falling apart and praying

Its all pretty fragile really.

All of it.  Every last drop of the day...this thing called life.

And when your trying to get off sugar (which is crack for me) and your best friend is being ripped open vulnerable from cancer, and your sons amazing tutor just lost her husband of 60 years and you see the loss in her eyes each week, and a sweet fella of 5 in your community and kids sunday school class has a brain tumor and is waiting for results from a biopsy and your friend and kids violin teacher of 3 years is recovering from throat surgery that may affect her voice, and another friend is close to walking away from her marriage and kids...the breaking point isn't all that far away.

Life is messy.  So I cuss in front of my kids, throw the game across the room and run to my room, squat down in the fetal position in the darkness.  And I cry.

As my self talk goes negative and harsh, I catch myself, or the Divine, Holy One who created me catches me and I free fall into grace...into His arms like a nursing mother gathers her hens.  Yea....those arms.  The squeeze you tight and squishy pushing the tears up and out kind of arms.  Leaving me head down grinning, lifting a hand up in the air kinda way, palms open ready to receive some fresh rain.  Kinda like my cousins new bride did last summer after their hot Charleston wedding.

"Jesus" I inhale..."I belong to you," I exhale.

I learned this in a class at church during lent last year as a way of praying, of being mindful.  It sure has a way of helping me get my feet back on the ground.  Helping me remember who I am and that I'm not alone in this messy world, in my messy heart, this messy house for that matter.  It helps me not be lost for the whole day long.  And that prayer isn't all neat and tidied up when your hair is done and your sitting happily in church or sipping tea in the quiet.

It is called the "Breath Prayer."  And you can so do it.  There are many different ways and words to use.  First address God in any one of the many names He has...Abba, Father/Mother, Spirit, Holy One then with your exhale breath you either offer a thanks or a prayer.  Pretty down right simple.  Lord...Help is a great one I've also used...or Father...Your so good...or Jesus...I need you.

And for me...in these days of constant, simple is good.

And as I have eyes and a heart to see and weep over the hardness all around me I also have eyes to see the beauty that pushes itself up into every day around here.  But for now, I'm not ignoring the pain, I'm bravely feeling it and in a way carrying all these dear fellow brothers and sisters to God's big ole' heart.

Dear Amanda

(these are unpublished words from last summer...finally brave enough to post & need to read!)

Dear Amanda,

You need words girl.  And you need to read and re-read some words.  All us Momma's do really.  Full time, part time, all the time, old, young, spotted or straight.

But as you ran so hard on that precor  yesterday listening to electric violin & the Dallas String Quartet that took your soul a flyin' in the midst of the weariness of the constant work & to-do list your brain ran through a picture rolodex of the last few weeks of your life.  And it was good.  And you wondered how you can darn forget the goodness from one day to the next.

Kind of like those silly Israelites that wandered and wandered forgetting who they were & just what God promised.  I too wake up feeling like an athethist most days,  "Who am I again?"  and "How did I find myself here?"  "Why am I doing this job again?"

 Life at the Monastary making cheese by day, walking to vespers & lauds, sitting in silence with other broken, beautiful souls calls to me often.  I dream about it at night, actually.  But then I put my feet on the ground and am jolted to my reality when a little person crawls up on my lap sucking her thumb in the fetal position just asking to be cuddled.

You made milkshakes for dinner tonight, surprised the heck out of your children, and created some great memories. 

Keep going woman.  Don't give up, throw in the towel, shut down.  Keep LIVING...fighting for life.  

Remember John Eldridge's words,"Make no mistake, every movement towards life...WILL...BE....opposed."

I challenge you this year Amanda Scott Jones Walters to speak more positive, life giving, scripture affirming words to yourself this year.  Keep being the person you want your children to become.  They are watching your actions even more than your words.

Amanda
which means 'worthy of love'

Celebrating our first...13!

We Walters have our first teenager over here!  We ushered him into this year real good, letting him know we acknowledge he is growing up.  We honored this transition into manhood with a fine china sit down dinner with his choice of men & special people he admires around the table as well as his choice of food.  Truly, he is no longer a little boy.  James & I talked with him months ago about what this mile marker birthday would look like. I am soul fat & happy over how it all panned out.  

We celebrate your life Joshua Henry and your place in our
family as the firstborn.  That comes with both privileges and responsibilities I know.  Hasn't always been easy as Dad & I have figured this parenting thing out.  Gosh darn, if we haven't of made a million and two mistakes along the way and felt like surely, we have ruined you now...yet, mercy follows us and you kids are more resilient than we think.  And truly, you have learned along with us and your personhood has been shaped into a compassionate, intelligent leader who is ready to tackle tasks and offer an encouraging word.  I am proud of you!

After our delicious meal your Dad had you sit in a seat of honor beside he and I.  He shared words from his heart and scripture.  He affirmed you letting you know as you enter this next phase where your not going to be as sheltered as the younger kids from evil and whats going on in the world around us that you have both us and the folks at this table to process life with.  I respect your Dad's courage to admit that he does have lots to offer you and teach you, but he doesn't have everything and welcomes you being apprenticed by others during these next few years of school/ work/ life training.  We feel extremely blessed by God to be in such a community of folks with such diverse gifts.

Your Dad then gave everyone at the table a chance to say a few words about what they saw in you.  It was sacred ground.  As your Mother I was so proud to hear of your work ethic and leadership that others saw in you when I haven't been there beside you while you were in sports or at a job.  You grinned large, nodded and offered a humble, "Thank you."  Today, the day after, you said those words people spoke was one of the best birthday presents you got.

Then, in front of these wonderful folks, your Mama Jo, your Pop-pop and big cousin Grant too, we presented you with the inner piece of your first guitar.....a First Acts one when you were 3.  There are blood splatter marks on the piece of wood from where you played it so hard your knuckles blead.

Then....we presented you with the electric guitar you have been drooling over for months...and you cried and hugged us.  It was all just magical.  Mama Jo gave you a framed collage of pictures of you as a child on the drums, with a guitar and dancing.  It is priceless and shows your love of music from a young age.  What a treasure!

And then you and your best bud for 7 years hung out, tinkered with your new toy, watched movies late into the night, drank butterscotch beer and ate junk food.  You were so content.  How does one night change the view upon a person?  You grew up before my eyes tonight in a major way. I miss the sweet baby days with you my son, but even more so I am looking forward to being a part of the next chapter and watching you go into the world with confidence, providing and protecting, being a giver and not a taker. 

Then the boy party on Saturday...the combining of friends from different circles to have a boy day at our house even tho it was rainy was what you so wanted.  Your sisters went to play at a friends, and the Mamas of the boys brought snacks to keep you guys fed throughout the day.  It was fun to see you guys laugh, play card games, shoot sling shots, talk about music and watch a movie.  Our house is a wreck but sweet is the aroma of boys who said "Thank you, Mrs. Walters for having me."  And deep and happy is your heart for having buddies in your space for a day.

 

I love you.  I like you even more.  As you try new things, tackle new challenges, try your wings, attempt daring projects with your Dad know I believe in you and like your Dad said so well at your man dinner...."You have what it takes."

Remembering October & the struggle for freedom

October was a dream month.

We lived loud & loved strong.  Sure, we fought some too.  Not trying to kid anyone around here.  I can pull the wool over my own eyes looking at sweet pictures of my sweet ones, but then plop right back in to this real life skin with a door slamming or crocodile tears in my face because of an injustice done at any given moment in my day.  But just so I don't forget...

In October....

We woke at 5am to drive up to the parkways to watch the sunrise.  I packed hot blueberry muffins & hot chocolate & tucked kids in cosy blankets close together then snuggled with my hubby to watch the worlds lights slowly turn on.

We moved our read aloud time in our school day to first thing in the morning, sipping something hot & diving into Theodore Roosevelts life.

I bought a new notebook for all 6 of us & we started chronicling what we are thankful for....through drawing pictures for younger ones & writing it out for olders.  We aim for 5 but somehow end up writing many more and are happier for the writing it out thanks to Ann.

We took a week off of school & work & went to the creek house.  And that is where life came back into view and I was able to step off the rat race of do, do, do, go, go, go without a breath of air.

When they were babes I struggled to feel only good for one thing...like a milk machine but now I feel like the entertainment machine, the taxi driver and meal maker on top of a part-time job.

I fought hard to get us to the creek house- my parents cabin deep in the woods.  And it is there I began to see more clearly, there that I fell apart and began to be made whole again.

We finished Just David- a killer read aloud for ages 0-99 all cuddled up with hot chocolate.  We went for long bike rides.  The kids piled in the hammock with blankets on top just swinging and talking.  We played checkers.  We watched movies.  We slept in & turned off alarms.

My Dad spent 2 days with us while my husband was working.  He taught my boys to fly fish. And then he taught me.  He set us up with a little kids rod to learn & practice on and one fit with a fly and all to really fish with.  His voice was calm and full of wisdom & belief in us all.

Something I have dreamed about doing for years (who doesn't after watching A River Runs Thorugh It) but felt was too hard, too much gear, too.....so that I have stayed away from it and let it be other peoples hobbie all the while dreaming it could be mine too.

After both boys had the exhilarating experience of catching their first fish with a fly rod I had Dad show me.  He said, "It's not as hard as people make it seem."  I relaxed and surprised myself by getting the hang of it.  Then he had to leave and I watched him pull away into the canopy of trees as I stood on the bank alone with a fly rod, tears in my throat.  I would rather of known those moments with him, my kids with their granddad than gain a week in any school curriculum.  Why do we push so hard?

I lingered alone up and down the bank of the creek.  I got the line stuck in the tree & cussed a little.  Now what?!?  Instead of giving up, I cut the darn thing off and found his string and tied it back.  I kept fishing pretending like I knew what I was doing, rehearsing his words in my mind till I really did know what I was doing.  And just like that, I had a fish!

I screamed and laughed so loud the kids heard me from the cabin & came running which was good because I really don't care much for the grab the slimy fish part & maneuver the hook out of his mouth.  Josh did this work and I just got to stand there and laugh tears and glory over our dirty jean selves, mist of rain falling down on us, listening to their applause of their old Mom catching her first rainbow trout with a fly rod.  Glory be!

They scampered back up to the house with the rain thickening.  But I had to sit there and soak it all in.  Feel the realness of the moment even tho I was a bit wet.  Somewhat amazed too that I am in the season of parenthood without a nursing baby or toddler to be constantly tended.

I began walking up the gravel road toward the dam and little hill that takes you up into a canopy of trees and forest on right and creek on your left, rain lightly pelting on my jacket, hands deep in warm pockets.

How does one live in this 24/7 world with a heart alive?

Because mine is sinking.

And just saying it out loud brings tears.  But somehow in the honesty I am being made whole.

I remember something a leader a church would say on stage..."If you haven't noticed life is hard you must not be paying attention."  Unfortunately, I think a lot of us are asleep, or fooling ourselves & trying to fool those around us more than we'd like to admit.

The invitations for kids activities, decisions of which to do, which is best, how much money are we willing to spend is all utterly overwhelming?  Is a warm home, chores to do, a family to love you & food in your belly enough anymore?  Or do we all need that plus art & music lessons, soccer, swimming, and ballet.  Oh, and sunday school each week and a play date?  And smart phones at 10 or 11 so you can have access to your parents at all times PLUS access to a million and two games, activities, information galore, and all the cool things your friends are doing 24/7.  Will that make you happy?  Or utterly overwhelmed & depressed & stuck on the treadmill of always wanting MORE or the next big thing in the long run?

I don't have the answers but I am living the questions as we are a month away from having our first teenager in the house.  And two weeks away from his younger brother being 10.  And it is all just getting harder and harder.

Yet, JRR Tolkiens words ring in my ears....
 
      "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

So today as I wake up and realize we are half way through November and I am bound tight and struggling for air, I choose to remember I am free.  What a gift.  And I DO have choices.

Because really I want to be like Mary Oliver who said,                                                                            

"When its over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement."

Not...all my life I was a bride married to hurry, to not enough, to always busy, always stress.  Because really, are those things what make us important?

So today, I say thank you October for reminding me I am free to choose.  And thank you Dad for reminding me that I am never too old to learn a new skill cause really, it's not as hard as people make it out to be.

The boy who almost wasn't

This kid.  He almost wasn't.  But he is here, has conquered some hurdles and this year turns 10.

Two whole hands old.

And he has been through much in his young life, but this year is bursting with life in ways I doubted I would see some days.  And I don't want to forget.  I want to see the now.  The beauty bursting forth and acknowledge the transformation in his growing confidence, his unique personality, his selfhood.

You see, he almost came too soon.  And his older brother did come too soon and we buried his little body in my parents butterfly garden.  So, this fella, this little person, we hung on every day with him in my womb.  We fought long & hard, surrounded by an amazing community of folks, a church family that we barely knew.  They fed us for months.  Miss Laura came to take 2 year old Josh on nature walks to the park.  We did everything we could to get this our 3rd son here, safe and alive.

Lord knows I may of cracked wide open to deliver and hold another dead child.

We named him after his Dad and his Granddad.  James David Walters.  We almost called him J.D.  Also tried on James David.  But Jed stood out and stuck.

On a recent road trip to Charleston we passed this.  Whoever knew there was a JED burg?  He smiled big over this.

For Christmas last year Jed's older brother saw a beautiful edition of The Hobbit in our favorite small town book store and wanted to buy it for Jed.  Though Jed said many times that he couldn't read such a thick book, with the bigger font, wider spaced lines and this cool little light I bought the kids for Christmas he was off and running.  

My Dad dove into it with him, reading aloud to him over our Christmas visit.   I am so thankful for both my parents legacy of being readers.  That they have jumped into what my husband and I so value and will stop to read with our kids at times is priceless to me.  

Education and spiritual formation are not about filling up a bucket.  Laws and lists don't motivate.  

But stories with real characters, heroes & heroines give us a chance to see what could be...to give us courage....to gently guide us without a list of do's and don'ts.  

Stories provide a bigger story for kids to live into.  

They can have a heart formed to be a hero in their day.  Books have more power over a childs life than we can imagine.   I was at a conference this weekend and learned about a philosopher who wrote about how language trains our consciousness.  He wrote about how words create our worlds in which we live.  I want to paint with beautiful language in my home, choose wisely the characters I introduce my children to.

And so I struggle afresh with seeing that in our back to school rhythms, it seems that read aloud time is 'squeezed' in, or rushed.  Or the bedtime story is quick.  And I don't want it to be this way.  Yet, in the going and coming, the pack the lunch & get out the door, the "its time for----" I find I am loosing space for what I hold most dear.  

In saying "yes" to many good things, I see I am saying "no" to other things that are even more core.  

Like this fella.

He asked last night when I tucked him in if we could stay home ALL day tomorrow so he could read. A hint indeed that we have been on the road too much.  A glory moment for this Mama Bear who has poured my life into this fella to help him succeed in reading this last year.

Lately, he loves being in his room.  Curled up with a book.  And his lizard, Gandalf that he got a month ago.

Which is so beautiful I could cry and you would too if you knew the story.

The story about one of the 3 different reading curriculums I used & failed each time to teach him to read.  The frustration & tears with him over writing & spelling...for days on end.  The 2 different times I put the kid in a school setting for half a year because I felt like such a failure.

The stress that at 8 he still wasn't reading and his little sister was.  Then..... the finding of Mrs. Crawford & the Orton-Gillingham approach.  The hard work of tutoring and now he beams confidence.

He is happy & settled & bright.  He has some great friends he talks & laughs with.  He invited 2 fellas yesterday to come join in a game of jail break.   His cursive is the most beautiful I've ever seen.  He offered to read aloud yesterday.  He reads to his little sisters often.  OH MY STARS!

 And I.  I get to craft a 'rivendale' for his childhood.  I get to create a place for him to flourish, to create, to learn, to do hard physical labor, to enjoy delicious meals, to dream and imagine.  I would be lying if I told you my job is easy or I don't cry or stress over doing this home educating thing well.  But man, am I more excited than ever about the days ahead with all I have learned and seen this past year.  With Kristens death, with Jeds learning to read, with instilling screen free sundays.

There is much to be hopeful for.  Even in the middle of the story.

May we each live a good story today.

Saying Goodbye to Kristen

Two nights before her death I was spending the night at my sisters house, sleeping in my nieces bed.  My sister found me in the dark hallway and I woke as she asked if I was okay and who was calling me?  I replied I didn't know, turned and went back to bed but not to sleep.  How does one sleep when her friend is breathing her last breaths on this earth?  

I met Kristen in Sunday school at our little Episcopal church.  Red headed, fair skinned with a beautiful smile.  We chatted over Easter Egg hunts, children with baskets running around, reenactments of Jesus last days on Earth, kids and adults all dressed up in shawls, in the hallway while our girls had choir rehearsals, with coffee in hand before parenting class, over lunch at the Square Root.

We understood the need for good pure eating, no sugar, processed stuff, little to no wheat & dairy.  We understood each others conflict of 'eating perfect' and 'living free.'  She got my battle with Multiple Sclerosis even tho it hasn't raged it's head in a few years.  I groaned with her over her looming battle with cancer.  3 years cancer free and now a scan showed it was back.  In the brain.  

We shared a love of children, of the great outdoors, of being with family and of sitting in our beautiful stone church.  We talked of getting together to make candles, of letting our girls glory in glitter and glue and art.  We talked of hiking as families.  But never got around to those things.  We actually put it on the calendar but something came up, pulled us away.

Kristen was a fighter.  She was strong and brave and present.  I only got to know her in her last two years of her 40 here on earth and I admired her.  I wish we had more time.  I wish her story had more chapters to be written, even the coming hard preteen ones with her daughter... looming decisions with boyfriends, college and career.  

Yes, that is where it pierces me deepest.  That this little family has lost its Mother and Wife.  That her light in their home, her warmth of body and soul will be there no more days makes me want to hurl basketballs in God's face.  The thought of Sam and Lily there in their home without Kristen doing and being all the things she did and was to them rips me to my core.

It is times like this that I appreciate all the more C.S. Lewis work in the Chronicles of Narnia.  The character of Aslan, the lion who suddenly shows up here and there with a fierce strength, tender love and wise words has always comforted me.  He is a picture of God, as Father and Mother to the children in the story.  The line I love the most is "Aslan is good, but he is not safe."

The night I slept walk into the hallway when my sister asked who was calling me, I know it was Kristen.  And Aslan.  He knows me like a book and knew my heart had been aching the last few days over Kristen.  I had spoken with her Mom only 5 days prior to her being in the hospice house and was planning on coming to be with her once she was home from the hospital.  She never came home.  She went directly to the Elizabeth House to be medicated to comfort, to allow her organs to shut down and her body to stop working.

And I.  I walked around my life with 4 happy children chasing chickens & riding bikes, I watered my gardens and picked tomatoes, I chopped salads and set out 6 plates for our full family, lively supper while my mind and heart felt pierced with no band aid big enough to comfort.  Then the weekend came and her Mom said they weren't allowing visitors.  My chance to see her one last time and say goodbye was gone.  

I chose on a whim to go to Hickory to surprise my sister for her birthday, savoring the chance to be present and to celebrate the life of someone I loved.  But, the pain followed me and even haunted me.  So as I drove home on Sunday after my sleepwalk in the night, I knew I needed to go be near her.  Yet, I didn't want to upset the family's ask for no visitors and I am a rule follower.  How loving of Aslan that Kristen's Mom called me for another matter in that moment.  I was able to share with her my pain and desire to go sit outside Kristen's room and say goodbye.  She blessed me in doing so.  What a gift!

As I walked the hall to her room I was jolted more into the reality of her coming death, of all of our coming deaths really.  Mine included.  "Oh I don't want to do this" I kept saying.  "This is too hard, turn around & just drive home Amanda."  But something beckoned me to go talk to her.  Was it for me or for her sake, I don't know.  But after journaling a letter to her outside her room a kind nurse came by and asked if I wanted to see her as she opened the door to check on her.  I did and I didn't.  I walked in, pierced with deep throat tears, told her how sorry I was this stupid cancer was taking her away from the life she loved, but told her it was OK to fly on to Jesus, asked her to hug him for me and told her that I was sure it was grand living there in a way we never tasted here.  

She died the next day.  After tucking my children in bed I checked email and read the news.  Crying on the couch with my husband I said, "We were just sitting behind her on the front row in church on Easter Sunday chatting it up, our girls exchanging flowers."  "Yes" my husband said, "And now she is experiencing Easter."

Because schools not just from 8-3pm you know?!?

Sitting in the driveway gathering my things after a full afternoon of bowling & grocery shopping with my crew after everyone else had bolted out of the car, I suddenly had a head right beside mine.  Startled a bit, my eyes widened and a silly face came over me as I looked into this, my 8 year old girls face.

"Has anyone told you they loved you today, Momma?" She asked with a smirk.  "Cause I love you a real whole lot you know."  We side hugged and I thanked her for taking time to care and to ask me that wonderful question she's heard from me a hundred times cause I grew up hearing it from my Momma and still do from time to time.  

We forget how much were teaching with our very lives sometimes, don't we?  How much one learns from watching a life.  And as we are in the throws of daily math & grammar & latin vocab and all the world around us is in back-to-school modes something in me wants to gather close all the Momma Bears out there and whisper some sweet reminders...to yes, care deeply about their childs education and being in an environment that fosters learning, new skills and concrete building blocks for adding, subtracting, reading and writing.  For these tools are staples and empower greatly. 

 But, Momma Bears what if the time they spend with YOU is an even greater mark of their formation.  And what if we are putting too much stock in our unique choice of education be it public, private or home?  What if we are unknowingly asking the state, the sunday school teachers, the million and two extracurricular activities our American kids are offered to fill a void and shape a life that we ourselves need to take back some responsibility for?  Yes, there is truth in the village raising the child and Lord knows we all want loving influencers in our kids lives.  

But lately I see such exhaustion in Mamas eyes from all the running around and worry over the right activities & school pressures that I wonder if we all just need a reminder to slow down, to craft a slower pace with space for loving right here in our homes.  For bedtime routines, for lingering dinner conversations, for rest together and time to play random crazy games and have tickle fights.  Cause aren't they learning from our pace of life?  Aren't they seeing what we value?  And won't they pattern their lives and homes somewhat after the one they were raised in?

I am no parenting expert or phD status.  All I have is my own story full of warts, tears and triumphs too.  And lately, I see the little glimmers of silver among the rocks in my kids lives.  And the effects of my choices to slow down, live more simply, put perimeters on when I check my phone, scale back their screen time greatly (to their disdain of course) are having great effects on their sweetness, on their joy and their budding selves.  Their personhood.

And lately, it is in this my first daughter that I see it the most. She was born under water, the first baby I didn't know her sex before birth and whispered, "a real live Abby" when my husband said she's a girl.  Cause all my baby dolls as a child got named Abby and tucked in sweet all lined up in our basement in Falling Creek.  And now, I get to parent a real one and it is much harder than it was then.  And she needs to talk way more than I have space for sometimes.  But, I love seeing her blossom and know that young womanhood is just around the corner.

So last night when she tip toed out of bed and came to the kitchen where I was lost in mashing bananas for muffins and enjoying the quiet of the evening I said "Yes" to her ask to help me even though she needs her sleep and its a school night.  (have I told you baking is therapy for me?) 

She cracked eggs with no spills and stirred without getting tired and even poured them into the muffin tin.  She is steadily getting better and more confident in baking with each time she does it.  And I am seeing now that this time listening to, loving her, being with her is just as much 'school' as when she sits to do her math at 8:30am.