So today I've been chasing my kids around the awesome maze that is the Dizzy Castle. It's a fun indoor play place with slides, ladders, balls, air-powered ball shooting guns, swingy things, crawly things and more all placed strategically around and through a pirate ship, castle, and dragon. I think my kids would live there if I'd let them.
Anyway, so we came home for naptime and I got on facebook and saw this video.
Yes, yes, it's ironic that I saw this video about the evils of "social" media on a social media site, I know, but the message is still important. Our society is rapidly degrading into a selfish, instant-gratification seeking, impatient cesspool of zombies and it's never going to stop unless we stop it.
I remember my childhood so well I can still smell, taste, hear and see it vividly... but that's because it was spent playing outside, creating games that didn't involve technology, witnessing the miracles of Creation every day. This generation - my children's generation - is losing those precious experiences. How many of us let our kids play ipads or iphones or computer games without giving it a second thought? I do. I think, "Oh good, they'll be busy for awhile now and I can get _____ done." But wait a second, wouldn't it be just as easy to tell them to go play in their room? Couldn't I let them watch me cook or bake and allow their curious minds to process how these things work? Couldn't I put on some music for them and have them make up a dance routine? I could. Sometimes I do. But if I'm honest, it's just so convenient to hand them the ipad and wish them luck.
I need to make a change before my kids are in their teens and all they can remember about their childhood is hundreds of hours of movies and games on the ipad. I'm the one who has to lead the charge. I have to show them the way. because me saying it won't matter one wit if I'm ignoring my own admonitions in favor of more screen time. I don't want to be this person dependent on technology to keep me happy. I'd rather reach out and touch the world, to be a part of it, to live in it. I want my kids to love life, to burst forth with creativity and ingenuity. I want them to see the world as God created it, not man.
Just a few thoughts for the void. Be blessed and connect... but to humanity, not a computer.
Rachelle
Friday, October 31, 2014
Monday, October 20, 2014
You are loved. You have value.
I have been in a valley. It's bone-dry there, no trees, no bushes, just flat, expansive desert land. I have been here for awhile, trudging along, wondering what the point of it all was? Why was I having such a hard time, while others seemed to be on a mountaintop, singing their hearts out with gratitude and power? Why was I alone in this awful place with no comfort?
There is a verse in Proverbs that talks about a merry heart doing good like medicine but a broken spirit dries the bones. It used to be a joke my sister, Andrea, and I shared. We used to tell the other that they were drying our bones and it would be a reminder to buck up. I miss that camaraderie... especially when my spirit is so broken I can not see the light anywhere.
It is a hard thing to grow up, to let go, to say goodbye. I've gotten only a little better than I used to be. I still cry when I leave people I love. I still miss them with every breath in my body. But I have resigned myself to the fact that nothing in life is permanent and there's nothing I can do about it.
Anyway, this lonely, joy-sapping place is where I've been traversing for a few months. It's taken a toll on me, my kids, and my husband. I felt very distant from everyone and everything in my life that should bring me joy and happiness. Lonely, sad, bitter, cut-off... it's a great place to be, I tell ya. Only not really. Please don't find yourself here.
Last week, we had a very dear man come stay with us for a few days. Pastor Daniel. He came to us from a town on the west coast of India, where he runs a mission that helps care for widows and orphans.
I had never met him and had never housed a missionary before, so I went into a fit of cleaning and preparation before he arrived, working myself up into a storm of worry. I worried he would see the messes, see how wild my children can be, see the daily struggles we go through with Skyla's sass and Levi's stubbornness, that he would see me struggling through my valley and rain down the judgement.
Will couldn't understand why I was so worried, he was looking forward to meeting this man he'd been conversing with on facebook for months. I couldn't find a way to explain why I felt this way, so I stopped trying and just threw my anxiety into cleaning.
Pastor Daniel arrived on Monday afternoon and in him I found a surrogate father and fast friend. He was gentle, calm, but carried all of the authority of a prophet of the old testament or one of the apostles. He told us about India, the food and culture, and the people. Will and I sat for hours, listening to him describe the hardships and also the joys. I was enraptured with the stories. He would ask questions about us, how we'd met, how we became Christians/spirit-filled. I was anxious when I related my testimony and stories. I was waiting for God to tell Pastor Daniel that I was not fit for his company, that I was an imposter with little faith who had never been used to perform any miracles, prophecies, or healings for Him. But I found no condemnation, only thoughtful consideration. I think Pastor Daniel sensed that I was already broken and there was no need to take me further into the valley.
Wednesday night, after the kids were put to bed, we were chatting for a few minutes before Pastor Daniel suggested we pray. I was anxious. When Pastor Daniel prays, you can feel a very tangible presence of God on him. He prayed for a long while, sharing words of knowledge, prophecies, encouragement and love. It was through his prayer that my soul experienced healing. I remembered the love I once had, the peace and comfort.
For a long time, I had seen others with such a clear sense of what God wanted from them, what their "gift" was, and I was envious of the certainty it afforded them. I had no sense of any gift, no idea what God wanted from me; in truth, I often joked that I was the appendix in the body of Christ because I had seemingly no use. As Pastor Daniel prayed, he talked about a gift of discernment and how I was usually able to quickly discern whether something or someone was of God or not. This took me by surprise, as I often have a definite feeling about people one way or another, especially those professing to be Godly. I hadn't really considered this to be anything out of the ordinary, just chalked it up to my untrusting nature, but Pastor Daniel acknowledged it as a gift from God. He said I would be like Deborah, a judge for God to help guide and lead. Those words awoke something in me, a sense of worth. I felt valued. I felt loved. I had been given something after all and God did want to use me. Like a balm on a wound, those words soothed my bruised spirit. God had spoken through Pastor Daniel that night and let me know that I was not forgotten. There were many other revelations and encouragements, too, but that was the one that had the biggest impact on my spirit.
I felt a renewed sense of purpose and worth. It is because of this that I want to encourage those of you who may be in a spiritual valley. Keep going. You will not be there forever. I know it is so hard and you want to just stop, but don't. You have a value far beyond anything earthly could compare to. Jesus loves you, He wants you. If He can use me, if He can salvage me and change my heart, mind, and soul, He can do it for you. You are not an appendix with no seeming use.
You have value... and you are loved.
Rachelle
There is a verse in Proverbs that talks about a merry heart doing good like medicine but a broken spirit dries the bones. It used to be a joke my sister, Andrea, and I shared. We used to tell the other that they were drying our bones and it would be a reminder to buck up. I miss that camaraderie... especially when my spirit is so broken I can not see the light anywhere.
It is a hard thing to grow up, to let go, to say goodbye. I've gotten only a little better than I used to be. I still cry when I leave people I love. I still miss them with every breath in my body. But I have resigned myself to the fact that nothing in life is permanent and there's nothing I can do about it.
Anyway, this lonely, joy-sapping place is where I've been traversing for a few months. It's taken a toll on me, my kids, and my husband. I felt very distant from everyone and everything in my life that should bring me joy and happiness. Lonely, sad, bitter, cut-off... it's a great place to be, I tell ya. Only not really. Please don't find yourself here.
Last week, we had a very dear man come stay with us for a few days. Pastor Daniel. He came to us from a town on the west coast of India, where he runs a mission that helps care for widows and orphans.
I had never met him and had never housed a missionary before, so I went into a fit of cleaning and preparation before he arrived, working myself up into a storm of worry. I worried he would see the messes, see how wild my children can be, see the daily struggles we go through with Skyla's sass and Levi's stubbornness, that he would see me struggling through my valley and rain down the judgement.
Will couldn't understand why I was so worried, he was looking forward to meeting this man he'd been conversing with on facebook for months. I couldn't find a way to explain why I felt this way, so I stopped trying and just threw my anxiety into cleaning.
Pastor Daniel arrived on Monday afternoon and in him I found a surrogate father and fast friend. He was gentle, calm, but carried all of the authority of a prophet of the old testament or one of the apostles. He told us about India, the food and culture, and the people. Will and I sat for hours, listening to him describe the hardships and also the joys. I was enraptured with the stories. He would ask questions about us, how we'd met, how we became Christians/spirit-filled. I was anxious when I related my testimony and stories. I was waiting for God to tell Pastor Daniel that I was not fit for his company, that I was an imposter with little faith who had never been used to perform any miracles, prophecies, or healings for Him. But I found no condemnation, only thoughtful consideration. I think Pastor Daniel sensed that I was already broken and there was no need to take me further into the valley.
Wednesday night, after the kids were put to bed, we were chatting for a few minutes before Pastor Daniel suggested we pray. I was anxious. When Pastor Daniel prays, you can feel a very tangible presence of God on him. He prayed for a long while, sharing words of knowledge, prophecies, encouragement and love. It was through his prayer that my soul experienced healing. I remembered the love I once had, the peace and comfort.
For a long time, I had seen others with such a clear sense of what God wanted from them, what their "gift" was, and I was envious of the certainty it afforded them. I had no sense of any gift, no idea what God wanted from me; in truth, I often joked that I was the appendix in the body of Christ because I had seemingly no use. As Pastor Daniel prayed, he talked about a gift of discernment and how I was usually able to quickly discern whether something or someone was of God or not. This took me by surprise, as I often have a definite feeling about people one way or another, especially those professing to be Godly. I hadn't really considered this to be anything out of the ordinary, just chalked it up to my untrusting nature, but Pastor Daniel acknowledged it as a gift from God. He said I would be like Deborah, a judge for God to help guide and lead. Those words awoke something in me, a sense of worth. I felt valued. I felt loved. I had been given something after all and God did want to use me. Like a balm on a wound, those words soothed my bruised spirit. God had spoken through Pastor Daniel that night and let me know that I was not forgotten. There were many other revelations and encouragements, too, but that was the one that had the biggest impact on my spirit.
I felt a renewed sense of purpose and worth. It is because of this that I want to encourage those of you who may be in a spiritual valley. Keep going. You will not be there forever. I know it is so hard and you want to just stop, but don't. You have a value far beyond anything earthly could compare to. Jesus loves you, He wants you. If He can use me, if He can salvage me and change my heart, mind, and soul, He can do it for you. You are not an appendix with no seeming use.
You have value... and you are loved.
Rachelle
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
"I've been turned into a cow, can I go home?"
That was a quote from The Emperors New Groove, in case you were wondering, and it quite adequately describes my current state of mind.
I have been living in a construction zone for 2 months now. At first, it was just little annoyances like the crew taking over two of four parking lots for their building materials, then it started getting more invasive. I put up fall decorations for the first time ever on my porch and literally a day later was told to take them down because people were going to be working on our porch... for the next two weeks. Then they said I have to find another spot to park because they'll be working in my driveway for an undetermined amount of time. Then the big one came two days ago: "You need to clear a four foot space around EVERY window in the apartment because we're replacing them." O_O
I have furniture I had to move in every single room. Will is not here because of work. My mother is here (thank goodness) but she is trying to finish two sewing projects because the woman just doesn't know how to relax. :P My mother is also leaving tomorrow. My coffee maker is now broken and I have no idea why. I broke a bookcase yesterday trying to move it. I cracked my beautiful sleigh bed while trying to move it. I'm homeschooling Skyla and it's tough. My house is a wreck because of Colin's birthday party on Sunday. Colin has diarrhea, probably due to all the sugar he consumed on Sunday.
All of these things formed the basis of a gigantic mushroom cloud of emotion that exploded out of me this morning. I cried. I leaned against the bunk beds now positioned in the center of the room and sobbed for five minutes.
I hate having people I don't know in my house (I should clarify: people I didn't invite.) I feel like I need to explain why there is a pile of jackets on my recipe book baskets, or why every set of blinds is broken, or why my carpet looks like it came from the pound. But what I hate even more is feeling like my living space is not my own. I cannot paint walls, I am paranoid of leaving holes in the walls so I don't hang many decorations, and I can't just replace broken things, I have to alert the media and wait - sometimes weeks - for the management to get around to caring enough to fix them. I hate that they can just invade my house and I have no say.
I know I am being completely toxic right now. I'm sorry. This is just how my life is sometimes; just a downpour of misery all at once. I can also acknowledge that when compared to others, my problems are really not so soul-crushing, but they can still feel like it.
Hopefully, all you other mommies are having a better week than I am, but just in case you're right there with me, I just want to say this: "I'm so sorry you have to go through this right now. I understand completely that your only wish right now is to melt into the earth and be alone and not responsible for anything. I know. Truly. You will make it. You will find a way to keep going until the crapfest is over. Cry if you need to, but don't give up. Nothing lasts forever... not even construction."
Stay strong... and fake it 'til you make it.
Rachelle
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Procrastinations...
So after weeks of not writing a single sentence in my poor, sad little book, I came back to it on Sunday with a burst of inspiration. It began with me wanting a read a book, but coming to the realization that the only book I wanted to read was my own. What a dilemma, as my book has yet to be written.
So I made myself plop my rear end onto the chair at my desk and stared blankly at the computer screen for a few moments. It was then I realized I needed some music! Yes, I need inspiration! So rather than write, I went off on a wild goose chase in search of a perfect motivational score that would have me churning out the pages like magic. Three hours later, I had yet to find anything but a headache.
So I went back to my documents page and continued to stare. Then I realized I had no coffee! One simply cannot write a good story with coffee (or tea) to sustain them! So I made myself coffee and plopped back down into the chair, certain this would get the creative juices flowing.
Flowing... that reminded me that I needed to use the bathroom.
While utilizing my bathroom, I decided I'd better straighten it up a bit, so I gathered the pile of laundry that had accumulated and put it with the bigger pile in the other bathroom, making a mental note that I needed to go to the laundromat in the next day or so.
The thought of going to the laundromat made me cringe and reminded me that I was going to look for a new washer on craigslist. At this point, I recognized full well what I was doing, but I still didn't stop myself. I was hiding from writing. And not well, I might add! I could hear it calling me, disapproval saturating it's tone.
It's not that I don't want to write - I do! It's just. so. slow. I type a sentence, stare at said sentence and then re-write it a dozen times until I'm satisfied and move on... but then, hours later, I return to delete it and start from scratch. -_-
Then there are the times of explosive ideas when I write and write and write and think, "Yes! This is brilliant!" This is usually late at night when my littles are asleep and I can better focus, but it never fails, when I re-read it the next morning, I am completely disappointed. Everything must sound better when you're half asleep, that is the only possible explanation for it. So frustrating! The perfectionist in me is ruining everything.
Anyway, all of this brings me to a quote my little (26 year old) sister says all the time: "Even if it's crap, just get it on the page!" I can hear her voice chanting it in my head. I pretend she's standing behind me with a ruler, ready to smack my hands the second they leave the keyboard. And she probably would, too, if she didn't live hundreds of miles away.
So with that image firmly in my mind, back I will go, chasing that elusive miracle known as the perfect story. Wish me luck.
Rachelle
So I made myself plop my rear end onto the chair at my desk and stared blankly at the computer screen for a few moments. It was then I realized I needed some music! Yes, I need inspiration! So rather than write, I went off on a wild goose chase in search of a perfect motivational score that would have me churning out the pages like magic. Three hours later, I had yet to find anything but a headache.
So I went back to my documents page and continued to stare. Then I realized I had no coffee! One simply cannot write a good story with coffee (or tea) to sustain them! So I made myself coffee and plopped back down into the chair, certain this would get the creative juices flowing.
Flowing... that reminded me that I needed to use the bathroom.
While utilizing my bathroom, I decided I'd better straighten it up a bit, so I gathered the pile of laundry that had accumulated and put it with the bigger pile in the other bathroom, making a mental note that I needed to go to the laundromat in the next day or so.
The thought of going to the laundromat made me cringe and reminded me that I was going to look for a new washer on craigslist. At this point, I recognized full well what I was doing, but I still didn't stop myself. I was hiding from writing. And not well, I might add! I could hear it calling me, disapproval saturating it's tone.
It's not that I don't want to write - I do! It's just. so. slow. I type a sentence, stare at said sentence and then re-write it a dozen times until I'm satisfied and move on... but then, hours later, I return to delete it and start from scratch. -_-
Then there are the times of explosive ideas when I write and write and write and think, "Yes! This is brilliant!" This is usually late at night when my littles are asleep and I can better focus, but it never fails, when I re-read it the next morning, I am completely disappointed. Everything must sound better when you're half asleep, that is the only possible explanation for it. So frustrating! The perfectionist in me is ruining everything.
Anyway, all of this brings me to a quote my little (26 year old) sister says all the time: "Even if it's crap, just get it on the page!" I can hear her voice chanting it in my head. I pretend she's standing behind me with a ruler, ready to smack my hands the second they leave the keyboard. And she probably would, too, if she didn't live hundreds of miles away.
So with that image firmly in my mind, back I will go, chasing that elusive miracle known as the perfect story. Wish me luck.
Rachelle
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Unplugging...
Ok, so I'm not really unplugging anything. I'm just taking a facebook hiatus. I don't know about you, but the more time I spend of facebook, the sadder I get. Between the starving children, barbaric ISIS beheadings/general terror, fires, droughts, floods, rapes, murders, crooked politicians, evil monsanto, and various other bummerage, my brain just fizzles after a few minutes of scrolling. My heart just withers in my chest and starts crying, "Just stop. Look away, find something else."
Of course, then there's my little herd of stampeding buffalo that always seem to want my attention right when I've settled in for a nice little social media session. Bless their little hearts. There are times when I have heard their little voices trying to reach me through all the crap that's marinating my soul, "Mama, will you play with me?" Sometimes, I brush them off with a, "Not right now." but on the times when I really listen, I get off the computer and go have a tea party or play super heroes.
Sometimes I forget that I have a serious job to do. On days when the hubby is gone for the week and nothing seems to be going right, I just sink into this wormhole of self-preservation and try to forget that I'm a mother. It's a hard job. Much harder than you ever believe it will be before you have any children. People try to warn you, but every single woman is certain that she will be the one superwoman immune to the hardships of motherdom... and every single woman usually has some kind of meltdown that stems from the realization that she didn't have it as figured out as she thought.
My mother told me over and over and over before I was even married that once I had kids, my life would cease to be about me. I would roll my eyes and nod and agree, and I really thought I understood. Sweet, naive Rachelle.
The year I had two babies in diapers was really hard, possibly the hardest of my life to date. One thing that made it worse was logging onto facebook in search of connections, but all I ended up feeling was isolated. I would look at these unbelievably productive mothers (some of which had more kids than I did!) who posted pictures of delicious-looking dinners, gourmet lunches, elaborately themed birthday parties, and flawless bodies that held no trace of stretch marks, extra pounds, or excess skin. They would humble brag about how their one year old was already potty-trained and learning to read and that their three year old was already swimming and painting masterpieces.
All I could think was: "How do they do it?!" I compared myself to these other mothers and found myself to be extremely wanting. Compared to these mystical miracle workers, I was just a fat, sleep-deprived, scatter-brained, unmotivated, and just plain not good enough schlub. I wish I had turned off facebook back then. It would have helped me significantly.
New mothers don't need to feel like they're in a competition with the world, life is hard enough those first few months. They need support. They need someone to talk to them every day, someone who will let them sob about spilling the 2 oz of pumped breast milk they just spent 30 minutes wrenching out of their boobs. They need someone who will not judge them for their decision to make boxed macaroni and cheese for dinner for the third night in a row because they just don't have the mental stamina for anything beyond that. And they really need someone who will smile and tell them they are doing a great job and promise that it won't last forever.
Anyway, my original point was that social media these days contains so much awful information that you never wanted to know. So much crap that you don't need to know. I already know that the world has been slipping into a downward spiral for years. I understand... really! I just don't want to talk about it anymore. I can't talk about it anymore.
I need to be blissfully ignorant for awhile. I have to raise my kids with care and attention and not have a million things buzzing in the back of my mind all day long... things that are out of my control anyway. It's too easy to forget the importance of the job I'm doing with so much ugliness in the world. It's easy to feel like it won't matter how your kids turn out because we're probably all going to end up blown to bits in a few years anyway. I'm not going to raise my kids in fear of what might happen, though, I'm going to raise them how I feel they should be raised, in spite of the ugliness around them. I'm going to give them what security and happiness I can, while I can, because none of us really know what tomorrow will bring.
And while I'm at it, I'm going to cut myself some slack, too. I am realizing that I don't have to be supermom - at least not all the time - plain ol' "Mama" seems to be just fine with my kids so it's just fine with me, too.
"I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam." Popeye the Sailor Man
Rachelle
Of course, then there's my little herd of stampeding buffalo that always seem to want my attention right when I've settled in for a nice little social media session. Bless their little hearts. There are times when I have heard their little voices trying to reach me through all the crap that's marinating my soul, "Mama, will you play with me?" Sometimes, I brush them off with a, "Not right now." but on the times when I really listen, I get off the computer and go have a tea party or play super heroes.
Sometimes I forget that I have a serious job to do. On days when the hubby is gone for the week and nothing seems to be going right, I just sink into this wormhole of self-preservation and try to forget that I'm a mother. It's a hard job. Much harder than you ever believe it will be before you have any children. People try to warn you, but every single woman is certain that she will be the one superwoman immune to the hardships of motherdom... and every single woman usually has some kind of meltdown that stems from the realization that she didn't have it as figured out as she thought.
My mother told me over and over and over before I was even married that once I had kids, my life would cease to be about me. I would roll my eyes and nod and agree, and I really thought I understood. Sweet, naive Rachelle.
The year I had two babies in diapers was really hard, possibly the hardest of my life to date. One thing that made it worse was logging onto facebook in search of connections, but all I ended up feeling was isolated. I would look at these unbelievably productive mothers (some of which had more kids than I did!) who posted pictures of delicious-looking dinners, gourmet lunches, elaborately themed birthday parties, and flawless bodies that held no trace of stretch marks, extra pounds, or excess skin. They would humble brag about how their one year old was already potty-trained and learning to read and that their three year old was already swimming and painting masterpieces.
All I could think was: "How do they do it?!" I compared myself to these other mothers and found myself to be extremely wanting. Compared to these mystical miracle workers, I was just a fat, sleep-deprived, scatter-brained, unmotivated, and just plain not good enough schlub. I wish I had turned off facebook back then. It would have helped me significantly.
New mothers don't need to feel like they're in a competition with the world, life is hard enough those first few months. They need support. They need someone to talk to them every day, someone who will let them sob about spilling the 2 oz of pumped breast milk they just spent 30 minutes wrenching out of their boobs. They need someone who will not judge them for their decision to make boxed macaroni and cheese for dinner for the third night in a row because they just don't have the mental stamina for anything beyond that. And they really need someone who will smile and tell them they are doing a great job and promise that it won't last forever.
Anyway, my original point was that social media these days contains so much awful information that you never wanted to know. So much crap that you don't need to know. I already know that the world has been slipping into a downward spiral for years. I understand... really! I just don't want to talk about it anymore. I can't talk about it anymore.
I need to be blissfully ignorant for awhile. I have to raise my kids with care and attention and not have a million things buzzing in the back of my mind all day long... things that are out of my control anyway. It's too easy to forget the importance of the job I'm doing with so much ugliness in the world. It's easy to feel like it won't matter how your kids turn out because we're probably all going to end up blown to bits in a few years anyway. I'm not going to raise my kids in fear of what might happen, though, I'm going to raise them how I feel they should be raised, in spite of the ugliness around them. I'm going to give them what security and happiness I can, while I can, because none of us really know what tomorrow will bring.
And while I'm at it, I'm going to cut myself some slack, too. I am realizing that I don't have to be supermom - at least not all the time - plain ol' "Mama" seems to be just fine with my kids so it's just fine with me, too.
"I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam." Popeye the Sailor Man
Rachelle
Looking beyond yourself...
"Your children are certainly well behaved." an older gentleman made that comment to me this morning as I was taking all three kids out to breakfast. I could have kissed him.
We do not often get such comments. (usually it's the opposite.) No one has ever come right out and said, "Holy cow, lady, why don't you call super nanny or something?!" but I definitely see the looks we get sometimes. Those looks that let you know someone thinks you're failing at life.
I hate those looks.
I probably used to give those looks before I had any children... (a million years ago, when I was much skinnier and a lot more naive.) Back then, I used to hate the sound of children crying. It straight up annoyed me. I remember one time, my friend, Wendy, and I were talking at work (back when I had a job that didn't involve discussing what color shoes Barbie should wear today or how Buzz Lightyear's laser works) and we heard a baby crying in the store. Wendy made a comment that she always gets sad whenever she hears kids cry and I said something along the lines of, "I think it's annoying." Wendy was a mother and I was not.
Now that I am a mother myself, I get it. Although I tend to feel more for the mother (or father) than the screaming child. I know they're most likely trying hard to get a few things done and their kids are just not feeling it, but they have no choice but to soldier on. These days when I hear a kid crying/screaming, my normal impulse seems to be to rush over and give the mother a hug and tell her that everything will be ok. Maybe it's what I'd like to hear when my kids are having a bad day. Maybe it's just because I want them to know that I don't consider them a failure. Or perhaps I just want to acknowledge their struggle so they don't feel isolated and alone... because I've been there. I've had some pretty tough days when I really just want to run away to my own mother and forget the whole thing - I can't - but boy do I want to sometimes.
Which brings me to my main thought today, that compassion seems to get buried a lot these days. People are so consumed with themselves that they forget they aren't the only humans around. They see other people as obstacles in their way... mere inconveniences along their solitary path of selfishness. It's too bad. I can remember a time when people used to talk with one another. They used to share things face-to-face. They used to laugh and have moments together, moments that speed up and slow down time all at once. They used to relate to one another, instead of competing. People just aren't much like that anymore. Instead of going out of their way to encourage or help, they go out of their way to avoid and ignore... and it's hurting us in ways we probably can't even fathom.
I want to encourage all two of my readers to make a connection with someone. Reach out to a stranger or an old friend you haven't talked to in a while. Instead of just grabbing your grocery bags and rushing out to your car, gab a little with your cashier or the person behind you. Ask someone's opinion about a product. Make a comment. Offer encouragement. Offer love. I love being able to stay connected to people on social media as much as the next person, but it's just not enough! I want to hear your voice. I want to touch you! I want to hear your laugh, to see your tears, to FEEL how you're feeling. I want to connect with you...
Tell a mother in a restaurant that her kids are well behaved... it might be the only positive words she's heard in a long time, and it might come at a time when she is desperate for any kind of sign she's doing anything right.
You never know who you will touch and how big of an impact you will make when you put down your phones and just look at the world.
Acknowledge a life outside of your own. Make a connection.
Rachelle
We do not often get such comments. (usually it's the opposite.) No one has ever come right out and said, "Holy cow, lady, why don't you call super nanny or something?!" but I definitely see the looks we get sometimes. Those looks that let you know someone thinks you're failing at life.
I hate those looks.
I probably used to give those looks before I had any children... (a million years ago, when I was much skinnier and a lot more naive.) Back then, I used to hate the sound of children crying. It straight up annoyed me. I remember one time, my friend, Wendy, and I were talking at work (back when I had a job that didn't involve discussing what color shoes Barbie should wear today or how Buzz Lightyear's laser works) and we heard a baby crying in the store. Wendy made a comment that she always gets sad whenever she hears kids cry and I said something along the lines of, "I think it's annoying." Wendy was a mother and I was not.
Now that I am a mother myself, I get it. Although I tend to feel more for the mother (or father) than the screaming child. I know they're most likely trying hard to get a few things done and their kids are just not feeling it, but they have no choice but to soldier on. These days when I hear a kid crying/screaming, my normal impulse seems to be to rush over and give the mother a hug and tell her that everything will be ok. Maybe it's what I'd like to hear when my kids are having a bad day. Maybe it's just because I want them to know that I don't consider them a failure. Or perhaps I just want to acknowledge their struggle so they don't feel isolated and alone... because I've been there. I've had some pretty tough days when I really just want to run away to my own mother and forget the whole thing - I can't - but boy do I want to sometimes.
Which brings me to my main thought today, that compassion seems to get buried a lot these days. People are so consumed with themselves that they forget they aren't the only humans around. They see other people as obstacles in their way... mere inconveniences along their solitary path of selfishness. It's too bad. I can remember a time when people used to talk with one another. They used to share things face-to-face. They used to laugh and have moments together, moments that speed up and slow down time all at once. They used to relate to one another, instead of competing. People just aren't much like that anymore. Instead of going out of their way to encourage or help, they go out of their way to avoid and ignore... and it's hurting us in ways we probably can't even fathom.
I want to encourage all two of my readers to make a connection with someone. Reach out to a stranger or an old friend you haven't talked to in a while. Instead of just grabbing your grocery bags and rushing out to your car, gab a little with your cashier or the person behind you. Ask someone's opinion about a product. Make a comment. Offer encouragement. Offer love. I love being able to stay connected to people on social media as much as the next person, but it's just not enough! I want to hear your voice. I want to touch you! I want to hear your laugh, to see your tears, to FEEL how you're feeling. I want to connect with you...
Tell a mother in a restaurant that her kids are well behaved... it might be the only positive words she's heard in a long time, and it might come at a time when she is desperate for any kind of sign she's doing anything right.
You never know who you will touch and how big of an impact you will make when you put down your phones and just look at the world.
Acknowledge a life outside of your own. Make a connection.
Rachelle
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Messes of mass destruction...
At this point, I'm almost a little impressed at Colin's ability to sniff out messes of mass destruction. He has a serious gift for it.
A couple nights ago he found my toothpaste while I was making dinner and he smeared it all over my newly washed bedding. (Refer to a week of messes for that story.)
Yesterday morning he found the costco-sized jar of coconut oil in the pantry and dumped the whole thing out on the floor... Are you kidding me, kid?! I just... I can't... daflkjhadsfhwqepoiuhrdkjf! That one nearly destroyed me. I don't cuss, but if I did, the profanities would have been flying that morning.
Other honorable mentions in the mess department include:
Pooping on the floor... (face/palm)
Dumping a whole bag of cocoa puffs onto my bed and crushing them into powder (I was doing dishes for that one)
Empying various water cups out onto the floor in order to splash in them
Dumping a full bowl of rice out onto the table and then flinging the mess in all directions
Ripping off his diaper and peeing on the floor at least four times
Dumping out a whole jar of vitamin c capsules
Emptying a whole shelf of books that I had just organized
Emptying the shoe cubby we had just organized.
I'm pooped. The fact that the hubby is gone for most of the week is just compounding the stress and fatigue I'm feeling. My hair is having a mass exodus from my scalp right now, too, so that's fun.
There is only one bright side of Will working so hard and that is being able to pay all of our bills on time and having some left over to take care of the extras we've been holding off on (oil change, fixing a cracked ipad screen, new pants for Will since his are all worn out, etc.) The extra money is nice... but no amount of money can replace my hubby's presence in our family. We all miss him. Skyla cried herself to sleep the other night because, "I just miss Daddy so much!" It about broke my heart.
I will continue to soldier on, however reluctantly.
Until next time,
Rachelle
A couple nights ago he found my toothpaste while I was making dinner and he smeared it all over my newly washed bedding. (Refer to a week of messes for that story.)
Yesterday morning he found the costco-sized jar of coconut oil in the pantry and dumped the whole thing out on the floor... Are you kidding me, kid?! I just... I can't... daflkjhadsfhwqepoiuhrdkjf! That one nearly destroyed me. I don't cuss, but if I did, the profanities would have been flying that morning.
Other honorable mentions in the mess department include:
Pooping on the floor... (face/palm)
Dumping a whole bag of cocoa puffs onto my bed and crushing them into powder (I was doing dishes for that one)
Empying various water cups out onto the floor in order to splash in them
Dumping a full bowl of rice out onto the table and then flinging the mess in all directions
Ripping off his diaper and peeing on the floor at least four times
Dumping out a whole jar of vitamin c capsules
Emptying a whole shelf of books that I had just organized
Emptying the shoe cubby we had just organized.
I'm pooped. The fact that the hubby is gone for most of the week is just compounding the stress and fatigue I'm feeling. My hair is having a mass exodus from my scalp right now, too, so that's fun.
There is only one bright side of Will working so hard and that is being able to pay all of our bills on time and having some left over to take care of the extras we've been holding off on (oil change, fixing a cracked ipad screen, new pants for Will since his are all worn out, etc.) The extra money is nice... but no amount of money can replace my hubby's presence in our family. We all miss him. Skyla cried herself to sleep the other night because, "I just miss Daddy so much!" It about broke my heart.
I will continue to soldier on, however reluctantly.
Until next time,
Rachelle
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