Soaring and Stillness: Life with the Chickadees

I’ve deeply wrestled lately with identity and purpose.  I believe I’m prepared for the road. I’ve diligently studied the map. But then, BAM, there is an unexpected turn or I encounter brambles that pull and tear at my clothing. Here, in the unknown, I turn into a frazzled, frustrated mess questioning each inch of the cartography.  “Why am I doing this?” “Is it even worth it to continue?” “Why is no one here to help me?” “Where am I actually headed?” I’ve long sought to teach the chickadees that there is a great difference between desire and purpose and that is normal and acceptable to question. Doing what we want to do  is incredibly different than doing what we are called to do. For small humans, it is remarkably easy to redirect the want for the should. It might have taken some extra persuasion, but generally those beautiful, big, soulful eyes showed agreement and little hands slipped inside of mine and we fairly easily continued down a path. They grew, and heels d...

Last night, something miraculous occurred. The phone rang. I answered. In the scope of the everyday ordinary it doesn’t sound like much, the act of seeing a call and accepting it instead of sending it to voicemail. She didn’t want to do anything but talk. Have conversation. Fellowship with me over cellular airwaves.  I answered because outside of immediate family, hers is the number set to bypass do not disturb. The phone knows that outside of regular hours, I’ve let her in.  I think she knows it too. She didn’t call for anything in particular; she was on her way home with an occupied babe in the backseat and had an hour.  She called me. I answered. We talked for the remainder of her trip. The big chick and the professor tried to find a movie to watch and wandered in wondering where I was and when I was coming back. Her little bit was occupied in the car seat and didn’t make a peep. I told them to go ahead without me. She let the golden haired angel watch the coveted tabl...

I have a dear friend who closes with  all shall be well . It's a battle cry and motto, but it's also a deep seeded belief. A series of words that she holds to when the sand passes through her fingers or there is no foothold in the wall. She's beautiful and kind and full of Jesus. She loves her family and her community. She brings awareness to what is important to her. She's also not long for this world. It makes my heart squeeze in a manner I'm only too familiar with. Growing up, September was about the roar of that big stadium in Ann Arbor, the crisp bite of a breeze, the cheer in the air. It was back-to-school clothes and waiting at the bus stop and the first hint of the brilliance of the trees. I met new teachers, lost teeth, found a routine, and loved every minute of all of it. Fall was my favorite, and September brought about all of the things that made it so, for she was the promise of all that was to come. Promises are interesting beasts. As kids, we pi...

In a year of uncertainty, we've stood together, arms linked both literally and figuratively. But in the spot we're currently in? I'm ready to let go and get all schlumpy. My gracegirl has flown the coop for extended periods, little bit took on the responsibility of a new puppy, and we changed nest locations. Phew. Too many life events in the span of five months. I'm. Exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Worn. Out. I'm not a woman who stops. It's one of my great features and also one of my almost fatal flaws. I go and go and go. Until I'm no good to myself or anyone around me, unless the "around me" includes the public. Then, I'm peachy. I'm "fine". You've heard what that stands for...right? Yep. I'm that. The problem being, that when I'm that I don't like me . I'm a rare bird. I usually like myself. I don't worry about what others think. I believe that stems from riding the short bus,...

Motherhood. It's surprising and joyous and painful all at once. It stretches you to elastigirl lengths. Mostly in your heart where no one else can see the bending and twisting that occurs as one comes to grips with the raising of these small (that become big) humans. To My Dearest Chickadees, I've watched you this year, my loves, leaping and soaring and standing precariously close to the edges of cliffs, both physical and metaphorical. I've watched you journey, with abandon. You're both so very very brave and strong and beautiful and kind. I'm not just saying this because I'm your momma and I have to, I'm saying it because truth words deserve to be spoken. I speak truth. Grace Girl, we've had such a year of firsts and lasts. So many, in fact, that I'm downright worn out. I've heard teenagers do that to a soul. But despite it all you are so worth the loving. Worth every second of it. Remember the days when you were smaller than me? Now I...

Choose Joy .  Joy? It's a  choice... ... Choosing Joy. It's how she chose to live her live. It's how everyone is choosing  to remember her as she's partying in Heaven.  Lucky. Duck. She's partying in Heaven... Because as the book that Mary Carver penned from Sara's blog (linked above) discusses, it wasn't all sunshine and roses. Or even mostly sunshine and roses. It was real life gritty and uncomfortable. It was painful and messy and downright awful at times  most of the time. Sara chose. She focused on the joy and the laughter and the family and friendships and community. She picked it. Just think...in the middle of all of it she picked  to focus on the good and beautiful. She made a life for herself when others might have wallowed. She did that occasionally, but always came back from it because she never wanted to be "that person". She never was. In the book from the blog, Mary does an excellent job of choosing post...

It’s been forever and a day since I last checked in (when I logged into this account it said two years and one day, to be exact). I’ve been preparing the girls to someday take flight, which has consumed minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and, apparently, years. It’s a process that is full of perspective and breathing and growing.   I’ll share more about the chickadees and their process in the future, but these next few posts will focus on different topics entirely. To be honest, I’ve found it difficult to be in an online space without friend requests and boundaries. It’s vulnerable and open and real. I’ve been all of these things, but on a much smaller scale and with a limited audience, so please bear with me as I take baby-steps back here. I am honored to be part of the Choose Joy launch team.  I am.  But honestly? This is hard. Glennon says all the time “we can do hard things”. I hard core adopted that mantra as I geared up to read. The hard is i...

I wrote this as the girls were at an intensive a few weeks ago and it didn't publish. It still holds true, despite the passage of time, so I'm hitting post.  ……... I watch them walk into the building, 800 miles from their beds and books. No hesitation, no stutter in their steps. Confident. It’s what I dream for them, this peace. Completely assurance in who they are as people. At home she’s different. Quiet, not in a crowd. Here, she shines. From one set of arms to another she goes, swallowed in embrace after embrace. I see her whole heart in her eyes, and mine teeters between bursting and breaking.   Here, she is home. Never out shadowed, my little immediately finds a set of arms and dives into them. When she’s hugged she comes straight off of the floor. Home. The warmth of this place isn’t limited to the girls. I feel it all around me. Wishing we had this in more spots but grateful for it’s presence here. I’m then kissed and hugged and all filled up too. ...

We've had a summer of full. Five weeks away, two weeks home and countless moments in between. Moments that have caught us by surprise, taken our breath away, and made us pause. Full. Thankful . All I can think about is how we grow when we're poured into. When love and interest and time mix and fill us up. When we pursue life and chase it and live big. If we all just poured more and took less, what would our world look like? I think I'll try it and find out...

She's quiet and unassuming, talented and beautiful, intelligent and sarcastic. She instructs with her actions, movements, words. She leads by example. Her demeanor is one of discipline and her craft is taught with passion. As all good teachers are, she can be loved and feared by her students. To them, she's given a good portion of her life and her heart. It's her second job; she makes it seem like her first priority. She's a part of our hearts and our family...she spends almost as much time growing the chicks as I do. She's leaving. It's heart pain in beauty at it's finest. To us, she's not just a dance teacher. She's a friend and confidant, physical and massage therapist and dream encourager. She's a cheerleader and disciplinarian and a shoulder to lean on. She stretches the chicks physically and emotionally. With her, they take flight. Our hearts? Broken. We are beyond excited for the opportunities that await her and cannot wa...

Us on Friday night in the elevator " You're so proud of her ."  He said it as a statement, no judgement, a bit of wonder in his voice. Speaking the her in a plural, for both of them. Another long day, long night, long weekend. He's a man who loves his chicks; he brings a laptop and reading material and sits at desks in hotel rooms instead of at home. He watches ever single routine. This man of ours hugs. He grabs bags of ice and rubs muscles taxed by hours of dancing on concrete in convention ballrooms. He kisses them goodnight and curbs giggling in foreign beds when tired turns to silly and I'm too spent to do more. When the weekend is over, her puts luggage in the car and drives and allows me to shut my eyes as a city disappears behind us. How it's done... Dad's attempt during a break at ASH Never once has he said he wishes they were basketball players, or volleyball or baseball or.... or anything other than who they were made to...

( sometimes it's best to hold hands and keep on keeping on) It's Thursday, and the social media sites I frequent all feature various videos and photos with a # and the letters TBT. Throw back Thursday . A day to reminisce and recall a previous sweetness. Not a bad concept in a culture always set on moving full throttle toward something new. Most Thursdays I enjoy looking at old videos of dance routines or of my friends as smallish people. Not today. Today I would love for it to be "Do over Thursday." If I was being honest, I think I'd prefer for it to be "do over" week. That would make it do over month...at that rate let's make it do over year. I need a do over . One with more energy and patience and less tears. A day ( or week or month ) filled with waking up feeling rested and capable and like I'm not failing at something. I'm not whining or down in the dumps, I'm just keeping it real. Raising and homeschooling g...

One spot to another, always in flight. These chicks keep me on my toes. Lately, we've done quite a bit of travel with dance. The professor is busy with work and so the legs he was helping with driving have fallen to me. It means a whole lot more time away from the nest. Today, we left at noon and will arrive home sometime after 9:30 p.m.  LONG Long for them and for me. Driving to our distance ballet, taking Little Bit to the library to finish up schooling and then trekking to the other studio for assisting and classes for both of them all night. I sit bundled in my jacket and her scarf, earbuds in and the girls doing jetes in the other room.  Classes change. My sweet babe moves into her company hour with a sharp jazz routine and the Grace Girl works on changing a solo from pointe to ballet, just in case the pointe component is not ready for another competition in two weeks. I think it will be, but she's not sure...always the perfectionist in her dancing, she...

I'm linking up with Lisa-Jo for the last Five Minute Friday of 2012. Five minutes to write without editing, backtracking, overthinking...Five minutes of word freedom. Today's topic? Wonder. Ready. Set. GO! WONDER The season where everything is aglow...where eyes, big and small, are filled with wonder. Trees that fill busy city centers, movement everywhere. A small hand nestled in mine as we look at the twinkle and her sweet, soft voice fills the aisles of the hardware store. Wonder . In this most holy of seasons, I search for it. In her eyes, in the stories, the songs, the hymns and the carols, in His Word. I find it in the moments when I'm least expecting it. In the cherished books at bedtime she's pulling out to read maybe for the last season  and in the willowy figure that is turning from girl to young woman before my eyes. In the way he wakes and begins to try to rub the sore out of my stubborn hip and spine, even before he opens his eyes. Th...

I sit here as the rain spatters the windshield, tucked in a fleece, dreaming of a warm fire at home. I'd know those legs anywhere, but I've never quite studied them as I'm doing now. Slender, tiny, able to reach great heights; feet that seem unnaturally flexible in form. Tonight, in the silence, I'm taken aback by how small they look next to everyone else's--black jazz pants in a sea of pink tights. Much like her wardrobe, those legs set her apart. How long has it been since I've simply watched her feet? Forced to see from a new perspective, I gain a sense of the reasons they peel, bruise, ache; with heels on releve, arches formed, toes perfectly pointed she puts them through their paces. I briefly catch a glimpse of a face in concentration as she stretches deeply. After almost eight straight hours she must be ready to finish. Never does she slow or falter,in each movement completed she offers nothing but precision. Her work ethic astounds me. A text com...