Joyful Realist

I think I have spent most of my life thinking it was cool to be a pessimist, cynical, critical and, if circumstances merited, a victim.

It could be because I'm artistic and artistic people feel things deeply.

It could be that I wanted to fit in with other people's world views, so I adopted a "everything is dark and bleak" attitude.

Pessimistic people are really always happy, they just look miserable. They like to be pessimistic. When things go wrong they say, "See? That's what I expected." And if you know someone who is perpetually pessimistic, you can encourage them to see things differently, but know that you will be destroying their happiness. Ironic, I know.

If you know someone who is continually complaining about things, chances are:
1. They want to feel important or special.
2. See #1.

I have spent the greater part of my life wrestling with this negative side of myself. I didn't truly see how negative I was until I met various friends in my life who have endured very dark things in their life. Instead of relishing in their victimhood, they grieved and fought back the sadness by allowing something new to be created in their life.

Like my friend whose grandmother was murdered. She started a ministry of making quilts for people who are in prison or have endured horrendous grief in life.

Or my friends whose parents have made very poor decisions for their families, neglecting the gift of their children. These friends are the most AMAZING parents to their children.

Like my depressed friend who continues to fight for life instead of give in to temptation.

A major turning point for me happened several years ago. In a particularly dark period of my life in which I never thought another fetus would survive my womb, I learned to fight for joy. During that same period, my husband had something horrible happen at work and my parents divorced. It seemed like all the joy of the world had been sucked out into a vortex of hopelessness.

One day I woke up, bleary eyed and said, "I'm tired of crying." And while this word is not always appropriate, in this case it is: "Damn the tears and the sorrow and the suffering."

I felt a surge of life inside me. That's when I started designing again. Wow.
New life. New colors.
Joy for the eyes.
Changing critical into creation.

I'm not really an optimist now, but I'm trying to be a joyful realist, reveling in the beauty that God sustains.

Life isn't perfect and grief abounds.

Hope abounds more.

Friendship

I wrote this post a while ago but didn't publish it. I like to look at people I admire and see how I can be like them. Here goes:

_________________________________

Today I am reflecting on the many wonderful people who have encouraged me in the past year and how they made me feel special with their actions and words.

Like my Mom, who asks caring questions like, "What good food will you eat this week?". (She's a foodie, like me.) There's a whole post on all the things I love about my Mom.

Or my mentor, Shari. When I first met her I thought she was out of my friendship league. (Whatever that means.) And then I saw how she used her organizational skills to show hospitality. And how she's gracious at all times in her words. I asked her to be my mentor, she said "yes" and now I see the world a little differently.

Or my girlfriends who don't allow bankruptcy or murder or sickness or gossip get the better of them. They allow themselves to be made new.

With those things in mind, these are qualities I'd like to keep in the forefront of my mind as I interact with others; these are the qualities I love about my respected friends.

1. Look deeply in the eyes of the person you are talking to.
When your eyes are focused on a person's eyes, it's really hard to let your mind wander elsewhere.

2. Ask follow up questions when someone shares a story.
Isn't that the best, when someone takes a genuine interest?

3. Make treats for someone.
Cookies. Brownies. Muffins. Baked goods= love.

4. If you like something about someone, tell them.
And make it specific. Don't just say, "I like your hair." Say something extra like, "Wow, your highlights make your eyes so bright!"

5. Pay attention to older people.
Listen to their view. Picture them in their prime and ask them about their life.
Marvel at their modesty.
Be mindful of what their life, their economy, what their world was like at your age.

6. When people act unlovely, remind yourself that you have acted unlovely as well.
Surround your mind with memories of people who have loved you in various stages of life.

7. Tell your mother you love her.
Encourage any person who spends their days nurturing life into others.

8. When you feel your self esteem dropping in the presence of an amazing person, be courageous enough to not compare.
Root yourself in God.
Appreciate how God made you in particular.
Strive to love the amazing person.

9. Be emotionally balanced: Enter BOTH the joys and sorrows of friends.
If you only enter the sorrows, that leads to a savior complex.
If you only enter the joys, the shallow roots of friendship can never truly sprout.
Sun and rain are necessary for growth.

10. Pray for your friendships.
Even the easiest friendships can grow barnacles of irritation.
Continue to love and show kindness.

Thankful for you, friends.

Pep Talk to Self

This January my husband and I joined a gym.

We hadn't planned on joining a gym. We tried out a pass for a local hospital owned one and were seduced by piles of white towels "Take as many as you like", regular looking people who went to the gym for its intended purposed (fitness, if you didn't know) and a veritable spa within the locker rooms. We found ourselves signing papers to become members at a place which put lemons in their drinking water. Lemons!

Since we have joined the gym, my husband has gone faithfully almost every day. His pants fit REALLY well right now. Muscles he thought he lost have appeared again. He claims he is almost addicted.

I'd like to tell you that I imitate his love of the gym.

I have been wondering why I do not share his love of the gym and I have come to realize that I have developed a phobia of preparing for the gym. I don't have a fear OF the gym... just PREPARING for it. And since this is the year 2012, I'm sure they have already come up with a name for my malady; it probably ends in "itis".

When my husband goes to the gym, he awakes at the pre-dawn hour of 4:30, bright eyed and eager to work out and head to the steam room for some relaxation. He comes home, drops off his dirty clothes in the laundry and goes to work. He goes in his sports car, the one without Cheerios on the floor, and he enters and leaves the gym in his timing. You could set a clock by the precision of his timing.

When I go to the gym, I look like a tumbleweed that is moving all its earthly possessions to the moon.

I think of all the layers I need: warmup clothes to go OVER the workout clothes.
*Some* of my workout clothes are actually maternity clothes.
Ma-ter-ni-ty clothes. (No, not pregnant.)
After shower clothes.
My special after shower paraphernalia.
Eve's diaper bag stuff.
A cell phone.
Preparing mentally for when Eve screams/runs when we enter/leave the car and enter/leave the childcare area.

It's apparent that I need a "define the relationship" talk with myself and my gym membership.

That I need to buy myself a few pieces of clothing that show myself that I intend to use the gym.

That I need to get my daughter Eve and myself into the mode of going there regularly.

That I need to pretend that preparing for the gym is effortless until I get into the groove.

I will find that rhythm. In fact, this morning I already jump started my day with an egg omelet, a cup of joe and--AND-- a stale cookie that soaked up the coffee beautifully as I dipped it in my mug.

I'd say I'm off to a good start.

See ya later, tumbleweed.

Musings

I can tell that I'm an official adult now because Thanksgiving, Fourth of July and New Years are my favorite holidays. Before my teen years, the favorites were Christmas and birthday, in that order.

I love New Years because, well, everything feels new and uncluttered. It's like the entire country gets a second chance at following their dreams, mending relationships, making good on a promise to themself.

I was grateful for a year that was a little more gentle than previous years.

Thankful for caring family.

Thankful for amazing friends who show their strength in the midst of unbearable marriages, seemingly fruitless efforts, repetitive service and quieting that voice that says, "Am I enough?"

I have discovered that my daughters have made me a different woman. I enjoy simpler things now. I enjoy playing chase and smooching the top of their heads. I love how Morgan's laugh sounds like watery, giggly music. I love how Eve dives into life with the tenacity of a pitbull.

I'm grateful that I'm learning to appreciate how God made me and all my idiosyncrasies. I'm learning to not compare myself to others. I'm learning to focus, to make dreams happen.

I've come to realize that one of my favorite things to do is to do something-- anything-- well. Making dinner. Making a bed. Creating an image. The satisfaction of stepping back from something for an instant and, in God-like fashion, saying "That's good. Make more of that."

I've discovered that I'd rather prune activities from my life than rush around like a mad woman, half seeing the world around me.

In the friendships in my life, I'm accepting of people who aren't yet ready to tell me that they've moved on in life, that they don't see life at all the way I do. I have some friends who are too scared to come out of a cave of their life so I'll just metaphorically leave cookies at their doorstep in the hopes that one day they will.

I have other friends who are seizing the good things in life so fiercely because a tsunami of bad tidings came their way. I admire their ability to create, to push forward, to leave the darkness behind.

My husband and I were talking this morning about how when we were first married we wanted such surface-y things: Without saying so, I'm sure we wanted to be as rich, beautiful and healthy as possible. In the past ten years in Chicagoland, we've changed. We see how God directs our paths through friends and finances, sickness and sorrows. We're planning things less lately and giving God our hearts and motives. Dan and I both have artistic endeavors we'd like to pursue; we find ourselves being mindful of God's voice in that.

And now, A New Year's Blessing for you:

May your sorrows drive you to beauty.
May your joys etch out all pain.
May your days be quiet enough to hear the voice of God,
boisterous enough to hear life pulsing around you
and simple enough to enjoy them all thoroughly.

Happy New Year

To My Younger Self: On Relationships

My husband is a firm believer in not having regrets. It's not that he doesn't have circumstances in his life that he wish weren't so; it's more like he sees each life experience as a learning experience given from God.

He's the optimist in the family.

He doesn't even regret certain toxic people in his life; he has amazing emotional stamina.

I do not share his sentiment or his stamina. If given the opportunity, I would have erased most of my junior high years, increased the amount of time I spent with my great grandmother and said "yes" when Dan Dykstra asked me out for pizza at college.

I regret that last one immensely.

That being said, I have come up with a short list of relationship pointers for myself in the event that time travel is a viable option and I accidentally set the machine for "pre-adolescent years".

*ahem*

1. Surround yourself with people who want to bring out the best in you.

2. Do not make yourself close friends with people who like to be victims in life.

3. People who like to laugh make great friends.

4. You're a "word" person. Make friends with people who use their words for good.

5. If someone is constantly making small jabs at you, excuse yourself politely from the friendship. Even small jabs mean something bigger is lurking.

6. Be the kind of woman that you want to be now, when you're a mother and especially when you're a grandmother. Practice makes perfect.

7. Stay away from people who try to manipulate spiritually, emotionally or any other way.

8. Make guy friends; they're great.

9. Just because a person looks plain on the outside doesn't mean that they're plain on the inside.

10. A person's eyes say a lot about their heart.

Target Practice

Each morning when I awake, a swarm of thoughts awaits me.

The thoughts come in truck loads full.
The thoughts are about doctor visits and decorating ideas.
They continue with joy or concern for my friends.
Sometimes they contain leftovers of difficulties from the day before.
They threaten to undo me.
It's a marvelous morning cocktail of cares.

Each of these concerns is probably valid and important. They can't be dismissed as evidenced by the way they weave their way into my day. They must be addressed. And they will be. Just as soon as I file them and let them know my priorities.

This morning when I awoke, the thoughts threatened to bombard me. They do that on Monday mornings, especially on Monday mornings that follow a 5 day Thanksgiving weekend in which other people help feed my children and clothe them and give them raspberry kisses. On those Mondays I feel very alone.

So this morning I started my thoughts with target practice. My target this day, if I'm living the way God wants me to, is to love. That's my target: love.

If I don't see love as my target, then making the 12 millionth peanut butter and jelly sandwich becomes a task suitable for robots. It leads to numbness of heart and mind.

My washer did something funny this morning. It wasn't "haha" funny, more like *groan, rolling eyes* funny. I felt the day trying to unravel me so I told Dan over coffee. In his true "forest for the trees" way of thinking he reminded me that we're commanded by God not to worry. Forbidden.
Not allowed.
Ain't in our vocabulary.

Zing. There went the arrow straight to the target.

Some contractors came at 8am and let me know something was wrong with the dryer. I filed that under my "no worries" folder and continued to plunge in my morning routine.

Another arrow flew. Bulls eye.

Later this morning I'll go grocery shopping. The goal on that trip will be to get groceries, but as any mother of young ones knows, there are ample opportunities to show love to your children in grocery store settings.
Like when they sit on a pile of paper towel rolls to see if it will hold their weight.
Or climb the shelves.
Or when they announce their dislike for their seated situation.
Or would like very much to put every item in your cart on the conveyor belt by themselves complete with the phrase, "I do it."

There's acres of opportunities for target practice there.

I can't say I'll hit the target all the time, but if I shoot my arrow in the general direction and arm myself with prayer, coffee and some practice, I might just make it.

Zing.

I Have A Rolodex

My name is Emily and I have a Rolodex.

If that causes you to conjure images of an insanely expensive watch worn by celebrities, then you'll be disappointed when I tell you that you are thinking of a Rolex. I'm talking about a rotary file, an office accessory.

I have a Rolodex.

My Rolodex is one of the deluxe models. I got it for free because --flipping my hair for effect-- I used to design for a company called Sanford and helped design on the Rolodex team. I'm sure I just went up a notch in your estimation. Autographs later, please.

In any case, my deluxe Rolodex has the wheels on the side for whirling about my world of contact information. With a flip of my wrist, I can summon specialists, recall my library information and call my favorite flooring company. The cards flip magically around the rotary file as I watch the alphabet pass by dizzily. I can see the entire alphabet is 3 seconds flat. It's fun AND functional. It's FUNctional. (Oh c'mon... laugh.)

I'm not the only one who thinks the Rolodex is fun. My preschool daughter is quite taken with it. In a manner of minutes she discovered most of the features of the Rolodex.

She likes how the cards flip around and around, piling on top of each other. She delights in taking out the special Rolodex punched cards and shoving them into new parts of the alphabet or, more creatively, jamming them in the back of the file. In a final climax of creativity, a family of glitter stickers has appeared now and again in various parts of the Rolodex alphabet. I find myself smiling while I see a happy bear sticker appear in the "R" section and groaning as I realize that the "G" section has disappeared altogether.

My Rolodex is a micro example of what my home is like.

To keep things orderly, I have managed to acquire vast amounts of plastic tubs and all manner of organizing paraphernalia. I close my eyes when the Container Store catalog comes in the mail because, quite honestly, I'm afraid I'll become OCD and start organizing on a sub particle level. Organizing makes me feel like I have control over some part of my world. It's false security but I treasure it just the same.

Enter young children.

My children do not share my admiration of orderliness. In fact, I have been doing an unofficial study and I can tell you that children are 99% more likely to play with toys if they are put away in bins. If toys are strewn upon a floor, children are less likely to be interested in them. Moth, meet flame. The children prefer the toys that are put away so that they can "un-put" them away. The irony.

But as I reflect on my home/Rolodex parallel, I realize that without my little muffins running around wrecklessly in their galoshes and my high heels, I wouldn't have the bling, the glitter stickers.

I wouldn't have the fierce squeezes known as hugs.

I wouldn't have the compliments. "I wike your neckwace."

I wouldn't have that extra something that makes me see the world 100% differently than I did 8 years ago, pre-children.

My 8 year old daughter will take a pack of markers and attack a white sheet of paper with great confidence. She will turn a blank canvas into art in 5 minutes flat and hang it on our art board. She inspires me to stop fretting, love life and just DIG IN! (As an aside, when I'm working on a design for something and get hung up on a part of it, I'll ask Morgan what she would do. Her ideas are always fresher.)

Eve will be 3 in one month. She belts out songs unabashedly. Sometimes when we're home along I'll sing a silly opera version of her Veggie Tales song and we'll dance. We hold hands and say "Shimmy, shimmy" as we push and pull each other's arms. She's pure life.

Some days I don't have this perspective. On those dark days I feel frustrated and want to scrap the whole thing. Nothing ever really feels done but then when I worked in the corporate world nothing ever really felt done there either. (Am I right?)

On those days, I take a deep breath, return the "G" to my Rolodex file and replace the jammed cards. With a new perspective I realize that I don't need a new Rolodex; I need more glitter stickers.