Archives for 2018

Hello friends and thank you so much for the love and encouragement you guys showed after yesterday’s post. Your comments here and on Facebook and in email all helped me feel very normal and not alone in the brackish water of life. We do all swim in a wonderful mix of good and bad. And you helped me want to write again, but more deeply, with more purpose. Thank you. 

You may have seen on Instagram later in the day that after that blog post, life served up another curveball. Sort of.

On one hand, it’s another emotional shock. On the other, it’s exactly the kind of thing that tends to happen just before a breakthrough, which I have been feeling was on its way. So, I actively choose to trust God. (What good is it for me only trust Him in easy, happy times? He’s got this, and so do we. We can do more than we think, and we can pray our way through any unknown, believing that His strength is made perfect in our weakness.)

Jocelyn has apparently moved back to Estes Park, or at least is traveling there now, we don’t know. As I told my husband, it hurts because I have already been missing her so much, even as nearby as she had been while living with her paternal grandparents in Oklahoma City. The physical proximity was slightly comforting, but our contact was limited and strained. So I just miss her so much, despite trusting God with her well being. 

By contrast, I remember feeling so close to her last September and all those three years leading up to that time. Just beautifully, intimately acquainted and well bonded. As I type this we are just past the three year anniversary of Joc moving to Estes Park for what was supposed to be a six-month YMCA experience. She stayed, obviously, and followed her heart in unpredictable ways. She grew and deepened and found herself, which I celebrated and shared sparingly here and there. We all just felt our way through every curveball, relinquishing control (which is an illusion) and grasping to our relationship instead. I visited her as often as possible and during those weeks we made thousands, millions, of beautiful memories. 

In September of last year, Joc was still living in EP, in a new apartment with her two pups and her boyfriend at the time and sometimes another friend. She was working two jobs and loving life, beginning to consider some college classes. She had just celebrated her twenty-second birthday, and  I sent her a gift package including homemade granola. Pumpkin-spice with pecans and coconut. She said opening it smelled like home. I felt her love and believed she felt mine. We talked on the phone several times per week and traded notes daily. Whatever was going on behind the scenes, my husband and I were in that blissful ignorance of how everything was about to implode.

Back to yesterday. I cried for a while after hearing the news that she was gone again, but I was not terror-stricken like before.  Nor was I, really, all that surprised. Just very sad. She is and will always be my baby, as trite as that sounds. I love her name, her face, her skin, her voice. I love her taste in music, her passions, her athleticism, her sense of humor and her unmatched artistic talent. I love her dogs. (I miss Bridget and Bubbins so much I sobbed through yoga three days ago. Will they remember us?)

And yet, yesterday as we absorbed the news, God was physically in the living room with us. I felt that familiar glowing, insulating sensation He brings every time we grieve hard and deep. I knew He was aware of every detail, including the things we didn’t and might never know. This assurance slowed my breath and just kind of stilled everything.

He loves her even more than I do, and His power and protection reach all the way along the interstate through Kansas, all the way up that mountain, and into every cabin and restaurant, into every complex human condition which might affect her. He has always been with her when I wasn’t, and He always will be.

Life goes on, all around us.

Before hearing that news, Monday was fairly productive. Early in the morning, I did some sewing and ironing of BW’s work shirts. Then I wrote that blog post and did morning chores around the farm, indoors and out. The gardens were happily unharmed by the overnight frost, and I silently congratulated us for having brought the potted plants indoors and for making sure the flower and veggie beds had all been deeply watered and mulched ahead of the cold snap.

I drove to one of my nearby running spots and luxuriated in 8 easy miles on dirt trails, listening to a mix of Oprah’s podcats and Skrillex, then grabbed the few household supplies we needed from Walmart. You know, like clearance Easter chocolate.

And extra white thread!

The sewing projects I mentioned include curtains, aprons, and other kitchen treats for Jessica, now 20 and chipping away at some thrilling goals she has set for herself. She found her first (very tiny and extremely adorable) place and is moving in this week! We are so happy for her, so excited! This chapter of anyone’s life can be one of the most fun and most memorable, and she is on the right track to make it so. I’ll share photos only if and when she grooves it. Just know that she is as bright and beautiful and you can imagine.

Parenting note: I have had to make a conscious effort to limit how often I mention Jocelyn’s first apartment, which you might recall was that perfect, tiny cabin she renovated. Remember the blue kitchen and pegboard storage wall we installed? I understand now how well-meaning parents of adult children might accidentally frame little stories as competition or comparisons. That is never my intention. It’s all just part of my life. Has this happened to anyone else? 

Also on Monday, I received the most wonderful surprise in our mailbox. Rachel Forest is a mother, writer, and public speaker who also handcrafts gorgeous leather and beaded jewelry. Exactly my style. She and I met when we were on the same cast for LTYM, and for that, I am so grateful. Her story about redeeming motherhood was powerful. She sent me this gorgeous pair of turquoise earrings, very unexpectedly! And the handwritten note is so beautiful. The timing of her gift was perfect. To hear from a friend I made while sharing my motherhood story, on a difficult day in our ongoing parenting saga, had God written all over it. Thank you, Rachel. xoxoxo I can’t wait to wear these and will pay your kindness forward.

Tuesday should be full. I am headed out now to tackle The Big List, run slightly more miles than yesterday (plus hip strengtheners because it’s helping my feet of all things), and hopefully not get blown away by the wind gusts here. What does your day look like?

Thank you again for your loving words. I hope if we cross your mind for any reason you will consider praying for Joceyn’s safety and happiness, for her to hear God’s voice for everything she craves and needs. And for Jessica, that she continues to find her own footing and know how loved and supported she is at this exciting time.

You have our prayers too, any time you need them.

“A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions,
and the roots spring up and make new trees.”
~Amelia Earhart
XOXOXOXO

 

 

Yesterday evening after a wonderful Easter dinner and board games, my sister Angela and I stole away to our childhood kitchen to talk. We covered a lot of ground in a few solitary minutes, and one thing that came up was social media and what I choose to write about here on this blog. (Social media itself is a much-happening conversation in my life lately, by the way; an interesting shift is happening amongst my friends.)

I shared with her that over the years I have at times written very personal stories and enjoyed the warm embrace of whoever my readers were at that time. Sometimes though, and almost always at the times it would hurt the most, I have shared deeply private things and felt some serious backlash. So I lately tend to keep it pretty much on the surface.

Anyway.

All that to say that I have so much more to write about. Stuff beyond more frequent updates about #farmlife and #slowfood and my ground-breaking salad ideas (ha!) and running goals. Not that those topics aren’t fun! But they only scratch the surface. The daily fabric of life is important and how we relate to each other. But certainly, we all have secrets and tragedies and spiritual battles, family histories and terrifying giants that we’re trusting can be felled by five stones in God’s name. We relate to each other this way, too. It’s just that shame, fear of backlash, and other reasons keep us from sharing those stories.

So there are many, many stories like this that are begging to be written. And I would hope that the writing might be more than cathartic for me; I would hope to buoy someone or shed light into a murky situation, at least.

For example?

What really happened in Colorado last November and where Jocelyn is now. And what our friends and family did to help us. Why I know we did the right thing, no matter what is being said about us now, by the same people who called us for desperate help then.

The advice my Dad has given us since November. (I should really share this because maybe you need it too. He’s a really amazing Dad and I am so lucky to have him.)

Why my children were gone for so long (at least as I see it).

What unprecedented miracles have happened in recent months to restore our family.

The time DHS appeared at the farm. And how vicious a custody battle can be.

Why I tend to form resentments against certain “types” of mothers. And how I am trying to soften my heart in that respect.

What happened with my husband’s sister and her adult son, what they did to the home where we raised the girls.

And the restorative miracles God has provided since then, both financially and emotionally.

The nature of addiction and the foul, destructive ways it has permeated our family (and my ex-husband’s) throughout generations.

The actual differences and similarities between Catholicism and Pentecost, in my own experience.

Why I am at peace with our church being closed. How much deeper my spiritual walk has been since, and yet how much I do understand what all those years meant to my husband (and to me for that matter).

The time we have been spending with new friends at monthly small group discussions.

Our new Lazy W Outreach project.

The deepest reasons I love running. (Five years into this, it’s about so much more than weight management now. Man.)

What my sister Angela’s life has been like these recent years, and the years before that, and what she has learned about fear and love, all about the same time I have been learning it too. And why I have resented her so bitterly. And how we have finally made peace and started a brand new friendship.

The sight of a woman I used to respect and admire, strapped to a hospital bed following a suicide attempt. And the precipitating storms since then.

What it’s like not having a “real job” in our stormy climate of feminism and all that jazz. And how it feels when people assume I have gobs of free time available for the taking. And how much I love having time free for my own taking, and my husband’s.

The few vivid and unshakable reasons I will always “unfriend” people on social media and why I am quick to burn certain bridges, seemingly out of the blue.

The first thoughts I tend to have when someone says they are trying to have a baby, or they are battling infertility.

How Jessica is faring and what her journey has looked like this past year especially. I want to tell you all about her stay in Germany with the Benedictine nuns and also all about her next chapter.

How I can tell the difference between a dream that is mental junk and a dream that is a message from God. Also, how I know His voice in the daytime. I’ve known since I was about six years old.

Why book club ended so suddenly, according to me.

And so very much more. Honestly, the things I could write about but choose to protect far outnumber the things I could write about but just don’t take the time to, because I do stay pretty busy these days. I am sure if pressed, you would say the same about your own life.

Life is messy and being a human is complicated, as my friend Mickey says.

You might glance through this quickly brainstormed list and easily peg the topics that I would protect mostly because the stories belong also to other people. Our lives are interconnected after all, and my own experience is only ever one of many overlapping circles, you know? I would never want to dilute someone else’s truth by highlighting my own.

(That is exactly why writing for Listen to Your Mother last spring was so difficult. Which is a whole other story to include in this list!)

Lots of shame, too. And even without shame, lots of things in life are just plain difficult to explain fully, and it hurts to live them over and over again. I have healed from plenty over the years, just like you have, and if given I choice I always choose to move forward.

Face the light, celebrate the miracles, live in the moment, today. Expect good things in the future.

I believe this stuff.

So why do these things keep circling?

Okay, friends. I don’t know what this means for this blog, going forward. I just needed to catch my breath and punctuate this a bit. Thank you for reading today and every single time you visit here. Thank you for your kind comments and emails, always, and for the unkind ones too because they have taught me a lot. Thank you for good vibes and prayers. You have mine always!

Now, on this chilly April morning, I am going to check on the animals and my gardens, because we woke up to a frosty farm. And then I will run 7 or 8 easy miles and go buy some white thread to finish a sewing project for Jessica and work on aprons for friends. And then? We will see. The list is long, as always, just like yours but probably very different too.

“Courage starts with showing up
and letting ourselves be seen.”
~Brene Brown
XOXOXOXO

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every day here in Oklahoma we are seeing unmistakable signs of springtime. The new growth and pops of brights pinks and yellows, of course, but more than that. Stronger signals here at the farm, and they are echoing in my heart.

Our hens are becoming possessive of their eggs. It’s so fun. For many weeks now, the daily count has been holding steady at around eleven, but twice recently I was pecked and complained at for making that collection. And judging from the roosters’ songs, they too have the idea that babies would be a pretty fantastic goal.

Our two horses are shedding in earnest, suddenly. I noticed some shed a few weeks ago, before that ice storm, but they grew fuzzy again, and I have to admit, that brief and light fuzz loss could have been from brushing. What I am seeing now is unprovoked. And voluminous. Also, Chanta and Dusty can often be found with full bellies in the full sun, napping in the middle field. The siesta hours are sacred to them, and I plan to join them in this habit soon.

Meh is less of a napper, for sure; so how he tells me it’s springtime is by swimming in the pond more often. And if Klaus is outside with me and catches sight of this, I am soon greeted by a dripping wet and very muddy but very happy Shepp. He chases that llama like it’s his job. And if he has to suffer through a pond romp, then so be it.

I have barely started planting cool-season flowers in the house gardens and have been cleaning and trimming back everything everywhere else. That can be done too early, I suppose; but it’s not too early and I will prove it. Today I slipped off my denim work gloves and sifted the loose earth with my bare hands. It was warm and silky, almost moist with the perfect amount of crumble. I felt three plump earthworms wriggle quickly through the stuff, thread through my fingers, and race back to the shadows. Springtime.

Following the much-debated Daylight Savings Sunday, this work week has been extra beautiful with so many late sunsets. Two nights in a row Handsome and I have gone to bed early and in the Apartment instead of our bedroom, just so we could watch the very edge of dusk collapse over the pond. Then from our vantage there, we can see the stars take over the sky and enjoy the undulating sandy hills washed in moonlight. 

We have actually heard frog song already. And so many birds, every day.

Finally, say you want about Bradford Pear trees, but the grove next door in front of the Pine Forest is in full solid white bloom right now, and our honeybees are obsessed. I walked there yesterday to collect branches, and the collective hum and buzz sounded amplified. 

 

Next Wednesday is the official start of springtime. And our nights could become frosty for several more weeks, still.

But I am happy. All of these beautiful details are sure signs to me, of abundant Love and fresh energy. We are surrounded by trustworthy reminders that new life always takes over, no matter how hard and bitter the dead times have been.

I’ll take it slow and easy and let it all unfold with some delicacy. A measure of patience. It’s not my design, after all, nor my plan, just my paradise to enjoy and tend.

I’ll let the Oklahoma winds blow away fear and regret along with the dead oak leaves.

A handful of pleasures every day. And miracles right around the corner.

XOXOXOXO

 

 

 

 

 

 

All of this beauty already, and soon, day by day, we will be tasting the air a bit differently. Everything will be new again.

This blog post is about running goals, skunk spray, and the power of great storytelling to help me keep the long view.

First, running. 

February, already a somewhat abbreviated calendar month, turned out to be a disappointment for running. My total miles were just 112.54, way less than the prescribed full marathon plan, and most of those were pretty easy effort, precious few “SOS” workouts. Also, virtually every mile in February was in sub-freezing temps. Fun stuff!

The month started strong but by the end of the first full week I had some Plantar Fasciitis flare up, painful enough to cause me to miss five consecutive running days. (More below on how I spent those days. Fruitful if still frustrating.)

Once my foot and leg felt better (could have been so much worse!!), I ran easy for a few days, got excited to play “catch up,” and then was homebound by a late winter ice storm. I was thankful for a warm home, electricity, and plenty of groceries (and coffee!), but I sure couldn’t drive anywhere to run. The roads were pretty dangerous, and anyway, our front gate was literally iced shut. (Handsome was out of town, and although I tried I just couldn’t chip or sledge-hammer the ice apart. On the last day of bad weather, some guys from his office came to chip me free, ha! Anyway. Blessings counted every day during what could have been a dangerous storm. But running just didn’t happen.

These two inconveniences cost me almost a week each time, and coupled with building stress over how to spend my weekend hours, I made the decision late February to drop out of the full marathon training. Yes, some miles could be rearranged, but being so near the halfway point in training I didn’t feel confident about that. I felt torn between devoting myself more fully than ever to the schedule, to not miss any more key workouts… and staying available to loved ones on the weekends. It seemed clear I could no longer do both. We have some family stuff going on that will potentially evolve to bigger and bigger stuff, and I also can not enjoy running when I feel guilty leaving my husband at home. It’s just not worth it.

I actually cried real, sobbing tears about this!! Good grief. If I had a therapist I am sure even she (or he) would roll her (or his) eyes about that. I mean. C’mon lady.

Anyway. I was deeply saddened to drop out of the marathon two springs in a row, but the decision was made for good reasons. (And maybe I will still run the half!)

The fruitful part of this frustration is that I learned a lot about improving my hip and core strength. It not only helps your current PF flare-up heal; the work can also prevent future flare-ups. I also learned lots about better running form and stability exercises, plus more. Remember how excited I was last year to incorporate dynamic warmups, and more recently, yoga? All these little additions to my wellness routine feel great. And, because I now understand how much running matters to me, these little investments of time and effort are so worth it, big picture. So I’m not too mad.

I will run a good, strong marathon I can be proud of, something with a time goal and great overall fitness. Maybe even this year! Just not this April.

I’m just not there yet.

Okay, I promised you skunk spray.

This part of the story involves Maribeth. For new readers and friends, Maribeth is my friend and beekeeping mentor. She is a pretty amazing human, and I feel lucky to have her in my life.

And her husband Dean? He is a jewel! He can weave any mundane life event into a fascinating adventure worth listening to, though you will never be able to repeat it effectively. He holds your attention hostage with the exact mix of his well worn Oklahoma accent and his utter astonishment at human behavior. He delights in people, you know? And I delight in that! I could listen to him tell any story, about anything and anyone.

Even skunks.

And especially Maribeth. You can feel how much he loves her when he says her name.

Okay.

One Friday afternoon recently, Maribeth and I were headed together to Ardmore for that overnight state beekeepers’ conference. I arrived at her house before she had returned from errands, so Dean and I chatted. Well, Dean chatted and I laughed. He is a lively storyteller! One of the stories he gifted me with was about how the evening before his bride had crossed paths with a pretty sizeable skunk in their goat barn.

Maribeth was skunk sprayed in the most liberal way, which in my mind is almost as funny as her getting stung fifty times by bees. (I’m not a good person. Anything that threatens her natural sense of composure is just funny to me.)

Dean described everything in vivid detail, and the scene was fully illustrated because there was still a heavy curtain of choking skunk spray all over the neighborhood. I had actually smelled it when I pulled in, so strong you might have believed the beast to still be alive and well and not far away. 

It was neither alive nor well at this point, so just imagine how sharp and gagging the smell would have been the night before.

Then imagine Maribeth walking into the house, freshly scented.

As the story goes, Dean was inside already when she entered, dressed in chores clothes and veiled in a green smog of unbreathable ick. He forbade her from walking further into their home in that condition and instructed her to disrobe on the front porch, pronto. She did, and she found new clothes, and she joined him in the living room to search Amazon for a quick delivery of skunk wash or some other magical elixir.

At this point, fair reader, she had only traded garments, not washed up. Dean spent a great deal of effort impressing on me the details of her malodorous offense. A gifted storyteller as I told you, he paused at the right moments to let me gasp with him, and our wide-open eyes calibrated shock in unison. He was incredulous that she had just brazenly sat down in the living room like that!! I gathered there was a marital context here, too, something significant about who had warned the other about that particular skunk, no doubt a Rodent of Unusual Size, whose idea it had been to do a certain kind of trapping, etcetera, etcetera, all crucial to the sense of victory Dean brandished as he said the following words:

“Maribeth you ain’t there yet!”

I died. I died from laughter right there in their gravel driveway, listening to Dean elaborate, and picturing the scene for myself. Dean adjusted his ballcap firmly, apparently satisfied that his audience of one agreed that he had been wronged. She should not have entered the house in that condition. End of story.

My sweet, strong, wildly intelligent, hard-working friend and mentor was bested by a skunk spray so putrid that her devoted husband summarily dismissed her to the shower, having declared in no uncertain terms that, no arguing okay, changing clothes and cutting corners would just not do the trick. She just wasn’t there yet.

So, what does all of this hilarity have to do with running and goal setting, with keeping the long view?

Patience and taking the necessary steps, intelligently. Pretty simple.

This all reminds me to take a deep breath (a clean one, hopefully, with no skunks around) and do what needs to be done, without skipping the necessary work to reach an artificial ending.

Just as Maribeth was eventually allowed back in the living room, at the right time and after she took the necessary cleansing shower, I will eventually run a nice, strong full marathon, something I can be proud of, but not before gaining the hip and lower ab strength I need to do speed work safely. And not before building some other healthy habits organically. 

Also? Keeping your husband happy is important. Family comes first, too. You might get called out. So I will find the right time in life for marathon training. I’m just not there yet.

Thank you to my friend Maribeth for allowing me to share this story. As I hit “publish,” I understand the drama took turns over this past weekend. There are rumors of men’s work boots that have carried the hotly contested stink indoors, something about a newspaper, and quiet moments of victory. Not that anyone is keeping score.

Do the work!
XOXOXOXO