Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

the thank you habit that helps me

For the past several days I have been employing an old standby habit, something that felt awkward at first but then got me through a crisis when my girls were toddlers, and these recent days it has felt luscious. I call it the Thank You Habit: While still lying in bed, in the dark, before speaking to anyone or even checking the time, before my feet hit the carpeted floor, I start silently saying thank you for as much as I can think of.

I let my mind float from person to person in my life and say thank you for them, then thank you for every modern convenience and insane material comfort we have, for the specific problems we overcame the day before and for the satisfying goals we met, thank you for the food I know is in the kitchen waiting to be prepared (and for the coffee that is probably brewing automatically at that moment), for the animals outside who trust me to meet their daily needs and for the supplies I have available to make my job so pleasant.

I say thank you for the hundreds of miracles we have witnessed over the years, as they come randomly to mind (these will gain momentum if you allow them to!), and thank you for the miracles still on their way. Thank you for my husband’s job which provides not just abundance in the practical sense but also abundance for the state of Oklahoma, for the people on his team, and for him as a person who was born to do this work and much more. Thank you that both of my girls are breathing and have hope, beauty and spiritual gifts to develop, despite their intense grief. I say thank you that both of my parents are alive and nearby, and that I enjoy true adult friendships with every single one of my siblings. These are blessings that only few of my friends have, and the older I get the more I see them as wild, amazing gifts.

thick night snow, moonglow, & a flashlight path…
I believe some moments of deliberate thanksgiving
can slice through the dark just like this

Before even standing up, I say thank you to God for the day ahead, for the problems we will inevitably face, because I know He has help available, and I know that in facing them we always emerge stronger. I tell Him how excited I am to see what kind of sunrise he has designed that day (I imagine Him staying up all night like an artist feverishly painting, waiting to display His new work), and thank you for what I will learn or enjoy on my run, and for what random surprises might happen. Thank you for the colorful fresh eggs our hens will lay. Thank you for the phone calls and texts with loved ones I might receive or make, thank you for the many people my sister will help that day and for the students at school and just as much as my mind will collect. Thank you for every hour coming, for every scrap of grace I will be afforded in the new day. Thank you for the near misses and close calls, for crises averted (there are many, you know).

This is just paving the way ahead with generous rivers of heartfelt gratitude, a way of attaching my day and my mind to the best possible outcomes.

This habit may sound goofy or trite, but I promise you it will feel smoother and more natural the more you practice it. After a couple of days, it tends to give me a glowy buoyancy, an inner sense of expectation that good things actually are coming. After this predawn ritual, I often catch myself throughout the rest of that day taking mental notes, “Oohh, tomorrow morning you can say thank you for that! That was cool.” This thought of course just sparks a midday thank you fest, which feels wonderful.

What this habit does not do is perfectly insulate me from dark thoughts or bad attitudes, for slipping emotionally from faith into fear. I am still susceptible to all of these errors and more; but the ongoing habit of saying thank you can even permeate this very real part of life: “Thank you for this frustrating challenge, thank you for this important relationship that may not come easily to me right now, but I know you are growing me here. Thank you for this deep pain, because it shows met how deeply I feel love, and it reminds me to be more loving. Thank you for the dreary landscape that makes me crave color, because I know you have built in this season of rest for a purpose, and I know this appetite for new life will help me enjoy springtime so much more. Thank you for this anger that awakens my protectiveness, and thank you for absorbing it cooling me down before I lashed out.”

If you try this one day and find your mind blocked or your words jammed up, or maybe you are in such abject pain that you cannot fathom a sincere thank you, I believe in my heart that is okay, too. This is not meant to be a saccharine exercise. I encourage you to try privately thinking only the words thank you a few times in a row, with no expectations or embellishments, and breathe deeply and say it again, while you are still in bed. Just rest for a moment longer before lunging desperately and painfully into your day. Whatever you face next, you have taken control of your energy for a moment. You have set the tone.

You know this drill, friends. We all know it in different expressions.

I just wanted to share my version as this brand new year takes hold, because the daily, hourly, private practice has helped me tremendously. My husband and I are facing some mammoth stressors lately, as I know you certainly are, and we are still enduring the same family heartaches as ever, still praying and watching for signs and still hoping for the next homecoming. Saying thank you ahead of time keeps me both tempered and lively. It keeps me happily tuned into good news, instead of staying vigilant, waiting for the next shoe to drop; and it helps me feel like the Universe is wired to my advantage, if that makes sense. That feeling that God is on your side, as silly as it may seem, works wonders. It magnetizes you for more goodness, and (at least for me) it sums up how it feels to trust God, to look Him straight in the eyes and willingly be held by His absolute goodness.

I heard a gorgeous interview that I will share in better ways soon, but for today, within the conversation the speaker shared a meditation:

“You are loved, you are held, you are guided, and you are never alone.”

Thank you for that assurance!

and just like that…

Just now while doing breakfast chores, I was praying for Jocelyn and something wonderful happened.

((an old photo of the boys with fresh hay…xoxo))

For several days I have been aggressively and tediously flaking hay for the bachelors from what is perhaps the most tightly wound large bale I have ever seen in my life. It is also wrapped in not wire, not netting, but twine, and lots and lots of it. It’s like a five year old wrapped a gift with cheap tape. The blue nylon twine is buried and criss-crossed in deep crevices throughout the hay, making the already tight spiral of tangled dry grass nearly impossible to loosen neatly. Every day is a slow unraveling task. Chipping and shredding, really. Generally this task is kind of fun, actually, I’m not complaining. Raking hay can be therapeutic, like collecting manure for compost or pulling weeds. It’s a repetitive motion and gentle physical exertion that makes it easy to get lost in thought, or prayer. But the twine has been a frustrating block.

So today I was chipping away, flaking off small, not pretty, tufts of hay to slowly collect into heaps for the boys’ breakfast, praying for Jocelyn. Praying for her to remember the best moments between us, from childhood to Colorado and everything in between. Praying for her to feel needed and appreciated and valued, to feel safe and warm when she thinks of home, to separate trauma and fact and fiction, to resist and replace the brainwashing, to grow whatever seeds of love and hope and health are in her heart. I swung my straight metal rake again and again, and suddenly the tines caught another strong, skinny bit of blue twine. So I stopped to cut it apart. (So much twine you guys.)

As soon as my scissors snapped the twine, it popped apart like a champagne cork! And a thick, fluffy, luxurious band of soft hay collapsed at my feet. I don’t know if you have ever felt that, the release of more hay than you needed, but it is wonderful. Hay falling at my feet is one of my favorite sensations, maybe because it is so clearly proof of lushness and abundance. Every day I hope it will happen, but as you might imagine, this particular large bale has been stingy with the magic.

Anyway, today it did happen. I couldn’t believe how much gorgeous, sweet smelling hay was being trapped by a single strand of blue nylon twine. It really doesn’t make sense. It hit my very cold toes (three cheers for wearing flip flops in December), and I stared at the now very lopsided large bale. Then I collected the food into my big green basket and called Chanta, Dusty, and Meh over to feast.

It hit my heart that God has worked this way in my life over and over again.

He has many times released fears or shame or toxic relationships, or simply erroneous thinking, in one powerful godly breath, thereby triggering cascades of goodness in my life.

And He can do this with my girl, too. He can release her from everything in one moment. All that goodness in her life can cascade again with the snapping apart of one lie or one dark thought or one influence or one circumstance. She feels far away but also very close right now. I hope that the blue nylon twines keeping her bound up are snapped away gradually, gradually, then all at once. She deserves absolute freedom.

((a very happy day on my first trip to visit her in Colorado))

I feel momentum building and a deep peace growing. Thank you so much for your love and continued prayers. Please let me know how we can be praying for you too! Tell me what blue twine needs cutting, so the hay can fall thickly at your feet.

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you,
saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil,
to give you an expected end.”
Jeremiah 29:11
XOXOXO

let them kick their own shells apart & the pink neon sign

Oooff, here we go.

Maybe you have heard rumors about the girls, about the family, about what has been happening. Maybe you hold enough insight to understand how to pray, or enough peripheral knowledge over the past two decades to sense that the story is dark and complex and mostly not available for public consumption. Maybe you are insatiably curious or fearful about your own children and think you just need to know (that’s ok, maybe message me privately). Maybe you simply love our girls or us or others in the situation and just wish it could all finally end (so do we).

I have only shared bits and pieces here over the years, and usually either the best news or the most urgent prayer request. A small group of close friends has prayed with us over time, and my parents and sisters have helped carry much of the emotional burden, knowing only some of what’s going on. Mom and Dad bravely walked alongside us through the final chapter in Colorado. But no one knows it all, not even us, except God.

Even now, a few years after reuniting with Jessica and several years after Jocelyn’s first homecoming, I continue to learn more and more of the horrific truth.

Here is what I know, the high points of what is difficult to accept:

Both Jocelyn and Jessica were abused mentally and physically for years, and they were isolated away from me and my family and, gradually, from anyone who might threaten to shed light on the truth. They were spoon-fed lies and held up as lifestyle ornaments and used as tools to hurt us, all the while being viscously mistreated and hidden in the dark. Both of my girls were young children when it started, and I look back now on the red flags I saw then and want to scream for people to see those with me, as if seeing them in hindsight gives us a second chance to prevent what followed.

The years we were alienated were a particular kind of torture for me as a mother, but I had no idea what my girls were enduring. The circle of people who exacted and allowed the abuse on them is unbelievable, and the lies that were told and psychological games that were played to cover it up are even more elaborate and twisted than I suspected.

As adults in the summer of 2020, they both were just beginning to emerge from their own horrifically dark chapters, just beginning to heal, when their dad closed a long chapter of addiction and committed suicide. The months since that event have been bizarre and excruciating for everyone, but especially for them.

Here is more of what I know, the root and the truth and what I cling to:

God, the God of Love and truth and absolute light, still reigns over all this darkness. Even as we peel back more and more layers of depravity and pain, of sickness and addiction and narcissism, God is in control. He offers not only safety and relief but also transformation. He offers perfect healing and redemption. By trusting in Him (which also means trusting in and obeying His ways, however tempted I am to seek revenge on my own), we have the gift of wholeness, wholeness as people and wholeness as a family. By choosing to trust in Him we deliberately extract ourselves from the cycle of evil and the systemic poison of human vengeance. Maybe I cannot undo what has been done to my babies, who are now women, but I can guarantee I never play a part in it or throw gasoline on an already consuming fire.

And yes, to be clear and honest, I have fought for months against the urge to make a few effective phone calls, to injure two women in particular and to humiliate those who have spread lies or gossiped about my children (what kind of person gossips about a child in trauma?). I even sometimes want to hurt people who didn’t believe me when I sought help all those years ago, because I have felt that their unwillingness to get involved perpetuated so much pain. I have taken great pains to bite my tongue and edit conversation about people who still bear an influence over my girls, because for two decades we have lived by the belief that badmouthing other family members is not how we want to operate.  At ages 24 and 26, they now can decide for themselves. They both are free enough to make their own choices (even when those choices hurt), draw their own boundaries, and eventually see for themselves why I have made my choices the way I have.

Something else I know, something I have learned through lots of weak moments:

I can easily make the mistake of surrendering my hard earned freedom from that kind of reality, from that poisoned community, by allowing too much anger to simmer in my heart. I can squander away the hours of my beautiful, warm, glittering life by dwelling on a few pointless daydreams: What might have been had the abuse never started, how things might have been different in Colorado had I known more then (Jocelyn was so protective of her little sister while Jessica still lived in that household), and how good it would feel to publicly and legally seek vengeance. These, and maybe a few others, are useless fantasies. They waste my energy, too, and trespass on God’s territory.

What matters now is moving forward in Love, every step of the way, and trusting that all our prayers, through all these years, are still alive. Believing that addiction is absolutely overcomable. Affirming to each other that these relationships are founded in blood and bedrock, and they may be shaken but are not destroyed. What matters now is being strong and healthy and ready for anything, prepared physically and emotionally for Jocelyn’s next homecoming. Remaining stable and lively for Jessica, as she continues to heal and build her own beautiful, warm, glittering life with Alex.

A few days ago I was lost in prayer for Jocelyn and Jessica, and something wonderful happened. I heard myself petitioning on their behalf, telling God all the amazing things I see in them, their talents and their beauty, their tenderheartedness, the way Jocelyn has always stood up for the underdog, for kids being bullied (all the while being bullied herself), for Jessica’s spiritual depth, for their passions and energy and love of nature, telling Him about their youth and potential and how much we want them to thrive and be free, just on and on, bragging about them. I was basically trying to convince the Creator of the Universe of the goodness of two of His own creations. Hoping to sway Him to help my babies, deliver them more quickly from this awfulness.

He stopped me mid-prayer and showed me in all capital letters, bold and in neon pink lights, “THEY WERE MINE BEFORE THEY WERE YOURS.”

Ooof. Wow! Ok, yes, yes I know, I know, I’m sorry! Ha!

It was a firm (all caps) but gentle (neon pink) reprimand. I may say I trust God, but me begging Him doesn’t demonstrate much trust. It reveals desperation.

God loves them more than I ever have and ever could. God has better understanding of what they have endured all these years, and no secrets are kept from Him. God has a wider, more spectacular vision for the future. He has all the resources for their healing and their new foundations. He can stream as much of that through me as He wishes, or through other people, but He is always the Source.

It’s always been Him. It’s always been Love.

Okay, friends, I hope that if you needed a boost that God is still omnipotent and omniscient, this helps you. I hope that you can laugh at yourself a bit, like I was invited to do, ha! And I certainly ask for your continued prayers. Knowing more of the truth has been hard. It has challenged me to really live by what I say is important, really tested my ability to be peaceful and calm. (Maternal rage is real.) It has also opened my heart, though, and helped me understand why some chapters have been so agonizing and lengthy. And learning more of the truth, slowly, has given me a chance to unravel for myself so many years of lies and manipulations, of brainwashing and psychological abuse. I have needed that, too.

One more thing:

Remember (and remind me if you think I need it) the story about hatching little peeps:

If the shell is cracked but the chick is struggling to emerge, resist the urge to open it by hand and free her quickly. Be patient and let her work, or else her legs won’t be strong enough to even walk, and she will perish. It is the act of rebelling, of kicking open her little eggshell, that gives her the strength to live.

XOXOXOXO

advent 2021, LOVE

Two weeks until Christmas you guys!

The older I get, the more affection I have for the essence of every holiday. The more I sense that every good tradition is good because it is soaked in Love.

I actively embrace all the frilly details and reject frustrations and complaints about “modern trappings” or “excessive human structures,” because I know why we like them so much: They’re expressions of Love! So I am free to dive in. Give me all the lushness of the season, so long as it is all centered in Love.

This just hit me recently. It hit me how everything that really matters is rooted in and bound by Love, and love encompasses all kinds of celebratory living, every bit as much as lowly service and humility. Sin doesn’t always look a certain way; it’s just anything that steps away from Love. Once in a while I think about this, and the simplicity and grandeur of it all brings me to tears. There is a school of thought that takes it a step further and says that anything we perceive that is not love is actually an illusion. And that “Well being is the only stream that flows,” so anything other than well being is not its own dark force but just what we feel when we interrupt the flow of love. Book mark that thought and get back with me!

How wonderful that we are free to sink in and really enjoy everything the Christmas season has to offer, without having to rail against any of it! Just let Love flow freely through you, between you and your friends and family and strangers. Let Love rule the day and infuse every effort with meaning. Make sure Love is in your thoughts, too. Cozy and safe, from the inside out. As Kellie said recently, “Let Love be your default.”

In her reality-shifting book A Return to Love, Marianne Williamson says, “By affirming that love is our priority in a situation, we actualize the power of God.” And isn’t that precisely what Christmas is, the arrival and actualization of God’s power on earth?

How refreshing and exciting that a whole week of Advent is dedicated to Love. Gifts can be chosen with love, and then that process becomes REALLY FUN instead of arduous. We can decorate our homes with love in our hearts, rather than mechanical habit, honoring traditions and surrounding each other with the colors and fragrances and details that boost our spirits. This sets me free for silliness and a crazy-quilt mix of styles and memories around the farm. Love on every side, in every room, at each animal habitat. When baking time rolls around, and when we plan our family feasts and parties, let’s do that with love too. Certainly, all cooking is at its best when done lovingly. You can taste the difference. Sandy Coughlin always said of opening your home, “Bless, not impress.”

Try filling your December calendar with only loving events and gatherings, and say no to invitations that feel off. If you are facing a difficult relationship or unavoidable confrontation, try to lay the groundwork ahead of time by thinking as many loving thoughts toward that person as you can (I promise you can, and I promise this helps). Use the three-to-one ratio if you need to. Definitely, when you feel the anxiety rising, rehearse loving sentences rather than arguments. Practice seeing the best in everyone, even if you never verbalize those thoughts. It will shift your energy, and this allows you to be a conduit for miracles.

I am huge fan of romance at Christmastime, too! Let it simmer, let it flame, let it warm everything up a few degrees. Romantic love is a gift as much as any other relationship. I feel so lucky that my husband and I get lots of time alone and that he is as much a fan of date nights and quiet nights at home as I am. But we also love double date with friends, eating out and looking at lights in the city, all kinds of fun stuff! I hope young couples (looking at you Jess and Alex) make an effort to spark happy, private memories that no one else knows about and build whatever little Christmas traditions are meaningful to them. Those moments will bind the years together and infuse a special, personal flavor of love into future holiday seasons.

If we believe that God is Love and that He took human form at Christmastime, then Jesus’ birth is nothing but Love incarnate. It’s so simple. We have been taught this all our lives, but it just clicked for me recently, the Advent, the coming, the arrival of Love. It means we literally can enjoy Christmas every single day of our lives. We are invited to do this.

One of the greatest thrills of my adult life has been learning about other religions and how many parallels we share with our friends who are not Christian. Love rules their cultures, too. We may have a very different vernacular, but light bursts open the dark of every culture’s deepest winter, and love is the miracle we all enjoy.

Here’s a passage from the incomparably beautiful novel This Tender Land by William Kent Krueger:

“We breathe love in and we breathe love out. It’s the essence of our existence, the very air of our souls.”

However you spend the next couple of weeks, whatever preparations you choose to make for Christmas weekend, I hope you can remain centered on Love and inspired by its sweetness and strength. I hope you and your people can welcome the arrival of Love in every relationship and every circumstance. I hope that you can feel Love being born over and over again, ever single day. Choose it. Choose Him.

“So to live as if you are unloved
is a limitation.
Living unloved is like
clipping a bird’s wings
and removing its ability to fly.”
~William Young
XOXOXO

another post about hope for advent 2021

Hey friends, hello and thanks for reading along here. Thanks, also, for so many comments and private messages after my most recent post about hope. Apparently lots of us are grappling with hard feelings right now, and it is wonderful to freely exchange the best reminders. Thank you!

P.S., let’s not waste time and energy feeling bad for feeling bad sometimes; we all are in very good company. You have every bit of the wisdom and strength you need for this exact moment in time.

Okay.

Today I have a more lighthearted story about hope.

A few years ago our precious friend Maddie invited us to one of her high school drama musicals, Shrek. (Locals, if you ever have a chance to see a theater production at Choctaw High School, buy your tickets and put on your party dress. The production quality is mind blowing.)

Sweet Maddie, celebrating with ice cream
on our final day of garden class a few years ago xoxo

In the story, as you may know from the animated film, Princess Fiona is held captive in a castle tower. Every day she pines for her romantic, royal rescue (a story worth exploring in its own right). She sings about it. She gazes artistically through the tower window and imagines how it will happen. She daydreams of her unknown Prince.

Every day of her captivity, Fiona lives in constant, positive expectation of the One True Thing for which her heart longs. She sings, “I know it’s today, I know it’s TODAY!” In the song she laments other princesses’ hard problems and their grim fates, and she continues to count her own days waiting (20, 21, 22, 23… What day is it?) yet constantly asserts. “I know it’s today!”

It occurs to me at this point that many of us are counting years, not days. If this is your situation, please know that I know how much that hurts. My heart goes out to you.

Back to Shrek.

Day after day, Fiona’s answer eludes her. She continues in hope, but night falls and no deliverance. Over and over again, she goes to bed still captive, still hoping. The audience is drawn into her suspenseful waiting.

Until one day.

One day it does happen. All along her rescuers had been on their own long journey, searching for her. She is found and freed and can finally celebrate. Do you know what she sings?

With even bigger exuberance than before, Fiona the Hopeful belts out, “I knew it would happen TODAY!!” The crowd screams as if Russell Westbrook, coached personally by Bob Stoops, just won the Showcase Showdown!! Energy ripples through the building. Strangers hug and high five and kiss each other right on the mouth. An old man stands up from a wheelchair and does a cartwheel. Giant, sequined confetti falls in a slow-motion whirlwind. A horse whinnies triumphantly.

Not exactly, BUT… The crowd definitely cheers, and I do vividly remember sitting there in the dark auditorium with Handsome and our friends, weeping and shaking a little bit, feeling overwhelming joy for this fictional character on stage, ha! Which just means I was feeling what it might feel like for my own prayers to be answered, again.

Because my prayers have absolutely been answered so many times in life, it’s unreal. The deliverance from fear and danger, from threat and grief and so many very real problems and crises… When I stop to reflect on it all, I get tearful giggles. How could I ever ask for more? And yet, life marches on and problems and heartaches are just part of it.

I’ll happily take it all, and lots and lots of it, thank you very much. The beautiful, the mundane, the terrifying, the delicious. I’ll take all the shadows, because I want all the blinding light too.

And when the prayers are hefty and the miracles we need are immense, like they are right now, again, I want to be like Fiona. I want to live in constant, positive anticipation of our deepest hopes being fulfilled TODAY.

One day it will be today. Our disciplined, hopeful singing will turn in an instant to shouting and celebration, all over again. The pain of waiting will be forgotten, all over again, out of the blue.

Out of the blue has been exactly how so many miracles have been delivered over the years.

Jocelyn, in her bliss, that first summer she lived in Colorado.
We rode horses and laughed so hard that day, and my sunglasses bounced off on the trail. xoxo
Jess, planting flowers at her first apartment,
the day she told me about this boy she had just met, named Alex. xoxo

Keep praying, friends, and I will too. Keep imagining and expecting the best of everything. Continue in hope. Every scripture invites us to enjoy this habit. Every good bit of spiritual literature will press you into some theme of inner buoyancy, which is what hope feels like to me.

“Despair is the development of pride so great
that it chooses one’s certitude rather than admit
God is more creative than we are.”
My sister Angela shared this beautiful quote with me
XOXOXOXO