cherish the bud

The less I have to do, the more exhausted I am. Why is that?! Give me a full to do list and I'm on it. But give me one or two, or God forbid, 0 things I need to have done during the day, and I am so tired from doing absolutely nothing. That's why the current world and life has felt so draining lately- I am at home allllll the timmmmme. I was thinking about my past life and working outside the house. I don't miss it- like at all really. But I do miss feeling smart and productive. I miss interacting with like-minded professionals. I miss having a project, working hard on it, and finishing it. The buzz of accomplishment is so very invigorating.

Being home with the boys has always made me feel like I still had a purpose. But post-pandemic (ALMOST A YEAR NOW!) it doesn't feel that way much anymore. So I am left longing and wondering what else there is out there for me. So far, God hasn't answered (I've asked for signs), but he knows I am ready and waiting. 

One of California's top agricultural exports is almonds- and most of them come from right here in the Central Valley of California. (I feel really proud about that, even though I have absolutely nothing to do with it(!) For the tree to produce flowers, the buds first have to go through a period of cold weather. Sometime between late February and early March, almond tree buds burst into beautiful light pink and white blooms in preparation for pollination, and let me tell you- it's absolutely beautiful. Like an explosion of white with petals that fall like snow. We go every year.

2013

2015

2016

"The Central Valley is now in bloom," I heard on the news last week in the background noise while cooking dinner. It was the announcement I was waiting for, so over the weekend we all went to see. We got to our favorite spot, and as soon as I saw the trees I whispered, "shucks" under my breath. (Except with an f). I saw a handful of blooms, but mainly bare trees.  I looked closer, and noticed buds all over the tree branches. We were too soon for the blooms that must be happening somewhere else in our valley.

Since we were already there, and the boys were just excited to run free, we went to explore.

I realized,  part of what makes the trees so beautiful- is the feeling of wonder that is created when you see row after row after row of trees...they are beautiful alone, but together, they really stand out. I never fail to be in awe when I realize how much life and nature has in common.

The flowers get all the glory, but I began to realize on our adventuring, just how beautiful the flower buds actually are. They are the in between. The not knowing. I feel like it's the longest chapter in the book of life- The waiting combined WITH the not knowing. It's a recurring lesson in my life, which means it still delivers a message I am supposed to, but haven't quite learned.

Now we know these buds will bloom, like an outsider looking in usually does, but with nature and life, there are no guarantees. The buds are the hard work and the holding on to hope. The buds are the not giving up because it's hard, or because it hasn't happened yet. The buds are the maximum amount of work, without the celebration and glory. We fail to see the beauty in the bud, if we are only willing to see the beauty in the flower. 

What if, we were willing to see the beauty in both? 

Today I looked back on old pictures to gather for this post, and I saw so many bud times in our life- many Seasons of the in between. I see so much beauty in them now: time is a brilliant story teller and one that often filters out exhaustion and fear and heartache and pain. Yes, flowers are beautiful, and easily recognized by others, and celebrated. But I urge you to cherish the buds too. The place where the magic is being created, even if it isn't visible yet. Sometimes the in-between is just as beautiful too.

So much Love,

Chrissy

Status Quo over chaos

 I was waiting for something interesting to happen to write. And this morning I remembered, nothing interesting has happened here for a long, long time, especially almost a YEAR into the world's current quarantine-ish thing going on. Don't get me wrong, I'll take uneventful over chaos any day or week or year. But if I had to describe our current life in food forms, it would be luke warm oatmeal. No one really wants to talk about luke warm oatmeal- the kind without brown sugar and other fancy things on top. 

All of our routines were stripped from us a year ago. So we started to form new ones, and we hold tight to these to keep our sanity. Maybe that's just me and my sanity though. My alarm goes off at 5:30am each morning. I am not a morning person- but I am an alone time person. And I hate not having recharging, meaningful alone time more than I hate waking early. It's amazing what our mind and body are capable of. Especially when you don't let your mind trick you into being or thinking a certain way. I sit for the first hour, drinking a magical first cup of coffee, while breathing, scrolling through my phone, and thinking about the day ahead. What I love about 5:30am, is that no one can take it away from me. There will be no doctors appointment, no meeting, no therapy, no errands, no nothing that can compete. The time has become sacred to me. I need exercise as much as I need alone time, so at 6:30am, I work out. Clearing the cobwebs from my mind and body. I stretch each morning and feel blood and oxygen flow to my muscles, and I truly cherish that feeling of being capable and alive. It worries me to think about what would happen to me if I couldn't move, couldn't stretch, couldn't exercise. A couple of weeks ago I saw many folks with snowy gray hair, being wheeled around in wheel chairs and I remembered to pause and thank God for my ability to move. Sometimes the only thing holding us back from feeling genuine gratitude in our life is our own perspective. 

When it comes to worry, I am not a procrastinator. No siree. (What if I get old and can't walk? What if I become wheel chair bound? How would I recharge? What if I couldn't get around independently? Who will watch the boys when I'm old? How about when I'm dead?) I have to work hard to quiet that frenzied part of my brain. The part that doesn't create, doesn't take deep breaths, doesn't reassure, doesn't allow me to feel gratitude. Sometimes it tricks me into thinking it's my friend, because it's helping me be "prepared" for every worst case scenario ever created, but really- it's just a peace thief. Good things can't come from paranoid frenzy. So I take a deep breath and I move back. I settle into the day. The ACTUAL day, and not some arbitrary future one. 

The boys have been conquering some big hurdles over the past few weeks. We had our first same day- same time haircuts. I had to make myself pause and reflect over how far they have come. What used to be a huge source of sensory torture for them, has become doable. It's pretty incredible. 

What if they can never get hair cuts without screaming and crying? What if they never interact like brothers do? So so (SO) many of our what ifs never, ever even come true. 

We also went to the Dentist for the first time in years. They were able to get xrays for the first time. Parker even let them clean a few of his teeth with that gritty, pastey junk. Unfortunately, they have a Mother Load of cavities (especially Parker), so there will be a visit to Valley Children's Hospital for lots of work while they are put under. I'll deal with that when I have to deal with that. Not today. Nope- not today. 

Lately, I've been soaking up the lessening drops of being needed by them. The random butt wipes, teeth brushing patrol, kissing of boo boos. The need is dwindling, and although I love their independence (and mine), I see the era of needy little ones is ending. What an exhausting, beautiful and wild ride.

It's time to go wake the boys for morning therapy. Thank you for spending some of my alone time with me.

XOXO,

Chrissy

 

the work of your soul

I remember reading these words and resonating with them completely: “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”  Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

But sometimes in the race of life, we can get things so backwards. I don't know why, but we DO make it a race, even though the only real end is actually the END end. And I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to be there yet.

I've thought a lot about the soul after my Dad died and my sisters and I were compiling pictures for his funeral. We have our body, which of course has an age- the number of years we've been on the earth this go round. But we also have a soul. It has no age, it's every year we've ever been and ever will ever be. 

I realized my Dad's essence was always the same. I saw him as a toddler, riding a pony, and as a teenager sunbathing on the driveway. I remembered him bringing us home Luden's Cherry Cough Drops as a treat sometimes in grade school. I remember dancing with him at my wedding, and years later, watching him be a Grandpa to my kids. He isn't an old man who started asking, 'WHAT?!" a little more frequently as he got up there in age- to me. He was the him he always was, he is his soul to me, and that can never die.

Our passions and hobbies and favorite foods and abilities and jobs and nouns (wife, daughter, Teacher, Doctor and more...) may change, but our soul is forever. It always was and always will be. It's our guide when we feel lost. Our hope when we think we feel none. Our cheering squad when we feel empty. It's music and white twinkle lights and puppy breath, and deep breaths and rain on pavement and calm. It knows who you are, even when you forget. 

Our soul can get so muddled by our human experience. So muddled we may forget we even have one. We need to eat and poop and grocery shop and change the oil in our car. There are many elements that can't be ignored for long. We can't go about life only hugging trees and writing in our journal, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't leave space for the things that honor our soul. We must nourish our soul like we must nourish our body. Don't let your soul be starving. I really think that Depression (whether chemical or circumstantial or both) is simply a soul that is starving for life to be in color.

Most people don't talk about their body in favorable ways. Our butt is too this or not enough that. The weight on our scale dictate how we feel about ourselves. Sometimes we take such little care of our body that we start to quiet our soul. We get it so backwards. Here is your reminder to focus on what matters most to you and your world. This is not about working out or eating healthy. It's about a layer so much deeper.

Let go of beliefs about yourself that don't serve you. If you can't change your circumstances, you must simply find a way to accept them. There's really only those two options, and once you realize that, a weight will be lifted. Buddha said, "In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you." Those words feel like balm on my soul.

Our souls are energy and forever. They are not rich or poor or fat or anything surface and fleeting. I don't think the right adjectives have yet even been invented to describe souls. Souls are precious and perfect and curious and calm. They aren't introverts or extroverts or female or male or able to be filed by a noun. They are not controlling or afraid or battered by life. Souls are the opposite of your mean inner voice. Our souls love music and to be outside and don't mind getting dirty. They don't feel guilty or angry or tired. They love swinging and coloring and finding a patch of sun to sit it. 

Dogs are pure soul.

And so are kids. Pay attention and unlearn with me.

Think about what makes your soul come alive. I started to write a list the other day so I could remember. (Music, Essential oils- and really just paying attention to all good smells, Exercise- bonus it works on my body and soul, connection with others, writing, advocacy, my morning routine).

What makes your soul feel like you? Let's work on our lists, my friend. It matters. 

XOXO,

Chrissy