Be seen and heard

Shh.

Be quiet.

Don’t speak.

Be seen and not heard.

Make yourself small.

Cower in the corner.

Become invisible.

Keep the little girl inside you little.

This is my beloved Son; listen to him, God said of Jesus.

Did God say of me, This is my beloved daughter; listen to her?

But who can hear me when I am being quiet?

How can you listen to me when I am not speaking?

If I remain tucked in the corner, trying to be invisible,

how can I spread God’s message of love and forgiveness?

God whispers to me.

Think big thoughts.

Speak up.

Make yourself seen and heard.

The waves

The waves meet the shore

and leave their treasures behind.

Delight in the gifts.

Serenity

I frequently pray this version of the serenity prayer.

Its directness makes it difficult to miss the message. I can only change me, and when I am thinking about how other people need to change, I am on the wrong path.

It is easier to look at the mistakes others are making, to see their stubbornness, selfishness and lack of self-awareness than to look at myself. And yet I know others can look at me and see my mistakes, stubbornness, selfishness and lack of self-awareness.

Some of my friends point out these flaws, and even if I am defensive in the moment, they know that I really do want to hear, because it is only when I become aware of these blind spots that I have any hope of changing.

A friend reminded me the other day of her nickname for me—Our Lady of Perpetual Motion. She is right; I have a hard time sitting still, of doing nothing, of relaxing. When I find myself wanting to say to others, you need to sit down and relax, I know that I am also talking to myself.

Hold that mirror a little closer, I tell myself.

When my mother had a heart attack two years ago, she was in hospital for a week and then went to a rehab facility, where all she could do was complain. She was feeling better than when she entered the hospital, and she just wanted to come home. But the truth was that she needed to regain her strength. That was a truth she did not want to hear or accept, and she made everyone’s life miserable until she got an early release (I think the rehab staff was happy to see her go).

While in rehab, I suggested she try to imagine she was on a cruise, with a private room and a lovely courtyard outside her window. Her meals were delivered, she had a personal trainer and a world-class gym. Where can I sign up? I joked, although I know that accepting a hospital or rehab stay gracefully can only happen when we accept our vulnerability and lack of control.

Admitting her vulnerability and giving up control are two things that do not come easy to my mother. Me neither, if I am being honest.

I know that my cruise image is as much for me and my future as it was for my mom—trying to implant this picture deep in my brain for the day when I might need to go to rehab.

Looking ahead, I can anticipate my own resistance, my inability to accept my vulnerability and give up control. I want to change that in me now so that when the time comes, I will be more willing to accept what others believe to be best for me.

Reminding myself that I am the only person I can change is a step in that direction.

Maybe today, I will just sit myself down and relax for a while.

Enough

My not enough button got pushed today

when not one, but two people

pointed out how I had disappointed them.

You are not doing enough, they said.

Try harder.

Put me first.

Do what I want you to do.

When do I start putting myself first and

doing what I want to do?

I think I have had enough.

Sunflowers

Sunflower seedlings were to

grow five feet tall

along the back of my garden.

Seeds planted indoors in early spring and

carefully transplanted when the ground warmed,

took root and

grew stronger and taller every day.

And then my dog died.

She, who was part terrier and

very good at patrolling the perimeter of our yard,

keeping at bay any animals who might think of

taking up residence or even stopping by for a visit.

She, who chased away every squirrel, cat, rabbit and bird.

She, who barked at the occasional opossum.

In the days after her death,

squirrels were the first to take tentative steps across the lawn.

They were soon joined by birds digging for worms, and

then a baby rabbit appeared.

Every morning, she peeked out from under the salvia,

nibbling on the dried grass attached to overturned clods of dirt.

And then, sitting on her haunches,

she nibbled the leaves of my young sunflowers.

How well she looks after herself,

finding what she needs to be nourished,

showing me the way.