While winter doesn't officially arrive for almost two more months, the giant snow flakes on Friday and the wind chill of 18 this morning tell a different story than the calendar does. My students are coming to class in layers of down and wool, and we've traded our flip flops and tanks for fur-lined hoods and thicker socks. Although I've never officially been diagnosed, each winter I find myself experiencing some symptoms of Seasonal Affective Disorder. Maybe I miss being outside. Maybe I miss the sun. Maybe I hate seeing my pale, pale skin in the mirror. Whatever it is, during the long winter months there are days I lack energy and zest. I have less laughter and more angst. Last year I purchased what I have dubbed my "happy lamp," and this year I'm trying to combat my winter blues with some intentional "hygge." If you're not familiar with the term, you probably live in a warmer climate. (Side note: I think some mistakenly believe that caring for our mental health is selfish, but as a mom and a wife and a teacher, I know that is simply not true. Taking care of me means I can better take care of those around me, and this winter I vow to make that a priority.) I find comfort in tradition and intentional rituals. For example, while I hate the mess of carving pumpkins, I love that for the last five years as a family, we have taken the time to create lions and tin men and silly faces and fan art for Iowa State. So yesterday I cooked a pot of chili, simmered some apple cider with cinnamon sticks, and played good music while we dug our hands into the messy goop. I drew the curtains to the dreariness outside, and the four of us talked about our days, laughed at our carving mistakes, and enjoyed some intentional cosiness. (The Jameson Irish whiskey in the apple cider was a helpful touch for the grown-ups.) This fall I've also rediscovered a love for long walks. Soaking in just 30 minutes of vitamin D and clearing my mind while breathing in fresh air will be a necessity this winter, even if requires strapping on the warm boots and an extra sweater under my down coat. Because my mental health matters, I will get outside as much as I can. So this winter I'm going to make more soul-comforting soups (I'm trying this one next week) and play more soul-touching John Williams and Hans Zimmer. I'm going to drink warm drinks out of my favorite mugs and watch the snow fly out of my big picture window. I'll be baking more bread and picking up my knitting needles again. I'll also be listening to the daily prayer and scripture on the Pray as You Go app. I don't imagine this will be a complete cure to the winter doldrums, but it sure doesn't hurt to try. What are you doing this winter to keep your spirits lifted? Any favorite soup or warm drink recipes to share? I would love to hear all about it!
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Here's another recycled post from a dusty, long-forgotten blog. It's a message that still needs to be heard - by me and by all of the other brave, beautiful women around me. -------------- I'm not going to say anything new here. My thoughts won't be neatly organized and perfectly coherent. I'm just putting these thoughts in words, hoping that perhaps I can tattoo them in my own mind and heart. It started with a blog from a friend, and I was thinking about how so many women face battles with food. So very many precious women that I love have trudged through bulimia and anorexia, overeating and overexercising. And if it's not food, it's something else. It's when I look in front of the mirror, dripping from the shower and think, "Teeth aren't white enough from drinking too much coffee. And yes, my upper lip is still too thin. Look at those damn wrinkles under my eyes. Like the dark circles weren't bad enough. And that's just great. More acne. Why won't my body remember that I haven't been a teenager for over a decade? Yep, extra weight around my middle. Perfect. " It's when I'm at the grocery store berating myself because I don't have the time or energy to purchase only all-organic, all-natural foods and cook gourmet and also budget-conscious meals for our families. It's when I look at other people's boards on Crackterest Pinterest and think, "Wow, do they really make all those recipes, wear all those outfits, create all those crafts, perform all those exercises??" Not enough wrinkle cream. Not enough Bible study. Not enough treadmill time. Not enough healthy food. Not enough reading with the boys. Not enough. Not enough. Not enough. And I know where it comes from, too. It's the nature of our beast, right, ladies? Our own insecurities produce overcompensation, masking our own true and beautiful selves. So we use social media to project this image of perfection in the form of romantic date nights, sweet moments with children, the Best Workout Ever, unending satisfaction at the workplace. Or we hide behind comical self-deprecation or the extra glass of wine or the careless flirtation with a coworker. We learn from our female role models, too, because that's just the way this female game works. I see it in my female students, too, as they put on their false selves. Oh, I wore mine so well at 16 and 17. It was a false self of a pious and self-righteous Christian who was too good to go to parties with my peers. For other teenage girls it might be the need to wear every hair in its place with a perfectly coordinated outfit and accessories. It might be a carefree/careless attitude that results in purposely unkempt hair and multiple days in the same pair of yoga pants. It all comes from the same root, though -- the mask put on because she doesn't feel like she is good enough. This message of not enough comes from too many broken hearts and broken homes and nights spent crying and unrequited love. It comes from The Curse and the fear that we're not supposed to be like this. It's from jealousy and inadequacy. So today I want to scream, "YOU ARE ENOUGH! I AM ENOUGH!" You in the grocery store putting frozen pizzas in your cart because you don't have the energy to cook dinner after working more than 40 hours this week? Enough. You on your couch looking at the perfect workout photos posted on Pinterest and wishing you had time to make it to the gym today? Or even walk around the block for that matter? Enough. You who cried again in the shower because you get teased at school because you have a crush on a boy who doesn't even know your name? Enough. You who lost your temper with your overtired children at bedtime after a week of too-little sleep and too much running? Enough. You with the laundry spilling out onto the floor and the dust bunnies under the bed and the dishes piled up in the sink? Enough. Too fat, too skinny, too boring, too tired, too nerdy, too bland, too wrinkly, too disorganized, too, too, too. Enough, enough, enough. "When I look around, I think this, this is good enough, and I try to laugh at whatever life brings. 'Cause when I look down, I just miss all the good stuff. When I look up, I just trip over things." -Ani DiFranco, "As Is" And that "good enough" doesn't have to be a depressing admittance of resignation. It can be an acceptance of dreams and looking forward along with contentment and appreciation, a presence in the now. Living like surely these women do. Or this woman. Or this girl. And I'll forget again tomorrow as I look at the Facebook photos of half-marathons, gorgeously staged family portraits, and photo-worthy desserts, but I have this written now. Published. Tattooed. Enough. I'm pausing today to express some gratitude. The world swirls around me with chaos and unending news stories of flood and famine and fire, of sexual harassment and nuclear war. I scroll through my newsfeed and see sickness and sadness, conflict and confusion. In the midst of this, though, there is goodness, mostly in the never-changing, never-fading love of the Father. I'm learning to lean into that love more. It's safety in the midst of the storm. Today, then, I pause for gratitude because, after all, "Gratitude evaporates frustration," an important lesson I taught my students just last week. I am thankful for our new church home where I sit in a Bible study on Jonah on Wednesday nights and realize just how little I've ever been taught about the Bible. I'm thankful for those who have the gift of teaching, who can unravel the story and the historical context and help me understand God's heart more. I am thankful for the campus where I work each day, where I can walk up the stairs and be reminded of the foundation of God's Word. From the breath-taking view outside of my classroom window to the peaceful chapel I walk by on my way to class, I'm thankful for consistent reminders of God's goodness and beauty as well as the importance of community. I am thankful for our sweet pup, Rooney, my constant companion when I write at my little desk or fold laundry at the kitchen table. I am thankful for my marriage. After thirteen years, it feels healthier than ever, even as we've weathered major transitions in the past six months. Chris is my very best friend as well as the best partner ever for laughing at reruns of Seinfeld or talking about the daily news stories. He has sacrificed way more than I have for this move to St. Paul, but he has done it with joy and his ever-present smile. He truly is the best. I am thankful for my sons. My older son makes me think with his deep questions about life followed by a funny joke inspired by Garfield. My younger son lets me cuddle at bedtime and smiles on his way out the door to school, even when he doesn't want to go. They remind me that incredible beauty can come from the ashes, that phoenixes really do exist. I am thankful for the height and depth and width and breadth of God's love, an all-encompassing, safe love. In the midst of the chaos and confusion of the world around me, I am thankful. If you're involved in the transracial adoption world, you have more than likely heard of or experienced the bead activity. Basically you take an empty clear cup and fill it with beads to represent people. Each color of bead represents a different race, and you put beads in the cup to symbolize your dentist, doctor, spiritual leaders, neighbors, etc. By the end, you have an understanding of how diverse your world is. If Chris and I had done this activity prior to adoption, our cup would have been 100% white. The diversity was only increased by the addition of our two Black sons. Two beads of color in a sea of white. Have you ever had the experience of being the only person like you in a certain scenario? Maybe you're the only Iowa State fan in a family full of Hawkeyes. Maybe you're the only female in a workplace full of males. Maybe you're the only Muslim in a classroom full of Christians. That experience can feel isolating and sometimes scary. Of course we are adaptive creatures and can more than likely adjust eventually, maybe even discovering empowerment. But isn't there something comforting in looking at someone with shared experiences and without even exchanging a word, knowing they "get" you? When Chris and I entered the terminal for Ethiopian Airlines at the airport in Washington, DC, it was one of the first moments in my life where I was one of only a few white people in a room filled with people of color. It was exhilarating because we were preparing to visit the birth country of our soon-to-be sons, and the diversity of language and skin color was a beautiful reminder of what heaven would surely be. Of course we spent those few days in Addis Ababa with extra attention as the "ferengi," but the Ethiopians warmly welcomed us with smiles and coffee ceremonies. We weren't bombarded with unwelcome questions or requests to touch our hair or skin. And of course after those few days, we returned home to our world of white where we would soon bring our children. Our neighbors and friends welcomed our sons with open arms and kindness. Our boys received services and attention at school and church. They were known and loved, but they were often the only people of color in pretty much every scenario we put them in. From sports teams to summer camps, our church home to our school family, our boys rarely had a racial mirror other than each other and a few other international adoptees in our community. As we tried to navigate a world of racial disparities and inequalities, our boys had to learn lessons about taking care of their Black skin and being a young Black man in America from two white people just trying to do the best we could. I often tell others that our agency did a fantastic job preparing us as best they could for the realities of early childhood trauma and what that might look like for our children. They did not, however, do an adequate job of preparing us for the realities of raising children of color in a nearly all-white community. Eventually, the idea of moving came up again and again in conversations between Chris and me. In the car or at night after the boys were tucked in bed, we began to research potential destinations that would provide opportunities for more beads of color in our cup. And then we made the leap. I will be honest in saying that this decision came with a side order of sacrifice. We left behind a support network of friends and family, including the blessing of "doing life" with my sister and her crew. I closed the door on many years of a successful career as a high school English teacher with coworkers who were my friends and confidants and many students who made my work feel like play. Chris said goodbye to the flexibility of owning his own business and, for the most part, setting his own schedule, a dream for family life. Our boys left behind the only sense of stability they had ever known in their young lives, including a network of solid friendships and teachers who knew them. And of course we miss those things. We would all be lying if we said we didn't. I still cry when I think about missing my niece's junior high volleyball games and sharing a knowing smile with my nephew in the high school hallways. While we're growing our network here, adult friendships take time and energy, two things that are often in deficit in our busy lives. Time and time again, however, our children are in a sea of color, and all of those tiny sacrifices become so worth it. This summer I found myself at awards ceremonies at the end of basketball camp where I was one of two white adults in a gym. My boys are playing on a flag football team full of children of color. We have a Black family practice doctor and a rec center up the street staffed almost entirely by people of color. My sons are no longer finding themselves in that isolating role as the only. We have a church with a diverse staff and congregation, and better yet, we have co-lead pastors who frequently address race and the Gospel. I'm not here to tell other adoptive families that they absolutely must move, that an urban environment is the only way to go if you are trying to raise kids of color in today's word. I'm just saying that our cup has more colorful beads today, and we are so thankful. |
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September 2020
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