"If you want others to be happy, practice compassion.  If you want to be happy, practice compassion."  - The Dalai Lama

I arrived at the West Palm Beach Airport, to the sight of an amazing and welcoming woman, holding a sign over her head, that read, in bold, handwritten letters, "JUDY S." I instantly forgot how tired I was from the flight, which had been delayed, during my connection in Baltimore, for over three hours. I paused, there in the terminal, for a moment, pondering the wonder of this stranger, who came there, just for me.

Over the years, several of my friends have taken service oriented trips to third world countries. A common thread woven through all of their stories is how generous the people of those places are...often giving up all they have, even their most prized possessions,  for the sake of demonstrating kindness to someone they'd never met.  This from the poorest of the poor on the planet.

I remember having a heart for giving, like that, as a child.  In the early years, when I was in elementary school, there were always an abundance of refugees in class with me.  I can recall, clearly, a number of instances where I would bring gifts to them from home, with no expectation of receiving anything in return.  It was altruism in its purest form.  I believe we are most like God when we are young- our faith in goodness and love abounds- our willingness to pour out all that we have is instinctive and requires no forethought or mathematical figuring...Then, somewhere along the line, the materialism and selfishness, of our Western culture, invades our spirit, and we lose at least some, if not most, of that sense of generosity.  The very living of the scripture "'tis better to give than to receive" gets lost in the "getting" of more.  These days, I spend a lot of time thinking about, working toward, the very self-defeating act of "getting more."  I am as guilty as they come.

Every so often, though, I am offered kindnesses, by folks I've never met, and it is awe inspiring to me.  Getting rescued from the side of the road, in college, by a mother and her daughter, when I blew a tire on the Beltway in Maryland, getting change when I didn't have enough for a subway ticket on one freezing cold morning when I'd forgotten my wallet, and when I was sick a couple of years ago, and people, many of whom we did not know, brought us amazing meals.

Fast forward to now, and I feel compelled to include, in this series of posts, the story of the woman with the sign.  One of the many obstacles I needed to overcome, in order to attend the weekend intensive workshop, was to find a method of getting from the airport in West Palm Beach to my hotel, forty-five minutes away.  I pondered renting a car, except that I would be driving in a place where I'd never been, alone, possibly emotional, and tired from a day of changing planes.  Hiring a taxi was another option, though exhorbitant by our calculations.  Out of the blue, about a week before my trip, a married couple, who sometimes volunteer for the "Center", offered to pick me up at the airport, in West Palm Beach, which is over forty-five minutes from their home, and drive me to my hotel.  I might have ruined their evening, getting in at night instead of during the afternoon as promised, but they showed nothing but grace toward me.  Me, whom they didn't know.  Me, who had nothing to offer but chocolate covered pretzels from Sarris' Candy, and gas money (which they wouldn't accept).  Worse yet, and laughably, Me, whose company they had to be in, for an awfully long drive, which they may have found torturous ( I talk quite a bit, ask a plethora of questions, and have a really vivacious sense of humor, just for starters).   But they did it all for nothing.  Nothing.  And they came back to pick me up on Sunday, in time to get me to the airport for a late flight home.

On my journey toward healing, it was good to know, that in a world that can seem oblivious to the personal lives of the people living in it, where terrible things can be inflicted upon us at the hands of others,  you can still count on the fact that there are people who really do care, just for the sake of caring.  And it was a most heartwarming beginning to three days of very difficult work- knowing that there were these souls, seeking my best, placed on my path, by the very creator of kindness. They were vessels, from God, to remind me, despite the painful circumstances which I've endured, that love and kindness, as he designed them, are unfailing.

And that, my friends, has healing power, all by itself.

I went to see my therapist the other day.  She walked out to the waiting room to get me and said "Oh, my God.  OH...MY...GOD." .  By the look on her face, I thought she might cry or, perhaps, explode.  Down the long hallway to her office, she repeatedly turned around, watching me intensely.  We couldn't get inside the room and shut the door fast enough.   I knew what she was responding to.  It had worked, and this declaration was oozing from my pores.

Sometime at the beginning of May, I began experiencing the frighteningly familiar waves of anxiety that had paralyzed me last fall.  I was terrified, that I was, again, heading down a very dark road, with no other path to trod but the one leading to the inevitable imprisonment of my being by the warden of fear.  If you have never experienced severe anxiety/panic attacks, this may seem to be a bit melodramatic.  I get that.  Three years ago I would have thought the same thing.  Until you've battled the terror of losing control of your nervous system, you cannot imagine how devastating this is, and how the most basic of tasks becomes nearly impossible to complete.

At that point, my therapist looked deeply into my eyes and said "Judy, this is a spiritual issue, and all of the meds in the world aren't going to solve it....a colleague of mine has a weekend intensive healing program...and I need you to trust me and go."

So, on the morning of May 19th, I boarded a flight, bound for West Palm Beach, Florida- the first airplane I've been on, alone, in fifteen years.  I'd had only about ten days to make the arrangements, and with the anxiety and the issues of daily living, and parenting four children, I didn't have the time to ponder the details of the trip, or how petrified I was of flying.  I packed twenty minutes before I left for the airport- the smallest of duffel bags, containing nothing more than the most necessary items- 2 pairs of leggings, 2 shirts, undergarments, my favorite necklace, books, and enough pharmaceuticals to sedate a horse.  I remember crossing the threshold of the gate, onto the jet, grasping all of the courage I could muster.  Then letting go- knowing that this was it for me- this journey. This was my hope.

This was all that I had.

We are taking a trip of a lifetime this summer.  I am home cleaning today while Tom and the kids practice their climbing skills at McConnell's Mill.  These are the times when we are the happiest, though the look on my ten year-old's face clearly does not convey this.  Stay tuned for more.

All those concerned will be relieved to know that Seth has returned to the life of a human being.  He is now a police officer- specifically Officer Buckle (from Officer Buckle and Gloria by Peggy Rathman). 

My crazy bunch...almost 4 years ago....

Tom is on a trip so I was doing the nighttime routine with three boys at once this evening.  As we laid in Ben's big bed, each of us took a turn giving thanks to God, praying for others, and praying for ourselves.  Liam is thankful for the summer we have planned, and he is very concerned about a friend of mine who is very, very sick (as are all of us, it turns out).  Ben is thankful for his bedroom, though he spent about fifteen minutes screaming at me, for the mess on his floor, which is "all Seth's fault."  But Seth- he stole the gratitude show:  "Dear God, Thank you that dinasaurs don't eat me, my bed, and Dee-zuts (Jesus)..."

Amen.  

I've had some frustrating times parenting my three year-old lately.  He is a lovely boy, really.  Yet, he has this temper...and sometimes he's weird.  Not unlike the rest of us, I guess.  But spending nearly twenty-four hours a day with that temper and weirdness can leave me a bit unraveled.

Today was no exception.  He has speech therapy every Wednesday, and has for almost a year now.  And he loves his speech therapist. She's good at her job.  She also gives him candy... He wanted no parts of this appointment this morning, however. And I used all manner of soft voices, loud stern voices, ultimatums, bribery, removal of privileges.  Seth did not care.  Running late, I was forced to scoop him up and stagger to the van.  This may seem like a normal task- carrying one's child to a vehicle. But you must understand- Seth is rather exceptional in stature- a virtual gigantasaurus, as we call him. Taller than 100% of all three year-olds, according to the pediatrician.  And built like a line-backer.  With his father's head (in case you don't know my husband...he has an unusually large head).  Clearly he is destined for some sort of rugged life in the future....perhaps the NFL or a career in the logging industry...or Deadliest Catch...So taking him, in arms, anywhere, is excruciating.  On the way, I sang all sorts of made-up tunes, to get him to cooperate, which, in the end, along with the scent of a gumball reward in the air, worked.

He changed his mind, fervently, twice, about what he wanted to do with the rest of the morning.  He finally settled on pretending to be a parking enforcement officer (or meter maid), and he ticketed our van, over and over, and forced me to pay an excessive amount of invisible cash to him, on the spot- (he loves the show "Parking Wars" about the Philadelphia PPA).  I weeded for a while and he chided me that I was getting booted.

I had to change gears, though, and go to the mall, to attempt to exchange my cell phone for one that works.  I am not fond of malls, especially when toting young'uns....Seth decided that he would cope with the boredom by pretending to be a dog.  There are days when my energy level would not tolerate such shenanigans.  I don't know why, really.  But I tried a new tactic and just went with it.  I let him be a dog.  I told him to "sit" and to "stay" then"come".  He could not have been more delighted.  So surprised at the fun mommy appearing in the moment for him.  And we went with this scenario until we reached home.  Then I really lost my mind and gave him water in a big bowl, to drink on all fours.  Well, I'll be damned if this kid didn't perk up and fall in love with me something fierce!

He let me order him up the stairs for his nap- and wrap him in a blanket- and read books (this doggie loves to be read to- go figure). He giggled and giggled when I told him to bark, instead of talk....then I rubbed his paws, pet him on the head, and sang him to sleep.

Everyday, my children teach me how to be a better parent to them.  Today, Seth taught me to lighten up.

Go, Seth, Go.  Good Dog!

It is a little after 11pm.  The articles, on wellness, that have caught my eye, recently, have all suggested that the use of electronic devices should cease about an hour before bedtime.  And bedtime should be early and consistent.

I realize that I am breaking all of these rules tonight.  Just like last night. And the night before that...and the night before that.  I really am going to turn over that new leaf...

I've wanted to tell the tale of today, though, for about an hour, and the idea of sleeping on it was troublesome- mainly because I know that I won't remember what it was that made me so giddy with laughter this afternoon.  I will get caught up in breakfast dishes and driving and sweeping and homework....

And you really must hear this, friends.

Three of my children set about the business of a "Kool-Aid" stand, around 4:00.  Once things had begun to pick-up, and they realized they could make some cold hard cash from the blue liquid they were pouring, Liam came flying back into the house for some music to play in the background.  "Mommy, do you have a CD player we could borrow? We need some music to draw a crowd.  Something catchy, you know,  like what  the ice cream man does."  So I directed him to the old boom box next to my bed, which he quickly set about plugging into the outlet on the front porch.  All of a sudden I hear him screaming "Mommy- Mommy! This isn't  even good!- We can't use this- its some guy talking about letting go of stress!!!"

And that is my life in a nutshell, people.  So much for catchy.

To my children who call me "mother"- I am in deep gratitude to you today.  I whispered this to you, though you were too busy being my kids to acknowledge such sentimental banter- playing tag, running the neighborhood,  shooting hoops, punching a sibling...This holiday is really about you, dear ones, because, without you, I would not be who I am today- in this role of a lifetime...the one thing I would not change about my life, for all the money in the world.

Conspiring with all the other followers over at The Gypsy Mama, to bring y'all five minutes of motherhood inspiration- without labored editing, pregnant pauses, regrets or burdensome obligation:

GO

My Mom-"Granny"- with Lily, Liam and Ben-2007

One of my favorite photos-Seth-3mos.-bathing in the kitchen sink

the pregnant belly I miss so very much-the epitome of optimism

forgiveness- for the human raising a human; a human flawed and fluttering about in the muck and mire of life, most of the time having no clue what "right" looks like; for the generations of sorrows and sickness we may carry into yet another being; for not being perfect.

peace- that we are good enough; that every minute we spend with our children in acceptance and love is as motherhood is designed- how life is sown and made rich in the blessing of unconditional freedom.

timelessness- to hold still in the joy that we breathe in naked newborn bottoms, wrinkled feet fresh from a bath, mud pies, dandelions, finger paint, homemade cards, magic kisses for boo-boos, the first "I love you Mommy", the faint drawing of breath of a child snuggled on your chest or your armpit

STOP

I've had a difficult day.  I aimed to spend my weekend deep cleaning my home, which seems to have gathered a lifetime's worth of filth, around every corner, every surface....I have yet to find the balance between keeping a decent house and being a mindful parent, taking care of my marriage and taking care of myself.

I got an amazing amount of work done yesterday- piles of laundry the size of Mt. Everest, stain-treating and bleaching our white couch slip covers (and replacing them- a total miracle), rearranging the livingroom furniture and beginning to add back in some character that we were forced to remove once the house went up for sale last year.

I woke up this morning with the old familiar nag of anxiety- like a nasty old school teacher, droning on about how useless I will be if I don't get my work done.  How I will fail, as I have failed before.  I fell prey to these thoughts and ended up taking a mid-morning xanax to attempt to calm down.  The post-traumatic stress of major panic/anxiety disorder, and hitting rock bottom with them both, this past fall, overwhelms me....I fear going back there like nothing I've ever feared in my life....but in these moments, these hours...I feel it coming....

Anne Lamott and I- An amazing night for me - just being in her presence was hopeful

Tonight I bought a tibetan bowl meditation CD and attempted to relax to its melodies. I wasn't all that successful.. So I tried a bath of 3 parts epsom salts and 1 part baking soda.  I scrubbed my skin with organic citris salt glow.  I laid back in the claw foot tub and tried to turn off all of the negativity floating around in my soul- blaring its lies on a megaphone in my brain.....I found I couldn't hear any of the good stuff anymore- I had so quickly lost my perspective.

I lit a candle, took my meds, and sat down with an old stand by "Part B- More Thoughts on Faith" by Anne Lamott.  I had a front row seat to a talk she gave in Pittsburgh several years ago and I am bonded to her voice and her truths, like a friend.  When her life gets tough, and she doesn't know where to begin, she says "Left Foot, Right Foot, Left Foot, BREATHE."  And this wisdom is what I shall be taking with me tomorrow morning.