10 Habits to Break (and NOT live by) :: seriousness.

  I just stood there, my eyes filled with tears colored disappointment.

I expected something different and didn’t take well to the surprise.  My mother confused, bent low and spoke soft as she tried to understand how such a dead ringer of a gift could somehow bring grief to my bothered little soul.  But the other kids laughed and cheered in front of our fellow kindergarteners as they teetered with larger boxes and tore through endless amounts of wrapping paper.  I remember my turn; my eyes scanning the room hiding the ferocity of excitement within finally landed on the box being brought toward me.

The smallest of all boxes was laid before me.  Little primal like chants rose to fill the room buzzing with holiday mania, “OPEN IT! OPEN IT! OPEN IT!” When I did get through the wrapping paper and into the box, I discovered a toy unique and ill fit for the milieu of gifts setting in front of my classmates.  A toy truck, a gun, handcuffs, action hero figures, all seemed so similar and friendly to each other while the prosthetic like E.T. finger with light up tip stood out like a sore thumb - pun, now, delightfully intended.

To this day, E.T. remains one of my all time favorite movies.  As I think back, the alien wrinkled prosthetic finger gift my mother brought to my kindergarten Christmas party was one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received.  I missed the glory of going up to my friends, reciting the line, “E.T. phone home” and pressing the outstretched finger to demonstrate the complimentary light up function.

I was far too serious that day and in many days subsequent.

Life is days passing.  In the coming and going, the rising and falling, the good and bad, each day resembles the many before, but holds its own uniqueness.  Some days require seriousness and focused attention to see it all the way through.  A deadline met demands your consistent effort.  Without it, you don’t make the deadline.  The ability to focus in on project or responsibility typically brings you most of the way to successful completion.  Talent and experience alone can’t get you there dependably.

For every unapprehended dream, you’ll find an artist, athlete and aspiring professional who let go.

In regard to focus, the same holds true for parenting.  Consistency is king and a currency owning far greater value than most things you can give your child.  I maintain a low-grade focus fixed on who I see my daughters to one day be with a simple strategy: short daily prayers.  When I drop them off at school, as I return to pick them up at the end of the day, at bedtime and in the unplanned spaces throughout the day my memory prompts me to, I pray brief prayers for now and all grace needed to get us to then.  This seriousness I have learned to be absolutely vital to my parental effort, if not maintained, I see them only small and bound to now.

Herein lies seriousness’s trickiness in my life, a thin habit in need of breaking.

While all holds true to the necessity of seriousness in our aim for and achievement of success and completion in life, seriousness can also weigh our days unbalanced.  When we heavily focus, we risk losing sight of all else and robotically hone in only on one area.  Prolonged seriousness equals a preoccupied mind with little room for new ideas, inspiration and your best effort.  Like the little kindergartener years back, I easily settle into preoccupied thought leaving me unavailable to the moment and unable to see the bigger opportunity.

This habit rears its intrusive head in my creative life as well as my personal life.  I’m unavailable to new ideas and productive writing when I remain preoccupied in serious thought about the quality of my writing and how it will be read and received.  Likewise, I pull myself to the sidelines of my personal life, parenting included, when I disappear into seriousness on a preoccupied level – life happening right in front of me.

And so here’s the kung fu aggression to the habit of ill-balanced, preoccupied seriousness in my life: laugh and let go.

We can be so engaged in what seriousness reinforces as worshipful importance, that all becomes about us rather than us being alive in the surrounding panoramic.  Instead of a pensive disposition, I’m learning to disengage long enough to belly laugh better and leave fires burning to be more available to all that matters.

they may run :: A DEEPER FAMILY MONTHLY FEATURE

Her eyes, squinted and unfixed, glanced my way, not as to lock in but to demand explanation and confess fear.  It’s toughest when I can do little to intervene and help her.

She’s oldest of the three, all blazing toward maturity.  Before us lies frantic years cresting high in emotionalism and confusing nose dives for no discernible reason.  Teenagers are a mystery of hormonal weirdness.  It’s a stretch of life confounding the most prepared of us parents.  I gaze at my oldest daughter in moments flashing unfamiliar and pray it all sticks and holds together.  The worst part that really cripples me is the understanding that she will disappoint me, break my heart when she pushes me away and says hurtful things.  I pray for her then and teach as often as I can now.  I don’t own control, and to a large degree neither does she.  Out of control, her choices will be tied to insecurity and friends she’ll swear are so close to her.  I’ll wonder in those moments how we got to that point so fragile and ready to break.

I pray He holds His words in our hearts and goes to valiant pursuit when we stray; we, the one, apart from the ninety nine.

“What’s wrong?!  Why are you crying now?” “I don’t know.”

“You must know.”

“I just look so ugly.”

I took a path of less understanding and shot holes through her feelings, reasons why she shouldn’t feel the way she did.  Honestly, the reasons were given to stop her from going too far from me.  I’m a man raising three little girls quickly morphing into young ladies.  My emotional capacity is regularly dwarfed by those little estrogen soaked hearts dreaming in fairy tales and sparkly endings.  When I cry, a recognizable cause stands clearly identifiable, but they cry and move through varying emotions with the suddenness of a jack in the box.

CONTINUE READING AT A DEEPER FAMILY. . .

10 Habits to Break (and NOT live by) :: distraction.

I enter the day on fire already at dawn.

Each one lined up in demanding succession, already laying claim to time not yet, minutes too young to be accounted for, but they are before I even have the chance to live.  We live in some sort of deficit common to most and known by all.  Busy, we all are; some more than others by choice and some sinking in a devouring schedule.

It appears that life demands more at different times.  My schedule is busier now than I can ever remember, and balancing all of it seems more than daunting of a task most days.  Like plates spinning threatening crash and disruption of symphony - items on my calendar, tasks stacked in my to do list, appointments butting up to each other, project deadlines, responsibilities, opportunities, ideas - my days blur and bleed into each other, a monochromatic smear undistinguishable from the one before.

Just the other day, after juggling work meetings, finishing a writing project and coaching my little first grader through addition problems, I asked her if it was really Thursday.  She, matter-of-factly replied, “I don’t know.”  So we were both lost and disappeared back into our work because bath time, dinner and family talk awaited us, impatiently.

You get it just like I get it: we’re all busy, probably more than we should be.

My habit in busyness, distraction.

At the root of busy, I find deeper tension between the struggle for validation and meaning and reverently bowing low to idols of effort and independence.  Rather than reveling in sunset, I’m transfixed by the moving parts on my wristwatch, aware that the day is moving and afraid of being left behind.  So I scurry through the day ping ponging through dinging calendar alerts, scribbled notes and nearly forgotten ideas, all while new ‘things’ pull for attention.  I allow the distraction which devours focus and forwardness.  Lost in diverging moments, distraction splinters my effortful progression and the plates spin unattended, stretching the day endlessly into the next.

I’ve learned much more about myself the busier life has become.  For starters, I’m not as patient as I considered myself to be.  In fact, patience is a forgotten virtue as I speed through the day making frequent unplanned detours - distractions.

Less busy makes little sense, actually, like commanding the day to stop so that you can catch up.  If all I do is try to not be so busy, I get busier trying not to be busy - my life diminishes to schedule reduction rather than meaningful progress into accomplishing dreams and all that truly matters.  My family doesn’t need a less busier me; they need an intentionally present me.

To be clear, busyness isn’t the beast, distraction is.  And prone to distraction typically points to ungrace ruling my heart, a term Phillip Yancey describes as a path chosen lacking grace.  Reduce my distracted heart down beyond the frantic and rotten core issues are uncovered that are far more concerning than the mere pace in which I move through each day.

How I move troubles me.

The chasing after words to be written, the rushing through meetings, the whining about time’s apparent poverty and the weariness of it all give thorough evidence of a fragmented focus continually falling victim to a heart lacking grace and grasping to earn its way in life.  When, in our minds and hearts, we have to earn all that is good, enjoyable and meaningful in life, our focus fragments, dividing day to parts of life rather than simply the pursuit of life good, despite circumstance, and acceptance of grace.

The habit of distraction must be unsubscribed to, let go of, in the acceptance of grace - the reality of God distributing good to those good, and bad.  In light of grace’s freeing reality, my focus can steady on what matters and must be attended to while distractions fit to satisfy a broken, ungraceful heart can be ignored and discounted as muted enemies.

1095.

If memory serves me well, we were all just floating; hollowed hearts recoiled by death’s touch.  You don’t just get over such things.

Year’s from the touch, our hearts still feel tender in moments of our memory’s choosing.  It’s easy to feel captive about what you will and won’t allow yourself to esteem or talk about.  We’ve held a high rule in our home since Marianne’s death, a rule that has held us together tightly in times grief would’ve pulled us apart.  It is always okay to talk about memories of her.  In fact, more than okay, sharing memories is a measured must that keeps gauge of our honest movement through grief and life inexplicably coming undone.

Tomorrow makes three years. What makes grief so precariously hard to track is its random rhythm in our lives.  Out of nowhere a difficult string of days will move in unpredictably - tempers flair, patience flattens thin, arguments stir quick and tears do fall freely.  We are a war torn bunch who sometimes jump at the sound of grief’s return.  Never was it easy, and our memories don’t let us forget that.

Still my daughters hold tightly to those close to them.  Goodbyes are hard.  Each time we leave family after a visit or they leave our house after a few days all together, I recognize their little eyes dim for a bit.  They grow quiet, and they remember the feeling of letting go.  One day, I’ll have a conversation with the women they will be.  I hope to hear sadness their vocabulary struggles to express at times in their young age.  I pray their future expression of sadness will give greater evidence to God’s faithful watch over them in His keeping of their designed destiny.  Then my joy will be touched with wholeness and once again reminded of the fury and mystery of grace.  Maybe I’ll need reminding then.

In poignant eloquence and thoughts collected, too, from the sting of pain, C.S. Lewis observed, “We regard God as an airman regards his parachute; it's there for emergencies but he hopes he'll never have to use it.”  

That learned reality is the blessed fruit of pain experienced; to know God because of healing bruises.  Only in that regard, maybe I’m more blessed than some.  Amen and amen.

Memories taking me back three years and some still hold dark insecurities that if given open door could easily overwhelm my trust in God and who He is.  Other memories of saving grace and strength not of my own - from God and family and friends - float atop steady tossing waves and still give passage through grief . . . to the point where I confidently say I am forever healing and not forever grieving.

Grief does burst in and out of life unpredictably.  I think many reasons play culprit to grief’s irrational movement in our lives, but possibly most prevalent to me is life’s fragility exposed in death’s touch.  In a moment all can be lost.  And in that same moment, all can be simultaneously found.

Friends, I count it blessing the three years behind us.  All 1,095 days.  And for as many are ahead, may grace always guide us and trust always bind us.

As Julian of Norwich hollowly spoke to times beyond her, “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Let come what may, and I pray both in smiles and tears we remain honest in all things.

As I look about and count rich blessings sprouting and blooming all around, love, marriage, family and tomorrow, I, for a moment, take to blushing at such weakness and frail faith in difficulty.  But then I am corrected by the scars of life's real blow and reminded of the even greater realness of God's hunting grace.

*(artist/image credit: Gillian Carnegie)

10 Habits to Break (and NOT live by) :: idle.

"Idle hands do the Devil's work, Paul." K. Vonnegut, ‘Player Piano’

Late into the evening I sit as still as I can to take in hours lived at a pace too fast to sustain, worried I didn’t do enough to give eternity to the day.

I should’ve written more words, set a plan for tomorrow, had better conversations with those I love . . . done-more-to-earn-more type of thinking.  Fruitless thinking that pushes my mind around the track in unending cycles until I fall asleep.  It’s not a good way to go.

Idleness creeps into my bones, not in my gaze ahead to promise and possibility, but as I look back over my shoulder to the hours lived already.  Its lingering effect leads me away from productivity.

I drift to uncertainty.

And uncertainty leaves me insecure of my doings.

Just a few days ago, my hands stayed and my thoughts circled much longer than hands and thoughts should and late evening buried me.  I could only give account to a couple hours of useful work.  The rest, categorized in worry, doubt, fear and frustration - the devil’s work as Vonnegut rightfully called it.

We should not be auto-bots mechanized to churn out lifeless work measured by a time frame commanding our start and stop.  That’s just as idle as standing still while the present continues to flow right through your legs.  For me, the habit of idle is about allowing my mind to be preoccupied by things I can’t change, or shouldn’t.  To make my point clear, going back through my day can be a very fruitful exercise of celebrating all things that went right and pay attention to what went wrong - good.  The danger in idleness is allowing thought to drift unhinged to purpose.

The counterbalance to idle thought and action is purposeful rest.

There can be plenty of purpose in sitting outside, quiet under the stars, and just exhale thoughts and weights held onto throughout the day.  Likewise, there can be many pitfalls to grabbing in the exhale.  That stickiness is called regret and that is where idleness brings me.

So how do you determine which path to take, purposeful rest clearing your mind for rejuvenation and new day or static thought tangled in idle recounting?

Quite simple really, practice rest.

For me, meaningful rest from a weighted schedule takes practice.  My tendency is to hold onto the weight while I’m not actually doing much at all, or rather can’t do much at all due to diminishing hours in the day or receding energy with which to do more.  I’m challenged by the limitations of hours and energy in each day.  It leads me to invest more into conversations with my family, work when work should be done and rest well.

Vonnegut would be for playing the piano rather than the piano playing for you.

of the stitched kind :: A DEEPER FAMILY MONTHLY FEATURE

(image credit :: elsabags.blogspot.com)

It’s funny how three little girls separated by five years can have such differing opinions on the exact same happening in life.  Personality, age, temperament and individual uniqueness all certainly attribute to the differences in response.  Each of my little girls are growing into their own little person.  They see life through lenses specific to them and interpret life accordingly.

Life hasn’t been all that easy for them.

Their little eyes washed of a certain innocence have filled with tears pushed out of them by grief and loss.  When they lost their mother, they somehow simultaneously grew tightly together and stood distinctly apart.

It’s been the greatest stroke of grace to watch much of their lives end, float in insecurity and find current pushing them into a glowing new horizon.

And all in three years.

So if you’d sit with one of my daughters at some point and ask them to describe the last three years or ask them to illustrate emotions in a drawing, you’d get differing, not opposing but layered, responses.

And they’re all right.

. . . READ THE ENTIRE POST AT DEEPER FAMILY

10 Habits to Break (and NOT live by) :: worry.

"What is crooked cannot be made straight, and what is lacking cannot be counted."

Worry.

We wake to find what we don’t have, what we wished for not waiting dream-freed in existence.  What to do, or say about what to think now?

We keep checking and there never seems to be enough, and so, worry becomes us.  In fact, the average person invests hours worrying about a variety of circumstances - finances, relationships, career, health, future, past, decisions made and to be made, etc.  Worry is a response to life uncontrollable or unavoidable.  Sometimes we are the cause for worry in life painted with our mistakes or irresponsibility, and figure we should do better; worry binds itself to our movements and decisions.  Other times, worry elevates in our hearts as life swings unyieldingly and the outcome seems all but favorable.

At some point along your way in life, you will worry your brains out and fret for hours, maybe even days piled on top of days, and your viewpoint will cloud a grayer hue as worry shrouds possibility of good and better.

While worry is certainly unavoidable, the holding to worry absolutely is.  Here’s something telling to consider: what is your initial reaction to adversity, large or small?

In honesty, my response echoes a hollow, worry.  There are times in my life when worry jumps from my heart.  In those times, I don’t think well.  My thoughts anemic to trust.  And so, worry leaves me floating neither in the here nor there, but somewhere in the vague middle, clothed in fear and undone in anxiety.

“Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity.”

No matter how you make your way through life, what you do or don’t do, the opportunities you seize and the ones you let lie, all is vanity, worthless.  Years from now, no one will remember you or much of what you did, if even anything at all.  A common mistake made by those sunk in worry is the idea that life depends on effort birthed from our hearts and resolve.  That’s just not the case.  No matter the size of the life you build, it is all vanity.

We reach for what cannot be had by our own hand while seeing past simplicity.

I worry about making it to successful to appease my value and worth in this space of life I’m in.  I couldn’t possibly keep accurate count of how many hours I’ve stayed up sleepless, worrying about how my book will be received, what I will write next and if it will even matter.  Compound this worry about my career with the worry I invest in regarding my daughters and who they will soon be in life, and I span periods of months when I worry with more consistency than anything else.  One day, it simply will not matter in the grand scheme of things.

Life moves on; we must decide if we will live it or worryingly watch it pass by.

What’s larger and more founded than the fading details of our lives in years to come is right now.  If you are to quiet worry’s ringing and overcome it’s weight, you need to devalue your footprint in this life and cling to what really does have lasting weight.

Eternity will forever overshadow time, no matter its steep drops and treacherous, momentary climbs.  That is what the wisest king to grace this life, referenced as the Preacher, found at the ends of the Earth - all is vanity and meaningless in this life outside of God in eternity.

And so the striving and wriggling in days sinking as a boat swallowing water can be abandoned for a greater Knowledge.

In moments of worry, I must turn, not stare.  Worry is my friend when it causes me to pause and turn helpless to Christ who owns all I need.  I arm worry as my enemy when I sit and stare holding it as habit.