Tag Archives: heart

Jesus on Toast: A Paradigm Shift

Silver Linings, The Big Idea, , , , , , , , , , ,

Another two months without a post, despite working pretty feverishly. The broken bits of me have been so in control. So many days spent tending to my shattered heart blow after  blow.

“He wept because God was unfair, and because this was the way God repaid those who believed in their dreams… I’m going to become bitter and distrustful because one person betrayed me. I’m going to hate those who have found their treasure because I never found mind. And I’m going to hold on to what little I have, because I’m too insignificant to conquer the world.”

But, struggling or not, I continue to work slowly and deliberately toward a new and fresh sense of clarity. A shift in my own personal paradigm about what matters. About what makes life worth it.

“I’ve learned things from the sheep, and I’ve learned things from crystal, he thought. I can learn something from the desert, too. It seems old and wise.”

The big shift: I’m done with silver linings.

If I were running for president, you could call me a flip flopper. But good news! I’m not now and probably won’t ever. So… since I don’t actually have to worry about what the press and populous think of me,  I’m free to change my mind all I want. Also to inhale. And to have sexual relations with whomever I want.

I could have made much less boring choices…

But. Back to that change of mind, which was my point… change of heart, really.

“Listen to your heart. It knows all things, because it came from the Soul of the World, and it will one day return there.”

I started this blog on the premise of silver linings. The idea that, no matter how awful something seems, there’s always something good hidden inside — a pretty picture in the tapestry. And I believed it wholeheartedly. Mostly. For a while.

But there were some cases where it just didn’t fit. Like when I wrote about the death of my friend Nate. I said, even back then, that sometimes there really is no silver lining. The first crack in my neatly crafted narrative.

More recently, as I’ve struggled through infertility, miscarriage, hopelessness and depression, I’ve become less and less convinced of the master plan/pretty picture and looked harder, further, and wider for something else.

Even in this little video, where forest animals animate a snippet of Brene Brown’s TED Talk about vulnerability, empathy, and compassion, a silver lining comes up as kind of a gut punch… so in constantly looking for one, was I inadvertently delivering the punch to myself?

Jerk moose trying to paint silver linings in everyone's dark clouds. {Source}
Jerk moose trying to paint silver linings in everyone’s dark clouds. {Source}

I’ve never exactly been known for self kindness, but this seemed like a whole new low.

I was searching for something, but maybe I was searching for the wrong thing.

“‘Every second of the search is an encounter with God,’ the boy told his heart. ‘When I have been truly searching for my treasure, every day has been luminous, because I’ve known that every hour was a part of the dream that I would find it. When I have been truly searching for my treasure, I’ve discovered things along the way that I never would have seen had I not had the courage to try things that seemed impossible for a shepherd to achieve.'”

It started when my brother-in-law picked up my copy of Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning — a book written in two parts, the first a description of Frankl’s experiences as a clinical psychiatrist imprisoned in a series of Nazi concentration camps, the second a description of logotherapy, or the pursuit of meaning in life.

It’s a tiny book that packs a powerful punch. But in a way, I feel like the short length actually does it a disservice. When I was reading it, I was incredibly immersed, convinced it would change my life… but it didn’t take me terribly long to read, and I moved on relatively quickly.

As weeks and months went by and I slowly moved past the miscarriage and into another round of IVF, I felt really ready. But when I went through all of it again and still failed, I found myself back at the bottom of the pit, wallowing, binge eating, crying, so quick to anger, frustrated with everything and everyone — convinced that I am worthless, pathetic, and pointless. But also desperate to claw my way back out (and unable to run another marathon to do so).

Sometimes, like with the marathon, my desperation makes me almost manic. (I realize, of course, that I’m not using that term in a clinically correct way — but it is definitely a frenzied feeling, the need for action, to fix things and fix them NOW.) I thought about the book that Stu had ultimately taken home with him and chose that as my starting point. Because if the problem is that one lacks a point, then it seems as though the solution would be to find one,  to search for meaning, yes?

“You will never be able to escape from your heart. So it is better to listen to what it has to say.”

And so I read. I read and read and read… and am still reading. (See book suggestions below.) But the most important thing that all this reading has done for me to date is to really shift my focus. Away from trying to figure out why the cloud is there, from trying to paint the inside of it silver… and instead, trying to find meaning in the storm.

Searching for silver linings can be a fruitful personal pursuit and I’ve done an awful lot of it; sometimes they even exist to be found. It’s shallow, though. And I have come to believe that the search for meaning is more consistently productive and more fulfilling in the long run. Not only because humans are hard-wired for meaning (Rorshach test, anyone? no? What about Jesus in toast?), but also because meaning is determined from within rather than without. As such, meaning is within my control and subject to my will, not the fickle will of a chance-driven universe.

{Source -- and the article it came from is interesting, too!}
{Source — and the article it came from is interesting, too!}

I know that to say meaning is in our control is contentious… and I was unsure of it at first. But according to the experts in logotherapy that I have read (manically, maniacially?) over the past several weeks, there are three paths to meaning:

  1. Creative (what you make)
  2. Experiential (what you do)
  3. Attitudinal (how you feel)

While all three are technically equivalent, attitudinal is the one of the three that is always at our disposal. No matter what. Even in a concentration camp. Even in the depths of the darkest pit. We always get to choose our attitude.

“That’s what alchemists do. They show that, when we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better, too.”

Importantly, choosing our attitude is decidedly not the same things as putting on rose colored glasses or pasting a smile on your face. Because meaning is not the same thing as a silver lining.

For example, I truly believe that there is no silver lining to infertility. I am not going to wake up someday and realize that omg, it was so awesome that I spent five years unsuccessfully trying to start a family or that my miscarriage was the result of a baby that just “wasn’t meant to be.” I will forever grieve those things; they have changed me on a fundamental level. BUT I can find meaning in sharing my struggles. I can find meaning in supporting the women who struggled before me, alongside me, and will struggle after me. I can find meaning in the fact that the family I might eventually have someday will be intentional in a way that not many families truly are. I can find meaning in the education I received through the process — about how love changes hearts, about my own seemingly infinite capacity for hope, the necessity of equality in family building for same-sex couples, the universality of human struggle no matter what form it may take. And perhaps most importantly, I have been given endless opportunities to clarify my values and live an authentic life centered on the things that mean the most to me.

“The boy continued to listen to his heart as they crossed the desert. He came to understand its dodges and tricks, and to accept it as it was.”

After I miscarried, my dad told me that I’d find meaning someday — because the universe was teeming with it. It felt a little like a platitude, but I knew that it wasn’t, because my dad doesn’t speak in platitudes. He was just 10 steps ahead of me down this road, I think. Maybe that’s because it’s a road that can only really be known by experience. By crossing the desert, and listening to your heart as you go.

“‘Everyone has his or her own way of learning things,’ he said to himself. ‘His way isn’t the same as mine, nor mine as his. But we’re both in search of our Personal Legends, and I respect him for that.'”

Maybe you believe that meaning is to be found in a gift from the universe. And you can keep looking for your signs, omens, and silver linings. It’s ok if there’s where you think you’ll find meaning. But I know that I won’t. I can’t believe in meant-to-bes — because if I do, I have to believe that I’m not meant to be a mom. And I can’t believe in #blessed because what does that make me? #cursed? And I know now that silver linings are desperate and unfounded strokes of luck that seem like meaning, but really aren’t. Meaning is something more than that. And meaning is what I truly desire, in my heart of hearts.

Most importantly, when you find meaning in your life… you cannot also be pointless. A meaningful life is never pointless.

“No matter what he does, every person on earth play a central role in the history of the world. And normally he doesn’t know it.”

I’m getting there. To a point where, on more days than not, I can see meaning. I can feel it. And at the very least, that allows be to peek my head up over the edge of the pit.

Last week, on the brink of pregnancy, an implantation scheduled for two days away, I got a phone call from my clinic… canceling the whole thing. Nearly 60 days of drugs and injections, thousands more dollars, hopes as high as hopes could be over our 4 – 5 fertilized eggs and it all came crashing down one more time. I cried. There was snot. I had to call Seth. I went to the office next door to get kleenexes and comfort from a coworker. I worked late. I went home. I ate marshmallows and cried some more while my sweet pup licked tears from my face.

I experienced legitimate grief. Disappointment. Frustration. I dangled my feet over the edge of the pit and looked into the abyss. And then I took a deep breath. And another. Even thought it was nearly 8 pm, I got up, I went into the kitchen, and I cooked myself a nice dinner. I vegged, watched The Bachelorette while I ate. I snuggled Curly on the couch and went to bed. I knew my life wasn’t over. And by the end of it all, I knew we still weren’t quite done trying — because our hearts are broken, but they still beat family… family… family…

“The boy and his heart had become friends, and neither was capable now of betraying the other.”

When my dad told me that the universe teems with meaning, I thought of silver lined clouds and blessings-in-disguise. But I really understand meaning now and I’m letting it into my heart, day by day, little by little. It’s a better way… for me.

[All quotations above are from The Alchemist by Paul Coelho — with thanks to Nicole M. for the perfect and timely recommendation. This girl knows what’s up.]

 

Recommended Reading (if you like any of these ideas):

  • Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl
  • The Will to Meaning: Foundations and Applications of Logotherapy by Viktor Frankl
  • Meaning in Suffering: Comfort in Crisis through Logotherapy by Elisabeth Lukas and Joseph B. Fabry
  • The Alchemist by Paul Coehlo
  • The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel van der Kolk

Smiles for Miles: The Time I Ran a Marathon

Awesome Things, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Approximately 18 weeks and 500 or so miles ago, I lost my shit.

Lost it.

I was at an all time low. Drowning in grief and self-pity, slipping further and further away from my family, my friends, my self and into a deep dark place that I didn’t honestly want to leave. Not really. It was easier to cry myself to sleep and keep my eyes closed. To sleepwalk when I had to and disengage at every possible opportunity.

It’s better to lose your shit, though. Better than depression. Because losing it means action… and even crazy action is better than complete apathy.

The crazy thing I did? I signed up for a marathon. Not a half-marathon. The whole shebang — 26.2 miles. In Washington, DC. On March 12th. I didn’t even pay the couple extra bucks to make it refundable. I was all in.

I ran 5 times a week for 18 weeks. Mostly outside. Mostly in Wisconsin. Almost entirely in the winter. There were some amazing days and some awful days. Some big blisters and some seriously raw patches of skin. I listened to many books on tape and consumed an inordinate number of Gu gels. I cried, I felt my lips turn blue and then watched them become pink again, I learned that cotton can be both lovely and the fabric of Satan.

Training montage. (Not picture: blisters, chafing.)
Training montage. (Not picture: blisters, chafing.)

Running became my sole focus. The marathon was what I lived for. And in doing so, I looked forward. I moved forward, physically. And because of that, I couldn’t stay stuck in that hole, in that dark place. It became impossible.

 

I don’t even know where to begin talking about the actual marathon. I had five and a half hours to think real hard about it and I’m pretty sure that during that time I had about five and a half million blog-worthy thoughts… but they must have been expelled with all the vomiting or something (it was intense) and now I’m left with all the feelings and none of the words.

The running was of course a huge and important part of it — I trained for the marathon and I finished it — but it was, for me, about a lot more than just the miles and the motion. My heart was in that race and along the course. My heart was almost literally on my sleeve, perhaps rather on my arm. And it was my heart that got me through it. It was what happened to my heart that made it all worth it.

My arm, my dedications by mile, the morning of.
The people I ran with, mile by mile.

I wrote the names of friends and family, people who inspire me and fill my heart to bursting with love, all down my arm. A dedication for every mile. But not really a dedication, exactly. I didn’t run for those people… rather, I ran with those people. For a mile at a time, my thoughts were completely focused. Completely positive.

And then, over and over and over again, I’d see a bright blue shirt, a blonde buzz cut, and I’d suddenly know it was my husband on the course. And my dear friend Jess. And I couldn’t help but beam.

Mile 14

Then a blur of green on two wheels, a crazy beard, and my friend Rob was there on his bike — sherpa-ing, willing me on, mile after mile. (And oh my goodness, he saved me in those last 5 or so miles.)

Mile 25

And then at the end. I’m starting to cry now even thinking about it. I heard my name, I saw the smiles, the cheers. My friends, my beautiful, beautiful friends were there waiting for me, five and a half hours after the start — Seth and Jess and Ellen and Rob and Erika and Stephen. Bright pink shirts that screamed that I rock… And I smiled and smiled and smiled. Have I ever in my life felt that loved? That supported? I’m honestly not sure that I have.

Marathon Photo

Not because I haven’t been that loved and supported in my life. I know that I have. I come from loving stock, there’s no denying that. But I think maybe it took a marathon to really believe it. To believe that I could be worth it, to recognize that all those names scrawled down my arm (and so many others) had always been there for me in exactly this way, on other courses, at other times, through other struggles and to celebrate different victories.

 

Why did it take a marathon? Why wasn’t the miscarriage enough? Grad school? Depression? Anything else? I’ve been supported in a way that no one could possibly deserve through all of that. So why not that?

I don’t know. But it was the marathon that did it.

 

Conveniently, I had a therapy appointment the Thursday after I returned from DC. In the hall, before we even got to his office, Dr. C’s first question was: soooo… how was the marathon?

I sat down and told him that it was the most amazing experience. That I’d never in my life felt so loved and supported.

He told me that was a totally weird answer and asked about my legs.

 

I guess it never really was about my legs.

It was definitely physical in that it was about proving to myself that with respect to my body, despite infertility and miscarriage and faulty brain chemistry, I can still be in control. But more than that… It was about finding my lost shit. About letting my heart feel something really effing amazing. For that, I get a medal.

Medal

And to everybody else, my eternal gratitude, appreciation, love, respect, and adoration. I hope you get a chance to feel what I felt, smile like I smiled — marathon or otherwise. Let me know how I can help!

Bubble Verdict: Differences of Opinion In, Differences of Heart Out

Seriously, , , , , , ,

Yesterday, and for the past couple of days, my gut has felt pretty twisted up about the stuff I mentioned yesterday. And I was for seriously concerned that I had created a bubble in which everyone’s opinion was the same as my own, that I might have been setting myself up for a complete confirmation of my own beliefs with no consideration of any others.

Brene Brown (I’m in love!!) is starting to give me the language I need to talk about these feelings, and what I felt yesterday following first some arguing, then some unfriending, and much more unfollowing, was definitely shame. Throw my little self-created, opinion-lacking bubble on top and I was legit concerned. So I asked you guys what you thought… you did not disappoint.

I cannot tell you how much I appreciated these two comments, from my beautiful and brilliant friends Aimee and Nicole. So so so much that I asked if they’d mind if I reposted and expounded, because they were worth so much longer of a response than a simple comment reply could allow — they helped me to understand and to be ok with what I had done, the bubble, the story, I had created. To let go of the shame. Ahhhh, sweet relief.

Late last night (maybe not so late Alaska time, but late to me), Aimee said:

Just had this exact conversation with my folks yesterday.  I only saw a few “anti-” things and generally I’m against defriending people over politics (though I want to soooo bad!) but they had much much more.  Their friends encompass a different age group than mine AND they’re in West Michigan.

I also have a really hard time even considering the opposite viewpoint from my own.  To me, it’s a civil rights issue and shouldn’t even be up for debate.  I can only hope these people are just really scared of change or whatever they think is going to happen…  and when nothing changes (except MORE LOVE all around!) they’ll come around.  One can hope! 🙂

And then, this afternoon (same afternoon in Tennessee and Wisconsin, for those keeping track) of the timeline, Nicole said:

As a member of the rainbow club, and a scientist, I came to the same conclusion as you – but long ago. The ugliness you saw on Friday is something I experience every single day, in places you would least expect. I ran for Chair of Diversity on the postdoc council at my place of employment, and my entire spiel about being a lesbian was deleted from the ballot, leaving only a generic sentence saying something like ‘I’ll do my best to include everyone.’ Of course I e-mailed the person responsible for putting together the ballots immediately (it was late, and they weren’t in their office) – and I was given a crap apology about them not knowing my public statement was in fact public, etc etc.

But what to do? I like my friends and family because they are diverse and they all have their own points of view. People are so angry and so hateful and when they start throwing words at you, they are turning off their ears and turning off their hearts. Nothing you say or do makes any difference. I can’t live in that sea of hate, so I unfriend those people on social media and distance myself from those people in real life.

When it comes to other disagreements, I try to be more distant. We aren’t voting for the same person for President/etc – that’s a-ok – Elections are supposed to be by secret ballot anyway.

I keep people in my life who can empower me to be a better human, and who enrich me with their points-of-view. There is a huge difference between someone who spews a speech with hate and contempt, and someone who speaks firmly about their beliefs but is willing to listen.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.

Man, these guys are so… dang… eloquent! And, once again, as Brene Brown would suggest, I’m not the only one. I never am!

Turns out, I did make a bubble, but not quite the bubble I thought. I can handle contrary opinions. Republican rhetoric, gun stuff, anti-abortion arguments, support of big business, anti-GMO sentiments, etc. I don’t dig those ideas myself, but I get that a lot of people do, and so long as those ideas are presented respectfully (i.e. sans hate), I can deal. No big thing. Difference of opinion — a – o – k.

There are several things I cannot tolerate, however… things that as Aimee and Nicole suggest, don’t add value to my life, don’t enrich my point of view.

Namely, and off the top of my head:

1. Victimization of any individual or group via hateful language and/or images (e.g. anti-Caitlyn Jenner memes, confederate flags)

2. Victim blaming (e.g., she deserved it because of what she was wearing/drinking/saying/has-done-in-the-past, use of the word “thug” to describe a young black man)

3. Victim language (e.g., woe is me, the poor, persecuted white/straight/Christian/male-in-America)

Those things, they’re not differences of opinion, they are differences of heart. And those differences do not enrich my life. As such, they do not belong in my bubble.

This is my life now, and I dig it. {Source}
This is my life now, and I dig it. {Source}

Life is tough when words fail me and last night, I simply could not find the words to pull me up and away from a nagging sense of shame. Thank you, Aimee and Nicole, for giving me the words. And, more importantly, thank you so much for being in my bubble — you undoubtedly enrich it in a million and one ways!

Straight from the heart… to your brain.

Lent Conversations, , , , , , , , , , ,

Happy Friday! Only a few more to go this Lenten season, and what better way to celebrate than with another Fishy Fishy Fish Fry. Tonight, we’re trying Libby McNeil’s at Hotel Marshfield. It would sound impressive, except… Marshfield. I know I’m not fooling anyway. It’s no church basement, to be sure, but it is still Central Wisconsin.

Pretty sure I’m not supposed to like Lent this much, and yet…

I love what Joan wants to talk about today. LOVE IT.

“Gifts of the heart are what memories are made of.” –Sheryl Nicholson

So, touching the heart is what makes the memory stick. YES!

“I have a theory that only what touches the heart is really lodged in the mind. Memory is made up of what has touched our lives. So, in later years, the data drops away because it is useless. But soft touches, hard words, deep joys, great pain never leave us. For good or ill, they remain. They are always there, soothing us or torturing our souls. The life question it leaves us with may be worth thinking about, What do we do with the feelings that clog our souls?” –Joan Chittister

I love this so much, not only because of what it means for personal experience (which, I mean, duh, right?!), but even more so for what I think it means about what we do work-wise. Simply about what sticks.

Gratuitous puppy picture!
Gratuitous puppy picture!

I recently wrote this about myself… my thoughts about teaching:

When I applied to Michigan Technological University in 2001 as a chemistry major, I did so despite my passion for biology as I had convinced myself that chemistry required “real” thinking while biology was mere memorization. However, my experience over the last nearly 15 years has clearly demonstrated otherwise. I now recognize all of science as a series of important interrelationships. A firm background in math, physics, and language is necessary to understand basic concepts in chemistry and biology, which serve as the building blocks to biochemistry, genetics, cell biology, molecular biology, and on and on to multitudes of other biomedical fields, including immunology, microbiology, virology, parasitology, and more. I believe that teaching with this perspective will give students a sense of how their courses are important with respect to the larger field of biomedical science and will inspire passion and enjoyment for learning.

And when I think about all of that in the context of what Joan is saying, what it really boils down to is this: I can do chemistry. I can think about, talk about it, get an A on a test about it, but honestly, I rarely feel it– in my heart.

Oh, to be sure, there are excellent chemistry jokes that make me ridiculously happy (the ether bunny is seasonally appropriate and immediately comes to mind), but for the most part, it just doesn’t light me up.

{Source} AHHHH ha ha ha ha HAAAA!
{Source} Ah ha ha ha!

Host/pathogen interactions? That lights me up.

I needed to know chemistry to really get it, of course, but the chemistry has long since faded. Loooong since. Yes, I can calculate molarity, measure pH, tell you how many protons a carbon atom has… but I could talk for hours about how tricksy gonorrhea and chlamydia turn out to be once they find their way into a genital tract. And how conversely clever the body is in response. On and on and on… because that lights me up. So I remember it. It is a memory that has stuck. Much more than any theory of quantum mechanics or SN reaction mechanism. (This last statement is so true that I had to google SN reaction to make sure I wasn’t just inventing that on the spot. It’s legit. Whew.)

Literally, an hour, about host/pathogen interaction. Love it.
Literally, an hour, about host/pathogen interaction. Love it.

I’m good at learning things, at remembering them long enough to write the paper, give the talk, take the test, but it’s definitely true that not everything sticks very well. And I’ve always wondered about that– why is it that I can sing every line from every song in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, even years after last hearing it, but could barely remember a given toxin’s mechanism of action for as long as it took me to brush my teeth?

Because the toxin does nothing to my heart. (Assuming said toxin is only theoretical, of course. Things would be different if we were talking about toxins for realsies.)

Jacob? Jacob and his sooooons?! They make my heart flip flop! And that’s why it sticks. I think, anyway.

So… what do we do with all those emotions that clog us up? Those memories that stick? The song lyrics that pop to mind when all we want is the answer to the next test question?

It’s a good question.

Perhaps the best answer I have found is to do something that lights me up as much as a song lyric every day, as often as possible. Granted, I don’t love everything I write about, but I get real into a lot of it. It’s even spilled over here, I’m sure you’ve noticed– foster care families, integrated behavioral health and primary care, rare genetic disorders, opioid addiction. Writing itself is like that, actually. It’s not exactly what I was “trained” to do, but I have always loved doing it. So maybe, in that respect, the clog isn’t a clog at all if you’re training those feelings on something productive. Maybe?

 

And a relatively unrelated side note… I’ve often felt jealous of the pride people have for their children, assuming it’s something I couldn’t know until having them. And I can’t have them. At least at the moment it’s difficult. Snowball effect. Woe is me. But then again, good things keep happening to people I love so very, very much. And I feel SO CRAZY proud. Absolute heart bursting pride for someone else. Or something else in the case of my sweet pup. So what’s to say that that kind of pride is reserved only for your flesh and blood?

Jerk, second track, that’s who.

So, anyway, upon getting some SUPER GREAT news for Sister Doctor today, I would be remiss if I didn’t share the heart bursting pride with all of you!!

Sister Doctor has matched into a General Surgery Residency program at the University of Wisconsin – Madison School of Medicine and Public Health! Not only is it one of the top programs in the entire country, but it’s also a mere couple hours away and, guys, I could not be happier for her!! (And selfishly for me and the rest of our big Sconi-based clan as she’s staying close to home and that’s excellent, excellent news!)

A little Match Day gift-- feminist needlepoint, a new favorite. Also, a message worth remembering in surgery residency, yes?!
A little Match Day gift– feminist needlepoint, a new favorite. Also, a message worth remembering in surgery residency, yes?!

On Wisconsin, yo!

Fun fact-- I was almost done with this one, in metallic thread and not red so as to avoid Wisconsin bias, but then for some reason unknown to me at the time, I started over completely in red and white (see above). Clearly, my subconscious knew where she was headed before any of the rest of us!
Fun fact– I was almost done with this one, in metallic thread and not red so as to avoid Wisconsin bias, but then for some reason unknown to me at the time, I started over completely in red and white (see above). Clearly, my subconscious knew where she was headed before any of the rest of us!

 

Debbie Crocker as The Ghost of Christmas Present (a profile in awesome)

Profiles in Awesome, , , , , ,

You know how in cartoons, a good smell will come wafting by and the character floats along on the stream of good smells until they find what it is that smells so dang good? Like this:

{Source}
{Source}

(Note: if you click on the link to the picture source, you’ll find a recipe from May the Fork Be with You for homemade pierogies with kielbasa that looks to… die… for… Definitely going to have to try that.)

Anyway, I was sitting in my office this morning when that exact thing happened to me.

Exactly.

A delicious smell touched my nose and I floated up, up, up out of my chair and down the hall toward what was truly a sight to behold!

I’ve mentioned before that I have some pretty stellar coworkers. And by stellar I mean, of course, out-of-this-flipping-world. But it’s not just my coworkers that are completely awesome.com. The people who work near us are awesome as well. And my friend Debbie Crocker is no exception.

Although, she is exceptional. And she was responsible for that heavenly smell.

Debbie Crocker went ALL OUT to celebrate Christmas with us today! She brought homemade chicken fettuccine alfredo with garlic and parmesan to top it! She brought big puffy rolls and butter to spread on them– with a Christmas tree-topped spreader! And the cookies, my goodness!  Debbie Crocker is famous for her annual cookie day and she brought us the spoils! And in case all that weren’t enough, she even brought a deliciously cheesy chip dip as an appetizer! Un-be-lieve-a-ble!

Debbie Crocker

I know it looks like your typical office potluck. But it’s not– Debbie Crocker brought in and made everything herself. And this is what it actually looked like in person (i.e. through my eyes) because the photo above just does’t do it justice:

Muppet Christmas Feast
{Source}

(I really identify with Miss Piggy, FYI.)

This woman’s heart… it’s just so big, so beautiful, so good… so overflowing with kindness and positivity and joy. My heart swells just looking at her! And I can tell you without a doubt, that today, I am feeling very loved (and very, very full) and I’m sure all of my coworkers (and even Sister Doctor who was invited for lunch!) do too. Because this is a very, very special woman.

You know the end of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens– Scrooge becomes a changed man and says, “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.” My dear friend Debbie Crocker is that person, the person who has Christmas in her heart, and happiness and goodness besides, the whole year round.

Today, she was absolutely the Ghost of Christmas Present. Scrooge after his revelation. The Grinch after his heart burst the little measuring doo-hicky. But most importantly, Deb is like that every day– every. single. day. She is just awesome. And while I know I can never be just like Deb, because she’s truly one-of-a-kind, she does inspire me to do everything I can to make others feel as good as she makes me feel through kindness and love.

Kindness and love and cookies. Christmas cookies.

Christmas Cookies
There are still some left! Come by for a snack- we can chat about Christmas!

 

PS: Did you notice the falling snow on the blog?! Isn’t that awesome! I’m in love with it!

Celebrating my fat heart!

Things I Learned on TV, , , , , ,

Have you guys seen the movie Pitch Perfect?!  I’ve seen lots of pins on Pinterest with quotes and “The Cup Song” has come up several times on my Pandora (love it!), but I never actually watched the movie until just this morning.

You see, I’m pretty much confined to within 10 feet or so of my sweet puppy girl’s kennel unless she falls asleep (like really asleep) or she whimpers and whines, so I resigned to spending the morning watching movies on the couch, including several made-for-tv Christmas movies (so much cheesiness! so very good!) and Pitch Perfect.

Pitch Perfect was awesome for a lot of reasons, but I recently got into Rebel Wilson in the show Super Fun Night and I’m extra in love with her now that I’ve seen her as Fat Amy. Seriously, she calls herself Fat Amy so “twig b*****es like you don’t do it behind my back.” And she had so many other gems! But my favorite was at the end of the movie when she says to her friends:

Even though some of you are pretty thin, you all have fat hearts – and that’s what matters.

That line– I LOVE IT!  I rewound and rewound to hear it over and over and over again because it made me laugh so hard!  But it also touched me– right in my big fat heart! I love the way Fat Amy embraced it, she loved her life, she worked her killer bod, and she showed us that “fat” is not a dirty word. (Despite the nearly constant fat shaming we get exposed to in the media.) Just brilliant!

Have I mentioned before that weight is a pretty big issue for me? Oh right, I titled an entire post “Mind. Body. Prison.” and a search for “weight” pulls up 5 separate posts, which is a lot considering that I’ve only actually published a grand total of 64. (But dang, let’s reflect on that number for a minute– 64?!  Awesome! We should totally plan a party for 100!)

So, yeah, I’ve mentioned that weight is a big deal to me. For most of my life I have desired very strongly to lose it, and when I did, I desired to lose more. I’ve recently shifted my focus, though, and am really working toward body acceptance, no matter it’s size, instead. No matter my weight loss goals, my biggest desire was always to be comfortable in my own skin. Is there any reason that can’t happen in my current skin? No.

I am a healthy, happy person and that’s what my friends and family care about. They love me for my fat heart! And so do I, I suppose!

People come in all shapes and sizes, colors and creeds.  You may have bushy hair, big feet, an extraordinarily square jaw (just some examples… ahem…), but it really is what’s inside that counts. That is what your friends and family love you for and it’s the same reason you should love yourself.

And you should love yourself, friend. (You can trust me, I’m a doctor.)

 

PS: I’m really loving some of these normal-sized women that are starting to show up more and more often on tv and in the movies! I will forever support The Mindy Project, Mike & Molly, Super Fun Night, and Parks and Rec for that reason. (I watch too much tv!)

Generosity following imperfection.

Awesome Things, , , , , , , ,

HUGE apologies to my email subscribers– my itchy trigger finger got the best of me and I published rather than saving and you all got a not-even-half-written idea of a post that I had just started working on.  I am sincerely sorry for that.  So here’s the full post for Thursday just a bit early to try to make up for the spamming of your inbox.  (I won’t let it happen again!)

…..

Generosity.  Big word.

There are so many different ways to be generous.  And this week, I have been the recipient of generosity in so many ways.

The friends we vacation with are just like that– generous in ALL the ways.  They take us to amazing places that provide to the outside observer very visible and tangible evidence of their generosity.  And I completely agree, it’s incredible.  My husband and I have done SO many things we would never have had the opportunity to do and have had so many incredible experiences thanks to our unbelievable friends.  They are kind and generous in the extreme.  As they tell their children, they work hard to be able to bless others.  At this moment, I certainly feel blessed.  No doubt about that.  The pools, the palm trees, the views, the pina coladas, it’s all unbelievable.

But they are generous in even more spectacular ways that the outside observer probably has no idea about.  So I will tell you.

They are generous with their time.  This trip to Mexico is without a doubt a family vacation for our friends and their two little ones, and yet they invite my husband and me along.  We are included in ev-er-y-thing… from fancy excursions to bedtime hugs and everything in between.  The Lemas let us feel like part of this family, they share all of that precious time with us.

They are generous with their words.  Chris is the Chris of chrislema.com and as I worked on my biggest post of the week, he was dispensing free advice on how best to woo the reader with my blog formatting.  Do you have any idea how much something like that costs?!  A lot, I’m sure…. and Melissa is 100% mom-spirational.  She teaches me more than she could ever know about how to be a good mom someday.  That kind of advice is not only invaluable, but it literally cannot be bought.

They are generous with their hearts.  Chris, Melissa, and their kids, Emily and Christian, are unbelievable when it comes to generosity of the heart.  At dinner, both kids prayed for my husband and I during a 100% unprompted grace.  They also thanked God for this wonderful day.  Pure hearts, good parenting, a beautiful thing.

I don’t think that I could ever possibly begin to repay the generosity afforded me by this beautiful family, but I also don’t really think that that’s the point.  The generosity is poured out with no expectation of anything in return… except maybe to pay it forward when given the opportunity.

I like the idea of that.

…

By the way, I’m sitting next to my dear friend Melissa as I type this and when I cringed over the mistaken early publication of this post she said to me, “It’s ok.  Everybody makes mistakes.”

I cheekily replied, “Not me.  I was perfect until that happened.”

And brilliant and beautiful Melissa replied, “From the topside.”

Oh man, does she ever GET this tapestry thing.  Probably she should be writing this stuff, not me, but as long as it’s me doing the writing, I am crazy glad she is my friend.

Tom says that love loves to love love.

The Big Idea, , ,

Some days, it can feel like the entire world is Darth Vader, beckoning us to join him on the dark side.  And I get that because it’s true, there are a lot of sad things.  Bad things.  Mean, dark, catastrophic, tragic, and disturbing things out there in the world.  And that darkness can be so powerful.

But there are also so many people in this world with beautiful hearts.  People who drench the world in love and kindness, people whose radiance brightens even the darkest of corners, people who remind us that the best and most beautiful things grow up out of the dirt.

Today, Jeannett told us about how she’s helping her kids to cultivate kindness and to grow up to be good-hearted citizens of this world.

I want to raise kids like that– to care for the hearts, souls, and minds of others.  And I want to be like that, too.

Today, Chris explained that you don’t know what you don’t know about a person and you should act accordingly.

Word, Chris Lema!  There’s so much more to the people that surround us than we could possibly see at first glance.  Thanks so much for the reminder!!

Last night, Lara wrote a whole post meant to encourage you.

Seriously, how nice was it for Lara to use her insecure writer’s support group time to tell other people that they are awesome?!  Talk about giving back!

A couple days ago, Dawn shared some really beautiful words that have made an impact on her life.

Dawn literally shared the most beautiful contents of her hand-written journals and gave us all a way to carry those types of words around with us.

And finally, a heartbroken momma has chosen to use her grief to inspire so many through The 19 Days— a time to honor her beautiful baby girl, Avery, through random acts of kindness this October 5th through 24th.

I will be performing 19 random acts of kindness and with every one, I will think of that sweet little girl and her huge hearted mom and what an amazing force for GOOD both of them are in this world.

As my brother tells me James Joyce said, because I never would have known otherwise (Tom is very well-read), “Love loves to love love.”  And it’s so true.  Like water follows salt (it’s science), love follows love.  Kindness follows kindness.  And goodness follows gratitude.  (Maybe that’s science, too?)

These days, the negative is still there in the news and on my Facebook feed, but I’m listening more carefully and taking the time to be more observant of the quiet undertone of goodness and love beneath it all.  And I think that this is part of the Christmas present my dad created for my sister, brother, and I last year.  It was a beautiful slide show set to music in which he juxtaposed images of absolute disaster and tragedy with the powerful and unknowable presence of God.  If God’s not your thing, think love, spirituality, humanity, kindness… think everything good that is.  It’s always there, even when it seems like it’s not, like it couldn’t possibly be.  You just need to listen for it, look for it, try your hardest to feel it all around you.  If Bridget can find it through her daughter’s death and Chris can find it in an elevator on the way to deliver a speech, I imagine it can be found pretty much anywhere and everywhere.  What good luck!!

And sometimes, a little kindness toward yourself first can help you look later.  Pedicure, anyone?!

 

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