mantras

mantras

20200315_120615

A week ago, two beloved friends came to visit.
The four of us met when all but one of us was in physical therapy school in Minnesota. Carl and I had been married three weeks before the program at Mayo began.

When we learned of the possibility of a visit during their travels, my whispered mantra was “calm your crazies!”

I have a tendency to shift into perfection mode when we have company. Perhaps it’s heightened now as busy schedules have caused us to not be as practiced as once upon a time. Somehow my desire to extend a welcome becomes a tangled knot of also wanting our home to resemble a magazine layout. 

Calm your crazies.

My intention was to be present and not hurry. I wanted to bask in listening and speaking words and not be consumed by the funny little idiosyncrasies of our home. I didn’t want to become wrapped up in the imagined ways our home lacks and miss the plentifulness of the precious souls in front of me. I hoped to wave goodbye without regret for a wasted time of worry when I could have savored the time with dear friends.

Calm your crazies.

So we cleaned because why would you not.

Then we allowed our emotions to bubble over with excitement and anticipation.
We have been friends for almost 34 years, all of our marriages. They were our first couple, the ones we spent nearly every non-studying or working moment together with. We share the history of unwrapping the newness of marriage and babies.
Although none of us could land on the exact amount of time passed, we believe it has been over 20 years since we had been in each other’s presence.

We collectively look older, our joints not as pliable although our minds and mouths raced with stories and questions. It was as if we stepped into our own personal time machine for about 36 hours. We all had experienced the expanse of time marching us toward middle age, raising children to adulthood and dousings of joy and sorrow. The only difference in our conversations was the passage of time, not affection or affinity. Our time apart felt like a long pause before completing a thought, a soul connection without awkward silences only reassembling of lives.

They arrived when the fear of Coronavirus was just beginning to rise. It is a strange reality to know, but not know if contact could be dangerous. We risked the possibility and maybe it was unwise but there was hugging involved. There was plenty of handwashing as well. We sided with love mingled with wisdom.

If there is one truth or anchor Carl and I have built our married life on, it’s this:
When in doubt, love more.
When we have no idea what to do, we err on the side of loving.
It’s not about being heroic, it simply makes sense to us, because love is never wrong.

The reality has arrived regarding the magnitude of this pandemic. This is fragile and new territory for us to walk through together and apart.
I hope during these first days to have my movements originate from a place of love and extend my resources outward and not corral them. I want to replace the mantra of last week with several new ones.

I will pray and laugh and weep with those who weep.

I will find new ways to stay in contact with the people I love and value in my life.

I will list the people I have lost contact with and share my affection for each one of them.


I will stay informed and maintain my rhythms and routines.


I will read books and number my blessings each day.


I will extend myself grace when I watch Netflix too much or eat something purely for comfort.


I will use technology for good and take walks to witness spring’s arrival.


I will share my disappointment with those whose plans and lives have been turned upside down with the speed of an email or news crawl.


I will refrain from assigning blame and speak words of kindness even when it is a challenge.

I will view this time as more opportunity to lock eyes with the people in my home.

I will pull out the board games and give attention to neglected areas in my home.

I will check my spirits and not forget to reflect on those beyond my walls.

I will take regular breaks from social media and the news.

I will laugh every day.

I will pray.

Above all, I will calm my crazies.

when love is built in parking lots

when love is built in parking lots

Wedding photo

Dear Carl,

July marked our 30th year of marriage. We knew it was a big deal yet something about the weight of this number has felt more solid than the past milestone years.

After all this time, you know me and it won’t surprise you that this letter will weave stories to illustrate my point.

I do have a point, I promise.

It’s been a few weeks since we said goodbye to our wonderful Chocolate Aussie Hazel. Recently I recalled that we brought her home on our 14th anniversary. We had waited an unbearably long week because we were traveling. At the time, it was just the four of us, thinking that Hazel would be our last baby. We were enjoying our vacation but now and then one of us would look at the other and express how anxious we were to get back to Portland and scoop up Hazel.

A few years later, Caleb came into the world and he became the object of Hazel’s herding tendencies. Now that there were five of the people variety and a forever-shedding pup, we felt complete.

None of us will ever forget her last morning with us. When you spend a life together, there are sacred moments, horrible ones and everything in between. It was a Sunday, it was sudden and it was a collection of sacred and horrible. All of us navigated our way into the vet hospital parking lot at different times and crazily in 4 different cars. Our time was full of unabashed emotion and words. It’s what happens in the best kind of families, the feelings run deep and there is no way to shield each other from them, nor would you desire.

Carl, I will never forget your strength mingled with emotion.  When none of us could speak, you lavished us with prayer, such a needed balm, bestowing on us peace and comfort.

When there was nothing else to do, you suggested finding a place for breakfast which is always the best solution for five breakfast lovers plus no one wanted to spend much time at the house.

As we were walking to the parking lot, either you or I turned to say something to the other and when we faced forward again, we gazed upon the tenderness of our kids in a tight circle above the raw asphalt. We were close enough to see their lips moving but far enough to not hear their words. We never asked their words, those sentences weren’t ours to know but it was testimony of their overlapping grief.

We shared breakfast and a toast to a good and faithful dog.

The girls took Caleb for the rest of the day and to see Finding Dory.

You and I silently and slowly ascended the stairs at home to complete painting in Caleb’s new bedroom. We might have preferred to curl up on the sofa but we were partaking in a rite of passage, fulfilling a promise, preparing the largest bedroom of our house, where each of his sisters had inhabited, together or solo.

Hazel’s death has shaken us. It has upended routine and rhythm and relationship. We have known plenty of loss over these many year but this one feels central to the core of the family we have built. That pivotal day before the 4th of July when we grieved her caused me to see how our marriage has been built in parking lots.

To be honest, no one really thinks about parking lots until they need a parking place or to find their car. The world would frown at this marriage statement because it’s not sexy or reality show friendly. The world would count our time as worthy only if it contained exotic locations complete with designer bodies and children.

Exotic is defined as very different, strange, unusual, not living or growing naturally in a particular area. It means strikingly, excitingly or mysteriously different or unusual. 

I would say sharing 30 years together is very different, unusual and is not considered a natural occurrence in this world. It truly is mysteriously different.

The course of our marriage has been spent traversing across the varying temperatures of parking lots and not being taxi-ed away on planes. Trips are a short-term landing, sometimes the exotic part of a marriage is lived out day-by-day in the same place, in the same house with the same people creating the most amazing view of the world’s landscape.

The soul of our marriage is you and me.

The heart of our marriage is the extensions we have created in family and friendship.

Marriage is full of parking lots.

I am grateful for the snow-covered airport parking lot when you surprised me to propose.

I will never forget the parking lot you pulled me across when we made our getaway the day we were married.

Do you remember our measured tiptoeing and breath holding from the hospital to the car with each new bundled up baby?

Or how we circled the blocks to find just the right parking place on all those first and last days of school? Or you clasping my hand when I wanted to “take just one more peek” and helped me begin the slow sniffle-filled walk to the car?

All the seemingly endless searches for parking spots for practices, games, concerts, medical appointments, braces on, braces off, entrances exams, graduations and college-drop offs.
Never to be outdone by the most dreaded question asked at bedtime,

“You need what by tomorrow morning?”

Start the engine and proceed to the nearest store.

The frantic dash to any of a number of churches in time to be seated before the first song. After 30 years, it is still a struggle.

We’ve had our favorite work parking spots, some have lasted for years and others came to unexpected endings.

Sadly we have bowed over so many loved ones who have left life’s parking lot for Heaven.

The picture above is actually before we were officially married. I have no idea what you said to me but it made me laugh. I can tell because my cheeks are reaching towards my eyes. You have never ceased to make me laugh even when it seemed impossible.

Thank you for traveling every parking lot with me.

Thank you for trudging through the snow to claim me as your own.

Thank you for shepherding our kids like a champ.

Thank you for believing my wedding day image is the same one you see every day.

For a girl who grew up never locking doors, thank you for keeping us safe.

Thank you for patting the cushion next to you so I will sit closer to you.

Thank you for all the sacrifices you have made, those I know and will never know.

Thanks for  believing in me despite my serious doubts.

Thanks for being my safest place.

For the pocket of parenting days and nights only you, me and God know the depths, thank you for limping through that long, hard season with me.

We are facing a parking lot we wish we could not find a place to park. We don’t ask for Him to take the trials away only that His presence would remain. If there is anything we know after 30 years, God will never abandon us without hope.
He is with us and loving in the midst of every obstacle and triumph of our life together. He is our peace and our guide. He is the Maker and the keeper of our marriage. In Him we can trust and rely. He has been the one who has filled every pot hole and resurfaced every rut. We expect nothing less than Him being God.

You see, I did get to the point.

It required a lot of words to simply say:

I love you and am forever grateful you are my husband,

 

Helen