Thursday, August 14, 2014

I'm a Half Puerto-Rican Girl from Virginia (hah!) and I'm "going there" Too!

In light of this tragedy-filled and sorrow-full week, I am hesitant to post this for fear of sounding flippant or just not sober enough. But fear silences, and I believe silence is complicity. These are conversations that need to happen. And keep happening. So I'm humbly offering my voice. Please talk back.


My friend Deidra is a brave woman. In her own quiet, chill, and kind way, she's starting a movement of knee-knocking, Jesus-loving, hand-holding, diversity-embracing, hard-conversation-having, grace-like-a-river-giving women who are going there and committing to see unity become reality in the church of Jesus Christ.

And I figured it’s time I join them. 

I’ve been going there in my head for years. I’ve even lived there. In fact, I’m the fruit of there. You see, my fair, Pennsylvania-country-girl mom and my dark, handsome, Brooklyn bred-Puerto Rican dad went there forty-seven years ago.

You wouldn’t know it to look at me. My own son is probably the biggest evidence of being from there. With his dark skin, full lips, and brown eyes, he hints the most at my Puerto Rican heritage.

The thing is, there has been a part of me for so long I hardly realized it was a place. As I’ve read and been a part of discussions about ethnic diversity over the last year, I realize what a gift I was given to have been brought up in a multi-ethnic home. 



Mami & Papi (Dad's parents), Mom, my sister and me





















My Hazard, Kentucky-country great grandparents (Mom's grands) and us

I was exposed to a different language and heritage from day one. My memories of family gatherings with my aunts’ families, grandparents and extended relatives are rich, loud, full of food and words I didn’t understand.

In some ways my perspective feels naive. Confused. There is just a place that’s a part of me, and I find it hard to "get it.” Kind of like, "What’s the big deal?" 

Of course, I’m not ignorant of prejudice and racism and its ugly stories. My father has a few stories of his own. The biggest is the one where my mom and dad eloped because her father was so prejudiced against Hispanics. My mom's family didn’t even need to meet "the Puerto Rican” who had stolen their country daughter’s heart. 





















My dad. Looks threatening, huh?

It wasn’t until I was born that painful prejudices were laid aside and love for new life made a way for acceptance. I like to think I was part of that reconciliation, in my own baby-kinda way.






















Me and the Puerto-Rican, aka Dad.

As I’ve contemplated my own experience and desire to really do my part in reconciliation (other than being born), the thing that stands out to me the most is embracing diversity. Creating it even. Contrived? I don’t think so. Intentional? You bet! When something’s broken, it takes an intentional effort to fix it.

I can’t claim any virtue in my mostly positive and accepting attitude toward other ethnicities. It came naturally because it was part of my experience, and any prejudice I’ve ever felt was toward those I was unfamiliar with. 

Human nature tends toward what’s comfortable. In the absence of exposure and experience, segregated relationships begin to make sense.

I see this in my own children. My older three experienced a lot more of the Puerto Rican side of their heritage. When my grandparents passed away ten years ago, the family visits lessened. My youngest has never been in a roomful of loud, boisterous Puerto Rican relatives.

We also moved from the metropolitan DC area to the Shenandoah Valley and its country life four years ago. Our oldest two boys were the minority in their school of African Americans and Asians. Now on most days, my younger three boys don’t see people who aren’t white like them.

This has undeniably influenced their attitudes. And it makes me realize that what was a natural part of life and experience before, now has to be intentionally facilitated. 


WHY GOING THERE IS SCARY 

So when you’re a “white” woman, talking about things like diversity and racism can be a scary premise. It’s times like these when I wish my half-Puerto-Rican-ness was a little more evident. Honestly, I’d feel more legitimate if my skin tone was darker like my dad’s. (Is that okay to say?)

I haven’t been the victim of prejudice. I don’t know what it feels like to be discriminated against because of the color of my skin. 

But I have known hate. I have been the victim of mean girls. It wasn’t my skin, but it was my glasses and big feet and whatever else provided fodder for the day. I’ve known the pain of rejection and ridicule from my peers for things I couldn’t change.

And I've known the power and healing of acceptance, affirmation, and friendship. I believe those are the starting points for this incredible journey.

Going there promises to be messy. I don't care for mess, and I’m afraid of hurting someone. Of saying something that is offensive. Of sticking my foot in my mouth or worse unintentionally sticking my finger in someone’s eye. 

But unity is worth any amount of embarrassment, misunderstanding, or “I’m sorry”s that I might have to offer.

Messy is okay because of grace. And a unified body of Christ will make our Father smile so big.

So let’s go!


I'm joining these brave women and friends who are "going there" and facilitating the conversation . . . Alia, Jennifer, Lisa-Jo, Crystal, & Kate. Their perspectives are well worth the read.

And Alia posted this yesterday: Kingdom Come. It's one of the wisest responses I've read yet in the mess of this week. Her post captures the heart of God. 



Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Public, Private or Home School? How Moms Can Support Each Other Regardless

















As families across the United States and around the globe say goodbye to the easy-living days of summer and hello to a new school year, there are many tasks we have in common; acquiring new school supplies, new schedules, even new shoes top the list! But with the increasing availability of schooling options, the traditional school-day preparations of years gone by are becoming more and more diverse. Depending on whether your children attend public, private, or home school, a mother’s “to-do” list this time of year may look very different from that of her neighbors and friends.

The choices before us when it comes to raising our children are unprecedented, and that can be both a blessing and a curse.


Join me and the community at Circles of Faith today to read the rest of the post and join in the conversation!




Friday, August 8, 2014

Good Dog


It's where bloggers write for 5 minutes . . . no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking (or at least not a lot). Click on the button above to read more thoughts on fill.




















When dog walking is therapy. 

And our pace is set by things to smell.

The perpetual pleaser in me fills with the delight he has of sniffing every other bush.

Walk three feet. Sniff. Walk a couple more. Sniff.

And the happy dog makes me smile. 


The ever-present demand to do more, be more, ceases to exist. This is enough. I am.

The people we meet don't talk about the headlines, their troubles.

Our commonality is the four-legged creatures on these long leads. Breeds, mixes, rescue dogs. These are the limits of our conversation.

And my weary mind finds refuge in these simple boundaries.

A couple walks toward me slowly on the path. I step aside to let them by, shortening the lead. Not everyone likes big dogs.

Is he friendly.


I nod.

He looks like my Nola. She lived 14 years. Want to see a picture? Man I miss her. She was a good dog.

Enjoy your walk.


Walk. Sniff. Sniff. Walk.

A tall, thin elderly man with two dogs on leash, a yappy dachshund-looking-something or other and a fluffy black partner, approaches.

He's a Norwegian breed. They were bred to catch rats on the ships. So they had to be small. 

Fascinating.

We walk. He sniffs. 


And I notice.

The blue tail of a skink darting under a bush safe from sniffing dogs. 


Lazy turtles plopping off a sunny log into the green pond.

Wavy reflections on the rippling water.




















The breeze. 

And it feels like my Father stroking my hair.

Whispering, "Breathe deep. Rest."

Man's best friend. It's no wonder.






















Thursday, August 7, 2014

My "Dear John" Letter to Facebook . . kinda





















I'm breaking up with Facebook.

Not really though. We're just "taking a break." Kind of like you did when you were dating and you just weren't sure this was the right guy.

But I'm talking about Facebook not eternal love.

And yes, Facebook, we need a break. I'm just feeling smothered. Between your news feeds, status updates, comments, likes, and neverending tidbits of trivia and information, you've got my brain short circuiting.

You know I was an info junkie years before you came along. Your creator was still in diapers when I would fill my tote bag and arms with library books and stumble back to my dorm to read on a Friday night while my roommates were all gone and it was quiet.

But this relationship has taken info to a whole new level, and it's just too much to handle.


I'll miss the mornings I rolled over and blearily started my day with you. Ever since I got my iPhone you've come to bed with me and been there when I woke up. It was exciting at first, but now . . not so much.

The thing is, Facebook, for all the fun we've had, I realize faces don't belong in a book. 
{<==click to tweet} Faces belong on bodies. They're right in front of me, and I'm missing them.

It's not like I hate you or think you're inherently evil. 


You have introduced me to some of my favorite people and facilitated relationships that would have died without you. 

I've found incredible information, life changing even, as I perused your news feeds. 

You've made me laugh and cry. 

I don't resent you for making everyone else's life look all sunshine and roses and mine look like crap. I know better than to think that the age old battle with comparison is your fault, Facebook. {<==click to tweet . . oh, please} 

Besides, I am a mature adult, and I know everyone posts the good stuff. Why not? Who has picture albums (remember those) commemorating the worst of life? 

But I've also wasted hours, and I don't have hours to waste. Really, I think you're great! I just need some space. 

Here's the good news. We're not really breaking up. I have a plan, and these are the new rules:

- we won't visit on the phone. My time with you won't be half conscious, compulsive checking anymore. I want our relationship to be intentional. So we will only visit when I'm on my computer.

- we'll be together only between 1 and 2 pm. That's my personal prime time, so you're up against a lot of competition. But don't worry. That means when I intentionally choose you, you'll have my undivided attention. Quality not quantity.

- no weekends starting Friday at 2. Because when it come to the weekends and family and friends, well you lose. Sorry. It's not personal.


Facebook, you have a way of magnifying my state of being, for better or worse. You can make me feel depressed just as fast as you bring out my pride. {<==click to tweet}. So I'll be paying close attention to how I feel when I'm with you. As one-sided as it may sound, if you don't make me feel better about life, family, and friends . . . well, click.

You're a really nice guy, Facebook. I just need some space. And I think our relationship (and all my others) will be better for it. 

Fondly (most of the time),
Kim


Wednesday, August 6, 2014

When Restless Means Rest More










The first few weeks after Winsome, the women’s retreat I founded and my God-sized dream come true, I just kept spinning. After winding up that hard, you can’t stop on a dime. Weeks and months of preparations weren’t “unspun” in just one weekend. So as tired as I was, I kept writing emails, wrapping up loose ends, and brainstorming ideas for next year.
Then I hit the proverbial wall. I need to find some place between full-out spin and slamming face first into the wall. But there’s something in me that starts out slow and then doesn’t want to stop, like a runner that sprints until he collapses.


And now I felt like I would be happy to just stare at a blank wall for a month.
While my mind, body, and emotions were spent, my soul felt restless . . .

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Five Minute Friday: Finish

Five Minute Friday

It's where bloggers write for 5 minutes flat . . no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking. Click on the button above to read more thoughts on finish.


I thought I was finished. When three kids said "I do" in the space of just seven months, I thought they'd been launched and now I'd stand by quietly loving and cheering. But those days of gut wrenching, snot sobbing, heart pounding, prayer blasting parenting . . I naively thought those days were done.

I was crossing the finish line as they each heard the shot of the starting gun, clasped hands with their new love, and  began the race.


























Daniel & Hilary 6/1/13 
























Emily & Ethan 7/6/13 




















Josh & Kim 12/22/13


I was wrong. Kind of. They were being launched, but so was I. More like catapulted into an unexpected foreign world as a parent of adults.

What was I thinking?! That the heart that beat, bled, and would have died for my newborn would suddenly quit beating with all the passion and fight that had always determined its rhythm?


So I've been caught a bit off guard. I'm stumbling through this dance and its complicated new steps. 

How to passionately love as I always have and then to step back when I'm so accustomed to rushing in?

How to be silent when I desperately want to solve all their problems with my oh-so-wise and experienced advice?

How to speak in faith when I have nothing to say? 

How to pray and release and trust that our Father, the perfect parent, will still be there when I cannot?

Finished? Never. 


Gut wrenching, snot sobbing, heart pounding, prayer blasting, wildly cheering, passionately in love? 

Forever.




I humbly dedicate this post to Lisa-Jo Baker, the founder of Five Minute Friday. While Lisa and I are in different seasons of mothering, her passion and encouragement for mothers has inspired me to look back in thanks and forward in hope as I continue to embrace this high, holy, and humbling calling of mom. Lisa is passing the torch of this beautiful community on to Kate Motaung. Lisa, thank you for your heart, humor, and words! You bring a levity to mothering that engenders deep sighs, laughter, and joy, and I'm so grateful.


You will laugh, learn and fall in love with your kids all over again as you read Lisa's newly released book Surprised By Motherhood.



















I'm giving away a copy of Lisa's book! Enter below (entries will be open through Friday, 8/1).





Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Soul Care


I took care of my soul today.

It doesn't always get a lot of attention, leftovers mainly. There are just too many "important" things to tend to day after day. But today I gave it an inch, and it took a mile.

It started with coffee with my favorite girl-woman. 




















Em and I were way overdue for some one on one time, so we met at the local coffee shop. But even as I was trying to get out the door, my tasks were calling, nagging, insisting that they really couldn't wait and wouldn't I be happier crossing some things of my to-do list? It's a good thing I'd already committed. Sadly, I know what I'd have done otherwise.

The day was gorgeous and so was Emy. She's seven months pregnant and sporting the traditional glow. Besides that, she is everything and more I ever dreamed a daughter could be. She's also one of the people I most admire. Listening to her talk and share her heart breathed life into mine, life I didn't know I was missing. Like the scent of fall when it first arrives, I'd forgotten how much I love to spend time with my daughter.

A couple hours later, I hugged Em goodbye, started back to my car, stopped, and turned around the other way toward the gorgeous day and the Old Town shops I so enjoy browsing. 

It was a tough turn. My "responsible" self about had a fit, but my soul had tasted refreshment and wasn't ready to push back from the table yet.

Half a dozen shops later, my soul and I were ready to take a leisurely stroll back to the car.

But we didn't rush home. There were two stops to peruse some landscaping pavers I've been thinking about. My soul is pretty excited about the meandering path through the "garden" I've been dreaming about. 

Pavers perused, we headed home and back to work, or so I thought. My soul was planning the second course.

Dirty kitchen, laundry waiting, and to-do list notwithstanding, Soul and I were still hungry. We read some articles, wrote some notes, and more or less just dillied and dallied around the house enjoying the unseasonably cool July breeze through the open windows and taking in home. 

Taking in home. I so easily forget that home is meant to be more than managed and that managing home is a means not an end. The end is enjoyment. I even have it posted right over my pantry as a reminder.






















Jeff came home, and after a quick, easy dinner, we spent the evening back in Old Town at the outdoor movie with Sam. Despicable Me 2 was the show, and we laughed and ate ice cream and candy and other stuff I regretted an hour later.



























Ice cream makes me a little crazy.



The stuff I regretted.


As we drove home from the movie, my soul sated and content, I resolved to make days like this one less rare, to make caring for my soul a priority, and to remember to give thanks to "the living God, who gives us richly all things to enjoy." ~1 Timothy 6:17


Can you relate? Does your soul often get the leftovers too? How do you take care of your soul? I'd love to hear your thoughts!




Linking up with Holley & Jennifer!