My Latelys

I can't believe it's May already. May 27th to be exact. Nearly a month has passed since I've shared a blog post (more like journal entry), I think to myself, as I sprawl out on our sturdy wooden bench at the dining room table. The cool, smooth surface of the wood feels refreshing against my skin. Coupled with this quiet moment, I breathe deeply and relax.

My body instinctively tenses as I hear a few tiny squeaks from the safari-themed baby bouncer to my right. I notice my body clenching; I'm feeling hopeful and yet realistic about what will happen next. Is she going to wake up? Or continue sleeping? My window of opportunity for accomplishing small tasks (i.e eating a meal, paying bills, folding laundry, or loading the dishwasher) is quickly closing, as baby girl's cute squeaks transition into shrieks and crying. Ruby wants to be held close, so I put down my lunch plate of warm veggie pasta, in all its savory goodness, and cuddle with her on the couch. Cuddling turns into nursing, and then napping - napping on mama's chest. An hour or two passes, and I try to maneuver my way off the recliner with a sleeping baby in my arms. She immediately senses that I'm trying to put her down and crying ensues.

And we are now back to cuddling.

From what I've read and heard, this is a phase - a sweet, albeit exhausting phase - where baby girl wants to be held all the time. On any given day, this will include 5-10 minutes here and there of playtime, called "Tummy Time," where baby girl is placed on her stomach and practices lifting her head and legs. It's a form of strength-training. Ruby typically likes the first few minutes of Tummy Time and then wants to be held again. I also try to hoist her around in our baby carrier front-pack, but unless I time it for right after a feeding, she freaks out and tries to nurse, despite whatever I am wearing. Thankfully, she is starting to enjoy her bouncer chair more often, and as part of my daily routine, I set her in there while I race around the kitchen compiling snacks or throwing together a meal. She can see me and that works for a short time.

Ah, the life of a brand-new mom. My days are structured around Ruby: nursing her, changing diapers, encouraging naps, and baby playtime. All these responsibilities are new to me, and I'm trying to balance them gracefully. There are moments when I remember what life was like before Ruby: sleeping in on the weekend - or just sleeping in general, preparing extravagant home-cooked meals and desserts for Ken and company, and hosting friends and family on a regular basis. Our house was well-kept most of the time, and clean laundry didn't pile up in the dryer for days (or weeks) on end. Ken and I made plans and were consistent in them.

My how times have changed. In this season of acclimating to a baby at home, I sense that God is growing my ability to hold things loosely. I no longer plan things with such definitive expectations. Mostly, I verbalize my desires with a keen awareness that something could change - my days are currently centered around taking care of my baby. A baby who is tender and reliant on Ken and me for everything. We are her world right now. (Well, us and the wild, black-and-white creature named "Penny" who likes to lick her face.)

As I adjust to all these things, I think about how beautiful and unique this time in my life is, where I have the opportunity to be at home with Ruby. I get to watch her grow and develop. I treasure her gentle heart, energetic spirit, and curiosity about the space around her. I'm her mom and she feels safe with me. Our home is a place of joy and hope and life. In truth, it also a place of challenge, as I juggle my new role of mother as well as wife and friend. At times, I have to remind myself that only in taking good care of my health and wellness, am I then able to take care of others. There's a reason why, when traveling on an airplane, emergency protocol dictates that parents are to put the oxygen masks on themselves first, before placing one on their child. I didn't understand this concept as a teenager, in hearing it broadcast over the plane's intercom. Only years later, through counseling, did I recognize the incredibly helpful metaphor that is for my life. In order to help others, it's best for me to operate from a place of strength. The strength that God provides, especially when I feel weak and exhausted and overwhelmed - strength I choose to pursue by practicing peace and rest, which looks very different in this season but is still just as important.

Savoring the small things. Like steaming hot showers, crisp bed linens, freshly vacuumed carpets, and soothing cups of tea. As well as celebrating the nights when we are blessed with a few hours of interrupted sleep. These are examples of how God is renewing my spirit and equipping me with endurance for this journey of motherhood. I find it interesting that in learning how to take care of Ruby, I'm also learning how to better take care of myself.

On that note, I better head out. I hear soft squeaks coming from Ruby's direction. She needs her mama.

My Journey Into Darkness: Finding Hope When It's Gone Missing

My body is on fire. My legs, arms and lower back are burning up. I didn't realize that taking a little more than a week off from exercise would feel this way. But blame and shame are two words that I'm trying to extract from my mental repertoire of go-to personal phrases. I was sick off-and-on for two weeks, and I even worked out half that time. Then, we had the week of Thanksgiving officially off at boot camp. And now, here I am, back in the saddle. I probably pushed myself too hard. 

The way I feel right now physically parallels my mental and spiritual fatigue these past two months. Since my post recalling our theft situation, our apartment storage locker has been broken into twice. The culprit broke the door latch and lock off both times, surprisingly leaving everything inside. We had to pay for replacement locks and door latches and are still paying for the piece of mind that the burglar took and continues to dangle over our heads. Then, a few weeks ago, I found out that a dear family friend committed suicide. A week later, their spouse committed suicide. With my Stephen Ministry training, I have been trying my best to deal with the emotional earthquake that rattled my family and friends with this information. It's hard. I don't know how to describe it better than that. I am still hurting. That's how I respond when people ask me how I'm doing. It's so confusing. I say that phrase when people give me their best "advice" about how to deal with something as traumatic as suicide. Beyond these situations (and a few others that I will spare you), we recently found out that a major scholarship Ken had won is now forfeit because of his current military benefits. That blow came last week and I'm dealing with the aftershock. Early this summer, we structured our entire monthly budget around those funds and have been living off them, in a state of expectation. Mind you, Ken and I are committed to living frugally and within our means, and well, those means were promised to us. Shock, anger, confusion--yes, we felt all of those, together and separately, in questioning how we will make ends meet these coming months. Our new budget, which I started mapping out this morning, is now 1/3 of our previous monthly budget. That means that we either need to cut back on 2/3 of our expenses to balance out or draw from savings to meet the need. No matter how I crunch numbers, it's frustrating and discouraging. Without going into further detail, something needs to change. I'm realizing that. But it's so hard. 

As Christmas approaches, I'm starting to understand better how the holidays are a struggle for many families. There's so much pressure to buy and receive lots of gifts. But what if you can't afford that? Is that what Christmas is about? Also, what happens when you're really tired of giving and just want to receive--something, anything? Especially from those who seem to require the most. According to the popular "5 Love Languages" book, I give love and receive love by giving gifts. That explains why I love picking out the perfect gift for a friend. It makes my day. Likewise, when someone gives me a gift that is well thought out and meaningful, I feel loved. The reverse is true when I'm not remembered or given something trite. I'd rather not receive anything, if that's the case.

I guess I mention these things because today I'm grappling with them. There's lots of tension in my mind between easy and hard times, giving and receiving, living faithfully or fearfully. My life is a combination of all these things and I'm struggling to find hope, when I keep being met with disappointment. Deep down, there's a spark of faith that God will meet us in this hard place but I have to keep praying that the ongoing darkness with not snuff it out. And maybe, just maybe, there's a brighter Light somewhere in this place that will be worth the journey into the darkness...

The View at the Bus Stop

I'm sitting or rather slouching back on the brown tweed recliner in the corner of our living room, sneaking glances at the many people who walk along the busy street near our apartment. Cars go whizzing by, while pedestrians meander slowly, pausing to catch the bus or check for directions on their journey. I close my eyes and the noise reminds me of waves crashing lightly on a distant beach, the water rolling in and then receding back out to sea. I'm impressed by the array of colors represented by these walkers or joggers, skaters or drunks. Blue and hot pink, and then a striped shirt and a baseball jacket. I know that cliche statement about not passing judgement based on appearances, but I wonder if my presuppositions about these folks is all that far from the truth.

One man in particular looks down on his luck, scrambling to catch the next bus that will take him to a potential job opportunity via a friend of a friend. Then there's the guy who looks about 19, weaving in and out of traffic on his beat-up skateboard, hair flowing in the wind, his back to the world and the past that he's trying to beat.

Another young man, probably in his early 20s, dressed in a clean-cut fitted shirt and argyle shorts anxiously walks a few steps behind a straight-faced woman rushing off in front with her many shopping bags, eager to lead the way. I wonder if he knows that she's not interested in whether he can keep pace because she is more concerned about getting where she needs to be, quickly, rather than walking alongside someone in relationship.

A dog barks loudly and I'm drawn to the teenage girl positioned on a low, flat rock beside the closest bus stop. Her eyes are darting to and fro, perhaps hoping she can safely board the bus today without any older men approaching her or begging her attention. These are just a handful of the people I notice at the bus stop each day, morning-noon-night they are here, if only for a moment, to get where they are going.

Watching these people move in and out of my vantage point from the second floor of our concrete apartment building, I can't help but wonder what their real stories are like. I could be completely wrong in how I judge them from the outside, through the glass lens of my balcony door. And yet I have this deep longing to understand the few moments I experience of their lives, even in a more removed sense.

Perhaps my desire to understand and be understood, comes from an experience I had at fitness class on Friday. After a grueling 45-minute workout, my instructor asked our class, "So, how are you going to be active this weekend?" In my usual motivated and upbeat tone, I yelled, "Bike riding!" Smiling as I shared that little tidbit about my commitment to exercise outside of class, I turned toward my fellow classmates, waiting for their affirmation. Almost immediately, I was met by the somewhat curt expression from a newer classmate, a young woman about my age, who belted, "Somehow, I bet you're not bike riding this weekend." The weight of her words crushed in on me. "What did you say? I love bike riding..." I retorted, as my voice trailed off into oblivion. An awkward pause followed by a stinging pain, singed my body. The rush of warmth from embarrassment momentarily consumed me. "Does she have any idea who I am? Does this girl know that I've been in boot camp for three months now and that I bike ride often with my husband? Does she think that I'd lie about exercise--that I'm a liar?"

Negative thoughts swarmed around me, threatening to prick me with their poison. Prior to that day's workout, I had been grappling with my own fears about "measuring up" in various areas of my life.  Launching my own business in wedding planning has proved more strenuous and challenging than I ever would have imagined. Balancing my current workload of planning and coordinating weddings and memorial services, along with my involvement in weekly church ministries, has illustrated my inability to give 100% of myself to everyone and every commitment--a painful process of learning to let go of my own expectations. And not to mention my desire to be a loving wife and supportive teammate to my husband. My inattention to care taking our apartment and cooking well-balanced meals this past week can best be described as lacking. I am insufficient. That theme registered clearly as I thought through the ill-timed words of my classmate. I bet she had no idea what I was already dealing with on an emotional level.

As I look back on that brief exchange with a woman I barely know, I'm reminded of the moments I gaze out my sliding glass door and people watch. The men and women who stroll or sprint by, all have their own unique stories of pain, challenging circumstances, or emotional wounds. I'm sure they also have incredible joys and dreams that would amaze me or themselves, if expressed freely without fear of rejection or judgement. I bet these folks aren't all that different from me, in having their own personal battles and victories beneath the surface. Perhaps, like me, they are easily frustrated when an onlooker mistakenly threatens or judges them, without caring about who they really are. I guess to see clearly, I need another angle. Instead of looking down from my second story window, I should walk downstairs and go through the doors of the building, toward the sidewalk. There, and only there, can I meet these people where they're at and understand them from their perspective, not mine. That's the view I want. The view at the bus stop.