There is a small pile of envelopes and folded papers in a box on the bench at the end of our bed (the last part of that sentence sounds super Dr. Seuss-y). These are the remnants of our Christmas letters and address list. It is time for me to clear off this clutter. But I am having a hard time clearing off the clutter.

Habits are a hot topic. There are books and books out there that explore habits. https://fourminutebooks.com/best-habit-books/. We are drawn to the topic because we know that great habits can help us live disciplined, healthy lives. Bad habits can of course bind and derail us. Either way, we should make a habit (see what I did there) of noticing ours.

My dear child,

You sometimes ask why we make you (you say “make,” but we prefer “highly encourage”) join groups and teams. Why you have to learn an instrument, play a sport, try out for a play, sing in a choir, help with Sunday school.

So what did you come up with? How you are apt to spend your time? Overall, how pleased are you with how you budget your time? Sometimes do you wish you could just look at the camera and request a “time-out,” like Zack Morris in Saved by the Bell?

Everybody has me. Most people wish they had more of me. People are generally quite concerned about what in the world happened to me (it’s okay— you can’t hurt me). Often people do not want to share me. They sometimes talk about how sneaky I can be. I never change, but I never stop. I may or may not be on your side (your opinion, not mine).

During basketball practice, we always work on jump stops and pivots, regardless if it is a practice for second grade or high school players. We remind players to be fully aware of their speed, positioning, and balance as they prepare to jump stop. When they have stopped successfully, then they can focus on the pivot. This means a player has to keep one foot planted while the other foot is free to swivel and land in another spot. The pivot allows a player to view his or her situation from a different spot on the court, and thus with a new perspective.

Travel is picking up. Layers of feelings accompany travel prep, especially for folks who have been isolated for so long. A client shared with me that she and her spouse recently took their first trip in a year and a half. Pre-pandemic, these two were what you would call a travelin’ pair, so it was extremely challenging for them to be home bound for so long.

As we prepare for an upcoming family summer trip, we are encouraging our daughter to communicate details with her sports coaches and babysitting employers. This is causing her quite a bit of anxiety. She feels nervous, scared and inadequate when it comes to having important conversations with adults. She wants us to have the conversations for her.

We have had a thirteen year-old in the house for a couple months now, and it has been fascinating watching her interact with and [try to] make sense of this crazy world. One reason it is so fascinating is because I have quite a few memories of being that age myself! (All the things my parents used to say– true. Who would have thought?) One truth I am observing and rediscovering is one of the biggest fears of preteens and teens is to be ranked, judged, and compared to one another.

At 7:52 on a Saturday morning I had my sons’ soccer uniforms laid out, along with plenty of snacks for the day, and extra socks, coats, and caps (it is May, but the soccer tournament was played at the base of the Big Horn Mountains, so one hour we were in danger of sunburns, and the next we were being pelted with graupel).

Intercede

Sometimes life is the worst. Terrible things happen. Then they keep happening. Accidents take lives. We betray each other. We struggle figuring out the best way to communicate with each other. We hurt each other when we really don’t mean to or want to.

Sometimes I have a really hard time figuring out what to do in situations like these. What I am finding is I need space to be angry. I need space to be heartbroken, to feel hopeless. I need space to be disappointed in ways we are treating each other and behaviors I see (and exhibit). Only when I allow myself to enter into these (difficult!) spaces do I see a glimmer of hope or find a foothold.

When you hear the word “tension,” what comes to mind? (It’s okay if at first you think of Chubbs trying to calm Adam Sandler down in Happy Gilmore; I do, too.) How does your body feel? What images do you visualize? For me I think of a tight neck, a tight stomach, and that face you make when you can’t believe someone just made that inappropriate comment and aren’t sure what to say next. It makes me think of conflict, something I have spent a lot of time in my life trying to avoid.

As a parent, my spouse and I spend incessant energy helping our children practice the habit of finding the positive– in people and situations. We talk about what we can control, our “positive controllables” (thoughts, actions, words). Sometimes they do pretty well at this, more often, they exhaust us.

I have been struggling. Struggling during this time of world pandemic, national pre-election anticipation, economic uncertainty and ahh! I struggle. There is a lot of grief. I feel a lot of grief inside myself, and I feel it all around me. I pray constantly about how I can be bold and loving at the same time, within my sphere of influence. I pray for discernment about what my role is, as a beloved child of God, as far as how/when to act and when to talk or not. It feels exhausting.

I remember pulling a laminated pass off the hook by my sixth grade classroom door, entering the creaky wooden hallway, then turning up the ramp leading to the elementary library. I walked across the short brown carpet to the corner in the library where a book tower stood. This was the “big kid books” display. It was the elementary library, but the corner display contained some more intensely-themed content: books by Michael Crichton, Gordon Kormon, Judy Blume, and the like.

My grandma made the best cinnamon rolls. When I was a kid she made them every time we visited. I couldn’t wait to wake up, put one in the microwave, then butter up all the little pieces and, mmm. Fast forward a decade or so, and my own family moved back to the small town where my grandma still lived.

I used to spend a lot of time and energy worrying about the world ending. When I was pretty young I remember seeing some magazine claim on its cover a predicted date of Armageddon. When I was a little older we went through the whole Y2K scare. Through college and into “adulthood” it was the Yellowstone caldera or North Korea’s nukes that kept me from falling asleep. Today we are living through an actual pandemic and wondering what transformations may take place regarding health and human rights.

There are lots of things that threaten and strike fear in us.

What I am realizing is that people’s worlds end.

All. The. Time.

I was wiping down the sink and countertop in our bathroom while my son showered, as he had expressed he wanted me to “Keep me company, Mom!”

He had a stomachache, and he had been pretty negative just before dinner. He was in a good mood now, and I could tell he was feeling calm and contemplative with the hot water refreshingly dripping down over his dirt-caked, busy little boy body.

Whenever we move, I notice two things: 1) that I cry a lot, and 2) that one day suddenly seems equivalent to one week. Not only does it feel this way after we move, but every time I delve into a new endeavor (nice alliteration, if I do say so myself). I always comment on how crazy this phenomenon feels and wonder why. Why does it feel that way?

Fourteen years and three days ago I woke up, took a shower, and put on some Avon liquid foundation titled something like “Ivory” or “Nude” or “Bisque” (like the soup)? This was significant because up until that point, I had only worn foundation when I went to proms in high school