Small Steps Together: Gentleness...

    
     When some people blog, I read their words like I am thirsty. I drink them in, allowing the words to work on my world-weary heart and soul, and wait for the parched land of my spirit to be renewed. I know what I am feeling, I just appreciate it when some else is able to beautifully explain it in prose.

     Last week, as I read Elizabeth Foss and her post about gentleness, I felt as if she was speaking directly to me. For you see, I have found lately that I am not as gentle with my husband. With my children. With myself. I recognize that some of it has to do with just the wildness of the world. The busyness of life. The ever-complicated dance of balance....

     When I look at my husband, I mean REALLY look, I see a gentle, generous soul who made me fall so quickly in love. He truly believes in the goodness of everyone, and as we journey together on this path of life, I recognize what he has had to deal with. How hard must it have been for him when we were having trouble conceiving? Years of infertility that in time, changed my personality. Together, we endured thoughtless words of well-meaning people.... things such as:

So don't you WANT children?
Didn't you agree to have children in your vows?
You aren't being a good Catholic.
Why are your babies so far apart?
Don't you think that it is a little selfish?

    Even today, I can still hear the words and a little piece of my heart is still being mended. I feel my temper rise, just like it did then. Usually I would feel the need to defend ourselves, other times, the tears would come uncontrollably hot and fast. Sometimes, I didn't recognize myself when I would just scream into the void my anger. My frustration. My misplaced guilt. And yet, my Tom would simply enfold me in his arms, whisper words of love and understanding. Allow me to scream and wail. And his gentleness was more powerful than anything.  I often tell his that what I love about him is his gentle strength. Oh how I pray that I can repay that gentleness....

     And what about Joe and Max? Well, truthfully, the baby is easy. His laugh and grin help me to slow down and see the beauty of life so clearly.

     Ah... and then... there's my Joe. I suppose that when I think that he should know something, or do something that we have told him thousands of time before, I do get a little hot-tempered and the frustrated sighs and words happen faster. But really? He is still a child. My child. The one that came when all hope seemed lost. So why can I not take a deep breath, say a prayer for knowledge, and gently help him through it? For isn't this is my job? To nurture and guide and teach? Well, this gentleness is my goal. Truly. Especially since our whole lifestyle is changing and he is going to be home with me....

     So as I reached the end of Elizabeth's post and these powerful words of hers.... this is what struck my heart:

Whether we are growing closer to God or growing closer to people, it's not about checklists. It's about relationships.
Relationships beg coming alongside, walking together.
School is finished. Now begins the real work of cultivating a teachable spirit.
It's about listening.
It's about serving.
It's about nurturing. 
It's about loving.
It's about a gentle spirit.
All the time.

      As I pray for gentleness, I also thank God for the ability to learn from my mistakes. For the grace to continue on despite things that I may have done before. This struggle, this .... life ..... is about so much more than getting. It is about giving.

     How grateful I am to the three special people in my household who make me so glad to be alive, and who love me beyond measure despite my brokenness. And oh how I hope to give them gentleness in return.....

    Today, I am gratefully linking here:

When doubt comes 'round again....

     Sitting with Joe last night, in the fading light of day, my heart was troubled. As I watched him work through a math problem on a math placement test, I was immediately blind-sided by a feeling of worry so heavy that I felt that my heart would break. You know. The soul-gripping, mind-fuzzy kind that threatens to break you in half.
    
      You see, I am still fighting within myself about my ability to home school. Not the decision to, for that has been prayerfully, peacefully made. No. Instead, it's that horrendously wicked self-doubt that grips with talons. Tearing at my self-worth. And all because of the decision over what math curriculum to dive into? Really? Why do I allow this to happen? And what if I don't do science right? Will he learn all that he is supposed to? Oh dear.... All because I allowed DOUBT to enter in. 
    

      And then Tom, my cool-as-a-cucumber husband-who-seems-to-be -able-to-do-anything-he-wants-to-and-do-it-well-without-really-thinking-about-it walks in and simply says, "But honey. We really haven't been to any conferences yet or really physically looked at them. How do we know what to look for yet? Let's just take it one step at a time. We'll do what's right."  He does have a point there. More than you know. I do tend to jump in feet first and then wonder why I'm drowning ... I love ideas and thoughts and dreams, and then have a tough time seeing them all the way through. It's truly one of my character flaws traits. So why can't I trust in myself? What is stopping me there?
    
     Lately, I have been reading Ann Voskamp's book, and she has such a way of weaving words. Somehow, I needed to hear this:

  Joining in with others here:  

Stay calm, enter the moment, give thanks. .... I breathe deep and He preaches to me, soothing the time-frenzied soul with the grace river to whisper. Life is not an emergency. Life is eucharisteo..... That in Christ, urgent means slow. That in Christ, the most urgent necessitates a slow and steady reverence. ..... Life at its fullest is this sensitive, detonating sphere, and it can be carried only in the hands of the unhurried and reverential - a bubble held in awe. (From pages 74-75)

     Oh how I needed to hear this. It's OK to take things slowly, despite what this crazy harried world tells me. It's alright to wonder and question, as long as it leads me to Christ. To trust. To believe. And yes, to hope.         

     As I continue to pray, research, and indeed dream about what I want next year to look like, I will also try to do better with trusting myself. This is going to be harder than teaching for me, by the way. Because it means that I will have to trust that I make the right decisions. (And will I?) Even if not everything turns out the way that I think that it should, I do know that I am so very blessed to have a husband who allows me to question and wonder, to dive right in, and who will be there when I doubt or flounder or just plain mess it up. Who will help to lift me up to God. And I couldn't ask for more. 

(I suppose that I imagine that I am like these daisies...reaching for sun...the Son...For air. For nurturance...)

Keeping time...

   
     On Monday, I gave thanks for this clock. It is one that was always ticking, chiming, and keeping time in my Grammie and Grandpa Olenick's home. Whenever there was a house full of people, it would sometimes be stopped at night if my husband Tom or my uncle Dee slept in the room. (Tom says that the ticking became like a bomb going off in his head as he was trying to sleep. A little sensitive at times.) But usually, it created a soothing background sound.  Whenever there was a settling down in the late afternoon for naps. For reading. For a game of Bird Lotto or dominoes... the clock was there...
     When my dad handed it to me, instructing me on how to care for it, my heart was at once saddened and yet joy-filled. For I now have this clock because my grandparents are gone. I no longer hear Grammie's laughter or Grandpa's quiet voice asking if I want to help pick tomatoes or come and see the squash. And yet!  I am so incredibly grateful that I now have this clock... Keeping time. Chiming. Reminding me always of my grandparents. It has become a reassuring sound in my home.
     And oh, how grateful I am that I belong to a faith that believes in the Resurrection of the Body. That believes in an after-life. Memories of my grandparents help to alleviate the sorrow some. For when I smell those tomato plants, grumble about the voles, or yes, hear this clock, the connectedness that we share in our faith allow them to remain close...
     So I keep time. Grateful for every crumb-filled, laundry-pile-up, baby-crawling, dishes-in-the-sink minute. For I know that time is fleeting. And I don't want to miss a second of it...

Joining in at Ann's place today.....

Compost of the Heart

          Yesterday, something made me take a picture of my compost bowl. The bowl that sits beside the sink and holds the leftovers.
                    The cuttings.
                                   The refuse of our meals. The bowl that often causes my darling husband to roll his eyes, shake his head, wonder. "Exactly what is the purpose? I've never seen you use it..."
     In truth, I have used it. It gets placed in the large-black-roll-y-ball-thingy that he bought for me so that the pile wouldn't be as unsightly. So Joe and I fill it. Roll it around.
                           Let it marinate.
                                      Let it stew, sweat, break-down.
     The purpose is to take what is left and allow it to change into something that can become helpful. Useful. Wonderful rich soil to create this:

     

     And what of us? What of the compost in our lives? What about the times of trial?
               Of tragedy?
                       Of painful, sorrowful, soul-growth events?
    Don't we also use those scraps? Those cuttings? Isn't that just as life-giving as the joyful times? 
     Every moment can be filled with grace if we but let it enter into our soul. For we are fertile soil awaiting the spirit.
                                         The love.
                                                     The joy.
     So yes, that bowl of scraps is simply a physical reminder of what is happening in my soul. My heart. My life. For my God is constantly renewing me with His love (and lately, His patience and understanding). And as I sift through and allow Him to make all things new, I, too, become a new creation. Ready to help my children to be fertile ground as well.
     It takes that compost.
                            Those scraps.
                                 Those cuttings....
      To grow.....