I paused on the stairs today, peering at this photo of my sons eating hot dogs in Halloween costumes at a Trunk or Treat.
The one on the left, in the fireman costume, is now a Marine in infantry training, rucking five kilometers this week with about forty pounds on his back.
Today, my oldest is headed for continued training with the Marines; the 1987 Nissan Z he’s been flipping–the one the still needs the muffler?–sits resignedly outside. My youngest, a delight and a straight-up handful, is with extended family. And thanks to this past year’s new puppy, I’m up early.
(This morning’s tea choice: Stash’s Licorice Spice. But since we’re talking New Year’s, my favorite of 2022 has definitely been Tazo’s Glazed Lemon Loaf.)
This is one of those posts where I’m not an expert, just a mom. (Um, most of my posts?!)
But maybe these small ideas will help. And if I’m smart, I’ll keep this short, right?
But for the last few days, I’d been sifting through a few emotions about 2022. A new year comes with some gravity–especially after a tough 2021 for my family.
Recently I completed a yearly prayer of Examen–my second year of a new personal tradition. Like the Israelites standing at the Jordan and choosing stones of remembrance (Joshua 4), I’m looking back at how I’ve seen God writing His story in and around me. And how his presence has met me there.
When I first arrived back after living in Africa, it surprised me. I discovered it over lattes, or in the church foyer, or checking out at the grocery store.
I realized a lot of people were hungry, starved even, to be listened to. To have someone look them in the eye, even for a few seconds, and be with them. Undistracted. Agenda-free. Curious. Empathetic.
Thanks to Steven Helmick, a principal of a school of over 1000 and an educator among the top eight Arkansas’ 2014 teachers of the year, for lending his expertise to this list.
“I just don’t understand how…”
I heard it again this week from someone else. This is after hearing it more times than I could count with someone else’s conflict.
I know I wasn’t the only mom whose gut sunk like a stone when I heard of the death (“passing” seems a misnomer) of George Floyd. Just weeks after our family discussion about Ahmaud Arbery, we sat down in lieu of online church to talk again about racial discrimination.
Truth: Sometimes I wish I didn’t tell you I’d help with “uncomfortable conversations…worth having.”
But here’s another truth: Those of you readers of color probably didn’t have an option for this uncomfortable conversation with your kids.
Here in Colorado, our shelter-in-place ends in a matter of days, yielding to reduced prevention measures. As we celebrate a homebound birthday of my most extroverted child today, I’m reminded how tough these weeks have been for him–resulting in some signs of stress. He opened his quarantine gifts sent by Grandma and Grandpa, and we’ve got a cookout, and all-family games of hide-and-seek and kickball on the docket.
I think, too, of my friend waiting to finally grieve her husband’s passing in community. I long for worship services in person. For fear to subside.
First week of COVID-19 closures: a week of strange dreams.
Once, I dreamt I was driving in the dark, but my headlights kept flipping off. I kept protesting that I could hit something.
Another night, I was unprepared for a trip to a writer’s conference I wasn’t sure why I’d signed up for–but my editor was there, anticipating I would have great things to say. I’d forgotten shoes, blouses, my computer charger.
![Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language](https://www.janelbreitenstein.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/love-languages-text-1.jpg "Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language")
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