A Small Thaw

This is the part of winter when I am my most crabby, my most tired and my most melancholy. I am crabby and tired because dealing with the winter in Cleveland takes a ton of energy. Especially if you are hauling around a super-tall, super-squirmy toddler most of the time. I suppose we could say that Cleveland is in a deep-freeze right now. It hurts to go outside. My fingers bleed when I try to open my side-door to my house with a key. I am afraid I am going to slip in the driveway or slide off the road in my car.

Now here is where I admit that I see a certain beauty at these extreme temperatures. Everything sparkles. Especially during these days of low, filtered sunlight. Subzero usually means clear, starry nights where the moon turns the world into a silent, glittery blue.

This morning as I pulled my car into our detached garage, I was annoyed at the loud crunching sound the snow made underneath the tires and how I practically slid into the garage at 35 mph without my foot on the gas. As I was walking out of the garage, I noticed that the wooden walls of the garage were blindingly sparkly, like the diamond mines in my imagination. I couldn't help but remove my glove and run my hand over the wall, in awe of the slick, yet warm surface. And somewhere deep inside of me, my crabby, tired and melancholy soul unclenched just a little.

To My 19-Month-Old

"And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of life, your pain would not seem less than your joy." --Kahlil Gibran

What could this possibly mean to you right now, my daughter, at 19 months of age? The whole world is full of joy for you these days. You are even starting to obsess about certain things that bring you boundless joy, such as the sight of the moon or Elmo. You smile when you see me, you smile and laugh when you are around your daddy and aunts and uncles and cousins. You have transitioned so effortlessly into new childcare, and you are obviously better at this than I am because this morning I watched you sitting and playing on the new sitter's floor and I was thinking, "don't you want to cry just a little because I am leaving?" You didn't and I did.

If I could keep you in this state of joyful innocence for the rest of your life, I would pay anything. But this is not how it works, and I can see that you are just starting to notice this fact. You now scream and cry at any person in a white coat, due to a few knock-you-off-your-feet illnesses. You have seen me cry (a lot) in the last couple of months, and this confuses and troubles you.

Maybe together we can use the words of Kahlil Gibran. He is right, you know, pain and joy are both part of the daily miracles that find us in life. I think we just need to open our arms a little wider and accept this. Let's search for the moon every night, let's dance to every piece of music that moves us, let's cry when we get sick or get a shot, or throw ourselves on the floor when we are angry.

Yes, it is wise to keep my arms open for the little miracles of every day, as to not miss the chance that you might come laughing and running into those arms, which is the biggest miracle of all.

One Foot in AA

Not that I think I need it (yet), but I have always respected the Alcoholics Anonymous way of rehabilitation and healing. A writer I worship, Anne Lamott, has been through AA and always throws out the most amazing revelations from that experience in her writing. For example, she said that AA taught her that "expectations are resentments waiting to happen."

My God.

Why didn't someone tattoo that on my forehead when I was born? How much easier would life be if we brought that mantra into every relationship? Especially the relationship with ourselves, which just happens to be the very one that I have been struggling with for oh...let's see...30.5 years.

Anyway, I carry a book to all of my hospice visits called "Prayers for Healing," full of blessings and poems from around the world. I am finding that this book is magical because I seem to open it every day and it says exactly what I need to hear.

Now back to AA. I always knew that they also used the serenity prayer as a part of their ongoing healing and rehabilitation practice. What I did not know was there is an extended version of this prayer, which I found in "Prayers for Healing" today. Yup, you guessed it. Exactly what I needed to hear. I pass it on to all of you so that your divine eyes, full of goodness might read it now:

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He* did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

--Reinhold Niebuhr

*My note: This prayer is still amazing, but I tend to shy away from the genderizing of God. In fact, if you were to ever have a conversation with me, or look back on any former post with mention of God, you will see that I simply say God. Never Him. Never Her. That is not how it should be and I have not been struck down by lightning yet, so I am pretty sure I am right on this one.

A Month

It has officially been a month since I last blogged. I would like to blame the holidays, but ours were calm and easy for the most part. I think I subconsciously took the last month as a chance to let things happen without the need to write about it, as our family has been going through some big and small changes. Okay...the truth is I am frozen with fear by some of these changes. I find that I am still frozen enough by the prospective big ones to not quite write about them yet, until they become realities. What did I do in the last month during my non-frozen time?
Let's see...
1. Two visits from my in-laws as we emerge from a period of estrangement.
2. Christmas with an 18-month-old: Fun and frustrating as it should be.
3. Finding new child care for the 18-month-old and all the worries and tears that went along with this. Today is her first day. So far no phone calls from a sitter in agony. As for me, I miss my daughter so much I can hardly breathe.
4. A trip to Florida to see my parents flanked by a toddler illness and parental illness. Lots of fun and laughter in between.
5. Much thinking about my friends and family, and lots of prayer for them.

Now here I am facing a new year on some shaky ground. I should see this as an opportunity to reach into my spiritual toolbox and say something significant. Maybe tomorrow...