

I'm convinced I've been egged by haters.

But why?

What's controversial?

What have I done that would need an egg punishment?

I thought perhaps Mary Kate had said something at her work.

Could Patrick have bothered someone?

Who throws an egg at someone's house?

I know it sounds silly, but I spent my day obsessing on the egg.

I felt bruised.

Embarrassed.

Guilty.

Dirty.

Ugly.

Ashamed.

Like I had done something wrong.

Like someone I loved had done something to deserve it.

John blew it off as a kid-thing.

He's so much better at being drama-free.

It was a summer day -- and the school-is-happening-soon clock was ticking.

I knew I needed to break out of my funk.

I did the take-the-dog-for-a-walk-and-ignore-it thing...

this tactic is very effective.

Until you get home...and see bits of egg shell mocking you on your roof.

I couldn't shake it.

Through lunch, grocery shopping, normal summer fun with the kids and even through dinner.

I had egg on my face.

Finally, it was time to walk Buddy again.

I asked Caroline to come along (to cheer me up) 

and with a dog on a leash and a kid holding my hand I was ready to face the mean old world.

I had my armor on after all.

I got to the end of my walkway and stopped.

Someone, a stranger, had taken the time to draw three chalk flowers next to Caroline's big flower on the sidewalk and next to those three flowers the words: thank you.

I was floored.

Who could that be?

I hadn't revealed my egg shame to anyone.

No one was around.

Those flowers weren't there this morning.

Where had they come from?

It actually didn't matter.

It was my chance to exhale...for the first time all day.

I just stared at those flowers and smiled...a really big, goofy smile.

A tiny act of kindness.

The tiniest.

Three flowers and a thanks washed away that gooey egg -- a sprinkle of goodness 

straight from the universe.

So tonight I'm grateful for the smallest of things, the "everyday deeds of ordinary folk"...

they do, indeed, keep the darkness at bay.

Your job tomorrow: do a small thing.

One simple act of kindness and love.

It's so fun to consider...so many options.

Go ahead.

I double dog dare you.

Sprinkle the world with some love.

We all need it.

You never know what you might wash away.

What I Want You To Know

***This is an open letter to a couple I met for dinner last week who are expecting their first child who happens to be prenatally diagnosed with Down Syndrome and in that moment, my mouth clammed up. I talked about sauvignon blanc and bike riding.  I had so much to say that I had to just wait until it could bubble out.  Right now seems like a good time to let it all come tumbling out.**

*****

I have so much on my heart right now.

So much I want you to know.

First off, I don't even know you but I am proud of you.

YOU CHOSE LIFE!

When the world was telling you otherwise.

When the world was spitting fear and prejudice and ignorance...

you could drown out the noise and hear that little heartbeat from within whispering 

the goodness, the miracle, the truth that you could trust.

It is all going to be okay.

You got through the first really big hurdle that 90% of the population doesn't make.

You chose life.

You won't regret it.

Ever.

Because by choosing life...

you really chose love.

And I don't care how cliche it is...

love truly does conquer all.

If you make a choice out of a loving place,

you will always be right.

And if you choose fear,

most of the time,

you will be wrong.

Simple as that.

This precious baby is welcome and wanted and loved.

Right now.

In this moment.

And that is enough.

Having a baby is miraculous.

You get it.

I suspect, you are going to rock this whole experience.

Seeing your bright eyes.

Hearing your hopes and plans.

Watching you together...

just made me want to start climbing that staircase in the Rocky movie and sing that song.

You got this.

So what do I want you to know?

Don't listen to experts.

Don't listen to professionals.

You know best.

Oh wait, clearly, you know that already.

Ok, next...

Listen to your heart.

Follow your gut.

Open yourself up and the universe will guide you.

Oh, wait, you've already done that.

Clearly, you're awesome.

I guess I want to tell you to hold that baby close.

Snuggle and cherish.

I have no doubt you will do this...but do it more.

It just goes too fast.

Your baby is good enough.

You are good enough.

And somehow 

good enough mom and dad + good enough kid = extraordinary family

I don't know the chemistry...but you got it.

Laugh a lot.

Poop, and fatigue, and nursing and babies in general make for crazy funny moments.

My husband brushed his teeth with Desitin in a sleep-deprived fog.

He knew that glossy shine wasn't quite right but he didn't slow down enough to question the fact.

He paid a white-toothed-slime price.

But we still laugh about it many years later.

And that leads me to quite possibly the very best gift this baby is going to give you...

the ability to slow down.

Your baby's pace will be exactly right.

And because he's first, it will be unfolding without any kind of toe-tapping antsy-ness.

One day, that baby will smile...angels will sing, goosebumps will appear and it will be like nothing you've ever experienced.

Each milestone will be savored and treasured.

Every step a victory.

Your baby will allow you to settle down, calm down and just be present...

for his presence.

And that is a gift I wish every person on the planet could know.

Slow is beautiful.

That is my take away.

Slow it all down.

Take a lot of pictures (and videos).

Read a whole bunch of board books.

Shake some rattles.

Stare a lot.

Stare some more.

Because there is no doubt that you are privileged to witness something very special...

and it won't be lost on you.

You are brave, adventurous, loving and accepting.

In exchange for all of those wonderful qualities, you get a son.

Seems pretty fair to me.

You're my kind of people.

I'm honored to know you.

Welcome home.

Being Catholic

I'm Catholic.

Yesterday, I had a chance to practice my faith and deepen my faith and share in it with Caroline as she prepares to make her 

Holy Communion next week-end.

We had a Bread Retreat for the entire second grade.

We made bread.

Simple. Humble. Delicious.

We said a blessing over every single ingredient:

"Bless this flour.  May it remind us of all who have helped us come so far.  

We pray for all people who work to make the world a better place."

"Bless this sugar.  May it help us to be sweet in our words and actions toward others."

"Bless this water -- a sign of our baptism.  May we always remember that we are God's children."

"Bless this milk.  It reminds us of our first food -- mother's milk.  Bless our mothers who love us and care for us each day."

"Bless this salt.  Life first began in the sea.  May we show respect for Life in how we treat all of God's creations."

"Bless this wheat flour -- it reminds us that change is hard.  The wheat had to grow in hot sun, be cut, ground and milled.  Sometimes we also struggle to do what is right.  Give us strength Lord."

Even the pans got a blessing:

"Bless these pans that give bread shape.  God has shaped us from the earth and love.  

May we remember that He is always there to help us and love us."

Honestly, the whole day is a lesson in being grateful for the most essential and simple items that we take for granted and barely notice.

It's humbling and beautiful and it fills me up for a good long while...like a cold, icy drink on that ragged, hot day...I am so so good after this retreat.

Caroline brought home her bread, eager to share it with all of us.

We had to wait until John got home from a business trip so we waited a day to break the bread together.

And in one day...a tiny blip of a few hours...

our priest was arrested and put in jail for statutory rape of a minor.

And that is being Catholic too.

(And I'm not being ironic.)

We are in this together.  There is no us vs. them.  We are all us. 

Always.

Bad things, terrible things, heartbreaking things are all around us.

Really good people make really bad choices every day.

People who you count on, disappoint.

Hell, we disappoint ourselves and the very people we love dearly, constantly.

It's messy being human.

It's hard to have moral courage day in and day out...damn near impossible.

It's shameful and heartbreaking and sometimes just plan sad.

But then we get moments like this:

And it all becomes really clear.

We only have each other...for a limited time at best.

Even when it's messy, scary, dangerous, or maybe especially when it is those things, 

we need to cling to each other.

Cling to the ancient wisdom that is our faith.

Cling to the holy words of St. Francis:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.  

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

Oh, Divine Master, grant that I may

not so much seek to be consoled, as to console.

To be understood, as to understand.

To be loved, as to love.

For it's in giving that we receive.

And it's in pardoning that we are pardoned.

And it's in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.

Somehow.some.way.we find comfort that this messy crazy world has been just like this for thousands of years...full of broken people doing their best  -- and failing quite often.

Still in this world of sadness, disappointment, loss, ignorance and hatred there is the beauty.  

Unmistakeable beauty.

It is full to the brim with miracles like water and salt and sugar and love and redemption and second chances and new life...

over and over again.

For some people, faith seems ridiculous.

Laughable.

For me, especially in times like these...it's the only thing that makes sense.

It is a comfort to know that others have been right here in the middle of their messy, broken lives and found a way.

It's a comfort to rest in the words, the prayers and the basic truths that are my faith.

I'm going to wait for the light.

It's coming.

I have faith.

Until then, I'll make my peace with the dark.

For that's what makes the light even more beautiful.

I Got Another One

Yesterday, I ignored my outrageous pile of clothes that needed folding.  

I plucked through them and pulled out Patrick and Caroline's clothes for the next day.  

I gathered them and looked at them and held them close.

I breathed them in and closed my eyes.

I have one more day of doing this...

this...

the mundane...

the boring...

the rituals of living...

I got another day...

she did not.

A lady in my town that I only knew as a "friend of a friend" passed away.

She leaves behind so many, including her son, age 14, and her daughter, age 11.

No more packing lunches.

Figuring out carpools.

No more chances to argue about clothes...

or bedtime...

or homework...

or showering.

No more music that reminds her of something special.

No more silly jokes.

No more snuggles...

or books that keep you reading until way too late...

or chances to try again.

Honestly, sometimes this world is too hard.

Why did she have so few days?

Why do I have more?

No clue.

I wish I could make sense of things that seem utterly wrong...

and rotten.

But I'm no sage.

I just get another...

and I'm not taking it for granted.

I'm going to squeeze this day like it's a soggy pool towel...

kiss my babies about a hundred more times than necessary.

Text those two that think they're big.

Hug that hubby.

Snuggle the pooch.

Dance.

Sing.

Write letters.

Check crap off that enormous list of stuff to do...and smile while doing it.

I get another day!

I'm going to eat good food.

Buy a brand new baby girl something special.

Plan a trip.

Daydream.

Make time for yoga.

Kiss long and hard that sweet guy who spends his days with me.

I'm gonna thank my mail lady.

I'm gonna buy someone a coffee.

I'm gonna give someone the benefit of the doubt.

And pay that parking ticket.

No more nagging.

No more procrastinating.

No more delaying.

I got another.

How to cherish it?

How to hold it dear?

How to make it count?

Fill up that grateful spot and let it flow...

let the universe know how much you love this time...

precious time...

always ticking away...on the good days and the bad days...

Today, you have another...

one more chance...

one breath at a time...

one smile at a time...

let's enjoy it.

It's not coming back...
but it's ours right now.
Grab it.

"I still find each day too short for 
all the thoughts I want to think, 
all the walks I want to take, 
all the books I want to read, 
and all the friends I want to see."  
-- John Burroughs

No One Is Alone

"Sometimes people leave you halfway through the wood.

Others may deceive you.

You decide what's good.

You decide alone.

But no one is alone."

--Into The Woods

So tonight Patrick had to write down all of his various entries that would be placed under his name on his yearbook page.

He's in 8th grade in a K-8 school...the top of the heap.

It's the big time.

First he had to list his interests.

Basketball, swimming, drama, musicals, music, traveling and Broadway made the list.

He wanted to add that he was a "love expert" (his favorite phrase from the movie Frozen, other than "Let It Go" the Oscar award-winning theme song from it) but I told him that it would be vetoed by the yearbook editors.  

They're picky this year.

Next, he had to list people he most admired:

Sarah, Steve, Ashley, mom and dad. Jack, Mary Kate, Caroline and Miah.

First off, can we chat?  Are John and I a two-for-one deal??

Are we not separate entities?

Not in Patrick's mind on this day or so it seems.

Miah's name made me smile...Miah placed Patrick in her list of people she admired in last year's yearbook.  I forgot that kindness but Patrick did not.

Finally, we had to think of an inspirational quote.

We started talking about favorite lines from movies and plays.

He was really pulling for one of the many funny lines from Frozen by Olaf the snowman but I told him those yearbook editors wouldn't go for it.

So he turned to his old stand by, perhaps his favorite Broadway play of all, Into the Woods.

Just like that, it appeared.

Like a comic strip speech bubble above his head:

"No one is alone."

As soon as he said it, he knew that was it.

He tumbled and tossed some others around:

"Opportunity is not a lengthy visitor." being a solid number 2.

But he just kept coming back to the fav.

No one is alone.

Truly, no one is alone.

This child of mine, so divinely placed, just knows how to get to the heart of what matters.

I cried in the days after Patrick's birth, believing, however erroneously, that I would never make another friend...that Patrick was my barrier, my wall, my fortress.

Honestly, I couldn't have been more 100% wrong.

I would laugh at the old me...right out loud in an exuberant way...knowing the life I have right now...so full to the brim with new amazing, heroic, inspirational people that have crossed my path all because of Patrick...if I didn't cringe at the sheer number of abortions caused by that same fear and prejudice.

I want you to know..no matter how afraid you are...no matter how unsure...no matter what is going down in this difficult journey we call Life...that Patrick speaks the truth.

No one is alone.

You may feel isolated.

You may feel like a freak.

You may feel unlovable, unknowable, unforgiven but that is just the story you tell.

As they say so wisely in Into the Woods:

(and perhaps this is my favorite quote)

Careful the tale you tell,

that is the spell.

Children will listen.

So tonight, another sprinkle of glitter came my way on my path of Life.

More sparkle...more light...more love.

Once again, I thank my teacher...

or should I call him my bridge, my crossing, my light at the end of the tunnel.

Whatever the metaphor, in this month of celebrating people with Down Syndrome, 

tonight I am profoundly grateful for my front row seat.

Practice Kindness, Choose Happiness

I have this exact image and quote on my cupboard...staring at me everyday...

reminding me...prodding me...challenging me.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would ever get to see this man in person, 

but today I did.

I had the joy of witnessing the Dalai Lama's effusive, kind, tender-hearted presence at Santa Clara University.

Wow!

My first take away from him was his ability to transcend time.

He had all the time in the world for every person.

No rushing.

Nothing but complete care and acceptance of the moment.

Every person was someone sacred.

Every moment mattered.

I know this man is called His Holiness by all sorts of people and I wonder:

is it a chicken or the egg kind of thing?

If you call someone holy do they rise to the occasion?

What would happen if we started thinking of ourselves as holy?

Would we pursue mindfulness and meditation and compassion so zealously that it would become real?

I wanna try that experiment on myself.

I'll keep you posted. :)

My second take away was the way he spoke about his mother.

He is the youngest child in his family. He felt his mom gave him nothing but affection.

He talked about how she would put him up on her shoulders and work in the fields and just enjoy his presence.  

He mentioned that there are seven billion people in the world and that all of them need this level of a mother's affection. 

His quote: "We need a special effort to build the feeling of affection for people who do not have it so therefore warm-heartedness or affection is very very important and an obligation."

 He wondered what our world would look like if everyone was given this affection.

It's a good question.

And also a good reminder.  

We all need affection and compassion, every day, all the time.  

No one earns it.

His biggest message was that compassion and kindness must be taught.

We must start with the littlest children and very carefully and intentionally teach this and then gradually move to the older children and keep at it...demonstrating kindess and compassion daily.

He maintains that the more compassionate mind = the more calm mind -- which creates more self-confidence, inner strength and less stress.

He reminded us of something that we intuitively know but never consciously think about:

self-centered = more stress

"Compassion brings inner peace and mental comfort."

Finally, he spent the last few minutes almost talking to himself.

He told each of us that we needed to go inward and know our conviction for ourselves.

We need our faith to be part of our life and part of our decision making.  It is only with this inner conviction that we can withstand the changing forces of our life and the confusing moral ambiguities of our time. He pounded his heart several times very forcefully, making his point...go inward and know yourself, your convictions, your priorities. 

In a nutshell: live an authentic life.

His giggle is what will linger in my mind the most.

All of the adversity he has faced...all of his own life lessons and at 78 he has a lot...have led him to be full of joy and ready to giggle.

His energy is contagious.

The event had a group of young children singing...their angelic voices filled the arena.

Their school's mission statement:

practice kindness, choose happiness

That's enough.

Let's do it.

Life

What do you think makes for a happy life?

Truth is...it's not much.

Something to love.

Something to hope for.

Something to do.

Those are the "grand essentials" of happiness...if you have that, you are pretty much batting 1000.

Sometimes we go through times where we are out of balance:

I have too much to do and nothing to love.

My dreams feel out of reach...my "hope for" is a joke.

My "something to do" feels mind-numbing and monotonous.

But, the process of life forces us to find a way to make room for the big three.

And when we do...it's magic...poof: happiness.

So, on this anniversary of the biggest decision of our courts to allow abortion to be legalized I want to ask all of you...

are we better off choosing death over life?

Does our world see the sacredness of life?

In our world of technology and amazing photography we can all clearly see that life in utero is most definitely going on in there.

We have fingernails and toes and full 3-D images that show perfect profiles of the children within.

Can we at least establish that the "clump of cells" concept is out dated?

That's no clump of cells...there's a full fledged human in there.

Now, that human might not be convenient.

It might be the object of very bad timing.

It might be born into poverty or sadness or a messed up world.

But what it takes to be a full-fledged human baby is so miraculous it deserves that chance.

With abortion, we've accepted the idea that life is a convenience.

We have swallowed the idea that some lives are worth living and others are not.

We've been enveloped in a world that takes the sacred and the holy out of conception and birth.

Anyone who has been witness to a birth knows that it is sacred ground.

A portal.

A passage from another world and into ours.

Shutting that down seems like an impossibility but the side that embraces abortion has done just that.

What are the odds that a baby will arrive in your life?

None of us know.

We can try and try and try and still be infertile.

We can have one child and be unable to have another.

We can have sex one time and find ourselves pregnant.

It's a crapshoot.

It always is.

And that's the beauty of it.

It's a leap of faith.

A crazy idea.

A wild, unbelievable blessing.

A miracle.

Yes, friends, every.single.baby.is a full-fledged miracle.

Healthy or not.

Poor or not.

Crack-addicted or not.

Miracle.

Out of the everywhere and into the here.

I have a child that the world views as disposable.

People have asked me "if I knew"...insinuating in the most despicable way (but always with the brightest smile and most interested face) that if I had known I might have chosen better...

I always answer that I did know -- in my heart, with the strongest premonition I've ever had -- but all of my tests came back 

all-clear.  Including my favorite one, the ultrasound where the technician pointed out all four chambers of Patrick's tiny baby heart, when in fact, he was born with no chambers and needed open heart surgery almost immediately.

Yes, I have a child that many, many people believe should be terminated...his life is too terrible, 

too burdensome, too much trouble to be allowed to breathe another breath.

Ummmm, not really.

Tonight, I had a regular old boring night.
I made breakfast for dinner.
Walked Caroline through the basics of borrowing in subtraction.
Found my son who is "disabled" more able than me with our TV system...finagling some way to watch You Tube on our TV?!?
Read books with both Patrick and Caroline before bed.
Listened to their prayers.
Cleaned up some dishes.
Procrastinated, yet again, on making lunches for tomorrow.

Not one time did I wish my son wasn't born.
Not one time did I watch him interact with his sister and think anything other than I wish they would stop annoying each other.
Not one time.

Babies are miracles.every.single.one.
My prayer is that some day our entire world can hold sacred every life:
the unwanted, the inconvenient, the disabled, the difficult, the very old and fragile.
Every life.

I don't believe any of this is a "choice".
Gifts that are given.
People waiting, just waiting, to rock your world...
one tiny baby footprint at a time.

Tonight, I am grateful for my children.
Grateful for all of the children I have been privileged to know and love.
I am also profoundly grateful for the gift of life...most especially my own.
Ordinary.
Clumsy.
Messy and funny.
Thank you God for this sacred time of being alive.
Man, is it beautiful.

365 More

"525,600 minutes, 525,600 moments so dear.  

525,600 minutes.  

How do you measure? Measure a year? 

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee. 

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In 525,600 minutes -- how do you measure a year in the life?  How about love?  

How about love?  How about love? Love.  

Measure in love.  Seasons of love." 

-- "Seasons of Love" from Rent (the musical)

I've had her for three hundred and sixty five more days.

An entire extra year.

Hundreds of thousands of minutes, countless moments, dozens of books and a myriad of chances to squeeze tighter, hold closer, give second chances and measure in love.

Today, of all days, it happened to be her First Reconciliation.

The irony of talking about sin and transgressions with someone who still believes in Santa and carefully writes notes to the Tooth Fairy and still sleeps with a multitude of stuffed of animals is not lost on me.

She knows about making good choices.  She knows how to be kind and thoughtful.

She does it pretty much every day.

I'm not too worried about her spiritual health.  

She's closer to God than almost anyone I know.

And yet, this is when our church says she's ready...and on this terrible anniversary of losing 20 six year olds, 

a whole bunch of seven year olds made another step forward.

In the glow of candles, amid family and friends, they spread out among four different priests and went up there and asked for forgiveness.

So much lighter now!

Caroline was worried about this whole process and so her teacher helped her out.  She asked her to hold a book.  Then she piled another one on top, and another, and another -- until she was holding five heavy books.  She told Caroline that when you do something wrong, it feels heavy and weighs you down. Then she swooped in and removed all the books.  She told her that she would feel so much lighter after Reconciliation. 


As we walked up to church, Caroline wondered aloud if she would "feel lighter".  She couldn't wait to find out.
She wasn't fearful.  She wasn't anxious.
She was curious.

Afterward, she sighed and said, "I'm so much lighter!"

I smiled...that lucky smile.
The smile of a momma who had someone else give their child a gift.
Someone else had given her another way to see the world.
I was so so grateful.

Walking home, I tried to hold her hand but she was skipping ahead.
My heart is always lifted when she skips...but then it remembered the twenty who no longer skip...and the many, many heavy hearts surrounding those twenty.
My heart always holds those twenty close.
I can't look at Caroline and not see them.

At her birthday, I thought of the quiet homes with no extra candle to add.
When she lost another tooth; got bolder swimming; started voraciously reading.
All of the days she spent singing, dancing, creating, laughing and telling knock knock jokes.


Six moving to seven -- 525,600 extra minutes.


What did I do with those precious extra?
How did I spend them?
Sadly and beautifully, we just went about our days...taking hikes, trying new things, making new pictures,
learning and wondering and asking and celebrating...
nothing too special...

until it's gone.

So, Newtown, Connecticut and most especially the families who have not had that extra,
I want you to know that your insane, mind-numbing loss is not forgotten.

You are alongside us on our journey now...forever.

We are lighting candles,
remembering
and choosing love every chance we get.

From Here to There

"Skipping is oxygen for the soul." -- Jessi Lane Adams

If you hang around young children, you get to see them skip...from Point A to Point B, skipping is most definitely the preferred mode of locomotion.  

Children can't seem to help it.  

The joy in having these amazing bodies, the zest for living each and every day in this land of wonder and amazement, the natural predilection for fun no.matter.what requires skipping.

The young child is proud of himself.  

It's quite an accomplishment to maneuver that body up and down in a dancing sort of way.  

Smiles just must accompany the movement.

But up around age 7, kids start to notice that adults aren't skipping much.

These readers, writers, monkey bar enthusiasts can't help but slow it down.  It's unintentional, of course, growing up always is...but the average 7 year old doesn't skip as often as her kindergarten friends...except on the soccer field, it seems.

Maybe it's the wide open grass, 

or the companionship of friends, 

or just the joy of a Saturday of exercise and cheering and fun --

I don't really know what triggers it but the skipping just happens.

I cherish the skip onto the playing field...because I know it won't last long.

This bridge from young child to older child isn't a long one and the skipping seems to slow way down as they move across it.

I mentioned it today as I watched my baby girl skip out onto the field after a quarter of rest.

I said out loud, "I love the skipping," to a mom next to me.

Her one and only child was right next to mine on the field.

She paused as if noticing it for the first time.

"I know," she said.  "They love to skip."

Her daughter's in third grade...that much farther across the bridge. I mentioned that it wouldn't last long.  That skipping was a territory in the Young Child Kingdom and that the Older Child Realm wasn't too partial to that form of movement.

As if seeing it for the first time, she pointed out the others.

Three kids from the other team skipped in a staggered line onto the field.

Another one of our little team-mates from the Blue Lightning skipped her way onto midfield.

On the field, impatient to get kicking, little girls couldn't help it...their bodies were dancing and wiggling and giggling and joy-filled.

This tiny window of time is so precious.

And such a reminder.

Our bodies are pretty damn awesome.

Why don't we skip more?

Can you imagine Obama and the rest skipping around D.C.??

Yeah, me neither.

Why??

They have sucked the joy right out of that town.

How about those poor people in Syria?

How about Putin?

Skipping is free.

It takes no equipment.

You don't need to be fluent in a language, literate or know any rules to the game.

You can do it anywhere -- although wide open spaces do actually beg for it.

So why aren't we doing it??

Because we're all a little weighted down.

You need to have a light heart, a real ability to live in the moment and a sense of joy.

Young children carry those things in their back pocket.

Adults, not so much.

So, today I'm grateful for the skipping.

Grateful to the young children who do it on a daily basis.

Grateful to be reminded that I have a healthy body, a joyful life and the chance to skip.

You'll find me skipping around the block and if I'm really brave, I won't even have a kid next to me.

Why not?

I could use the joy, the lift and the fun.

Who's with me??

My Ugly Shoes

I have a friend named Beth who has a daughter that has been battling childhood cancer since last August.  She is finished with treatment but still fragile.  Any illness is a worry.  Any weird symptom takes her to that dark place.  Anything but her daughter being her bouncy, joyous self brings the shadows, the worry and the heartache.

I know it well.

May 16th, 2002, Patrick was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.

August 2nd, 2005, he finished all treatment.

He is considered cured.

Yep. Miracles happen.

Smart people, devoted researchers, tender nurses, vigilant doctors change lives and create some sort of critical mass.  A deadly diagnosis just a few decades ago is now curable.

It's a hellish process but you get there.

Here he is:

Celebrating St. Patrick's Day 2013 at a pub with his dad and big brother.

He gets to live his life. Try new things.  Contemplate girls and dances and traveling and what high school will be like.  

He has a future...because somebody lost theirs.

I can't help but hold close all of the children who came before Patrick.  Those that tried new treatments, new tests, new therapies and got to the point that they'd try anything.

Those that knew they wouldn't make it and still they tried.

Not long ago, childhood leukemia was a death sentence.

For some types, it still is.

But the people at St. Jude's kept at it. 

They wouldn't give up.

St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, let them keep trying.

St. Jude's Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee, still takes the lost causes of children's illness.

They still work tirelessly on the most devastating diseases.

They work miracles everyday.

St. Jude's is special, very special.

I like to tell this story so that people can stop feeling just good about St. Jude's and can start to feel in awe.

There was an incredible research scientist that was from Australia.

There was no hospital in Australia that was like St. Jude's.  Nothing even close.

He decided to take all of his training and his passion and move back to Canberra to replicate St. Jude's over there.  

He got big donors.

He got amazing researchers together.

He built a state of the art research center for Australia.

For six years, he gave it a go.

It failed.

This doctor who gave all of himself over to this mission had this to say about it:

"There is no place like St. Jude for a scientist.  There is a terrific atmosphere in the highly interactive clinical and basic science programs, and the tremendous levels of funding make it all possible for me to do my research without interruption." 

--Dr. Peter Doherty, Nobel Laureate in Medicine, St. Jude Children's Research Hospital.

Dr. Doherty doesn't say it out loud but I will.  Something very holy and sacred is happening at St. Jude's.  Something that is intangible.  Something that can't be researched or itemized but something that everyone who has been there knows...a greater power is part of the solution there.

Patrick's amazing doctor, Dr. Jolly, did a three year fellowship at St. Jude's.  He knows.

We know.

Patrick benefited directly from that research and that sacred work.

He has his life today because someone dared to fight against the lost cause of leukemia.

Today my friend, Beth, posted this poem:

SHOES
I am wearing a pair of shoes.
They are ugly shoes.
Uncomfortable shoes.
I hate my shoes.
Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I don’t think I can take another step.
Yet, I continue to wear them.
I get funny looks wearing these shoes.
I can tell in others eyes that they’re glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
They never talk about my shoes.
To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realize that I’m not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in this world.
Some women ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don’t hurt quite as much.
Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think about how much they hurt.
No woman deserves to wear these shoes.
Yet, because of these shoes I am a stronger woman.
These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.
They have made me who I am.
I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has a child with cancer.
-Author Unknown

I know those shoes well.  They've been at the back of my closet for awhile, but I still know them.

I wish I didn't.

However, I'm grateful today for all of the others who have worn those same shoes before me.

Those that took a chance and searched for the impossible.

I'm grateful to the mothers and fathers who had nowhere else to turn and were welcomed into St. Jude's.

I'm grateful to Danny Thomas for creating a powerful place of hope and care for the worst cases and the most desperately ill children in our country.

I'm grateful for miracles, most especially the one who shares my world. 

**If you want to say thanks, send a donation to St. Jude's.  Trust me, they will use your money well.**