.happy halloween.

.learning.

emily, it's not coming out right.

let me see. here, let's try it thiiisss way.

ohhhhh. (groan) now it's ruined.

nope, it's not. besides. what's the rule at my house?

uuhhh... put glitter on as soon as we get inside?

the other one.

oh. mistakes are good.

yup. why?

(sigh) because they help us learn.

you got it. and who loves us even when we make mistakes?

God?

yup.

*******

it's far easier to speak it to a ten-year-old learning to sew

than it is to speak it to my own heart much of the time.

in psychology. in relationships. in adulthood. in faith.

*******

her pillow turned out absolutely beautifully.

and watching her carefully choose and pin and fuss over the fabric

and grin when she showed it to her mom afterwards

was all joy.

.so nice to be home.

"The nice thing about living in a small town,

is that when you don't know what you're doing,

someone else does."

Made me laugh...

then made me choke up a little bit.

.attachment.

Called my mom after some sessions on promoting parent-child attachment yesterday:

Me: "So apparently we're securely attached."
Mom (laughs): "Yes, we did do that part right, didn't we?"

*******

from December 2011:

"Reading up on attachment disorders at Chapters...

Me via text to both of them: Thanks for warmly and consistently interacting with me in my infancy!!

Obviously without knowing the other's response, they both replied within a minute:

Mom: My pleasure!

Dad: The pleasure was all mine!

They're keepers."

.if wendell berry sent text messages.

from Rach:

"I'm collecting pretty leaves on the quad. Oh hey..."

me: "That makes me so happy. I miss youuu."

"Right back at ya. Today is a day where everything seems a miracle. The world is so full! The spoon is too big. How does this happen??"

.to hold.

I'm in Texas for a week at a training in Trust-Based Relational Interventions for kids coming out of traumatic backgrounds.

Just listen to that title... trust-based, relational interventions.

Can you think of something better?

I'm so thankful to be here for more reasons than I can say

and my heart and mind are exploding all over the place.

(Some of you may be noticing this from the amount of texts you're getting from me hourly or so...

sorry, yall.)

As we learn how to create connection, presence, mindfulness, felt safety, nurture and structure, gentleness and playfulness,

I have been aching for a house of girls and the amazing staff who live out these principles in a city in Bolivia.

A re-post of something I wrote in February 2010,

when I had been back just weeks

and those faces were on my mind every minute of every day.

...I spent the last six months cuddling with 15 Bolivian teenage girls. Really. It is a big joke among my HNGR class that every single one of my twice-monthly assessment letters included at least something about physical touch. But trust me, to leave it out would not have given a good picture of my time. Of course, it makes grad school applications somewhat complicated. "Description of Clinical Experience: Please list job title and responsibilities". Responsibilities... um... is there a way to make "Rubbed backs and braided hair" sound professional?...

I loved it. I loved every minute. Bolivian culture involves a lot of physical touch; these girls in particular were way affectionate. And plus hugging doesn't require perfect Spanish. But, it felt more important than that.

Did, in holding these girls, I get to communicate to them that they were unconditionally accepted?
Touch can say so much more than words sometimes.

To feel held is such a big deal.

Did loving touch from the staff and from me communicate safety to them,

when before, physical contact had been a tool for their pain and harm?

Did they feel loved when we lightly touched their head or rubbed their back?

When we cupped their cheek or tucked their hair behind their ear?

Did they feel known, like they belonged?

Was it easier, then, for them to visualize the love of God that Gonzalo told them about in devotionals every morning,

Tino taught to them as he structured and organized their days, counseled them on work, disciplined them when necessary,

that Gladys led them to in their counseling sessions?

 

One girl I literally spent probably an hour every day just cuddling on the couch with. She was a shyer one. She took awhile to warm up to me. But once we became friends, about half-way in, she wanted to be leaning on my shoulder or laying quietly with my arm around her as I chatted and laughed with everyone in the living room as much as possible. Mosoj Yan threw a goodbye dinner for me two days before I left, but I had forgotten some stuff at the house and had to run back the next day to grab it. I was going to try to make it a really quick trip in because I didn't want to have to see everyone again and start crying... "Yes, that's a good idea, don't let the girls see you. Maria Eugenia cried the whole night after you left." What did I even do that would be that important to her? I held her.

We receive love by having material needs being met: Mosoj Yan gave them good meals, clothing, warm and safe beds. We receive love by having hope and a future: Mosoj Yan teaches them skills, counsels them that they are worthwhile, works to get them education. We receive love through words: encouragement; through memories: laughter, dancing, pizza parties, good conversations.

And, we are bodies. We are physical bodies with physical needs, with needs to be touched and held and loved physically.

At times when my language skills weren't enough

but even more than that my brain and heart failed to be able to communicate to them

how deep God's love for them is,

how much I hated what had been done to them,

every hope and dream I had for them...

I could lovingly touch them.

I could pray that as I held them they could receive that they were hold-able,

acceptable,

worth knowing and loving,

deserving of more than abuse.

What a privilege, to be able to hold.

Don't miss the amazing pictures Tim and Ash have been posting from our time with the girls at Mosoj Yan this summer.

.moms.

Me: (crying) I'm probably going to be really bad at being a psychologist and I can't keep up with reading and I'm behind on paperwork and I don't understand how to freaking give assessments anyway...

Mom: (in her very best soothing mom voice) I know, sweetie. It's hard to learn to be a therapist, and you're feeling lots of pressure. And it's your favorite season, too, and I bet that makes it extra hard right now because you feel distracted, huh?

Oh man, I just love her.

Having a mother who understands that it's hard to study when there are pumpkins one could be carving... so wonderful.

(I couldn't help it... the mini ones were 2-for-1...)

.how we roll.

 

 

have i mentioned i love fall?

You give... and we receive.

"We are Your people... like Mother Hannah,
            we come with our several eating disorders,
                                                      trembling lips,
                                                      needy hands,
                                                      fallen faces,
                                                      quiet in despair.
            Because we do not have what we need, by ourselves-
            to make a future. And so we ask.

And You give! Generously, abundantly, inexplicably.
            You give more than we ask or think or need,
                        enough for all our futures,
                        enough for joy,
                        enough for well-being beyond our trembling neediness.

You give... and we receive.

            We receive and sometimes we own and covet and possess.

            We receive and imagine it is our purchase.

            We receive Your good gifts like property.

            We receive and want more.

You give... and we receive...

            Sometimes we only thank in amazement.

            Sometimes we yield in gratitude.

            Sometimes we turn our joy into sacrifice and give back.

            Sometimes we become more fully Yours

                        in obedience and gladness...

We pray in thanks.

Amen."

-walter brueggemann,

on reading 1 Samuel 1

.a bouquet of newly-sharpened pencils!

"Don't you love... the fall?

It makes me want to buy school supplies.

I would send you a bouquet of newly-sharpened pencils

if I knew your name and address."

-Joe Fox to Kathleen Kelly
in You've Got Mail

.we never know.

Once upon a time, there was a young couple living in suburban Maryland. They were happy and kind and pretty tired, in the way young couples with three small children often are. Their afternoons and weekends revolved around changing diapers and T-ball games and Brownie meetings, and their friendships revolved around their neighborhood and church small group.

They had been missionaries in Tanzania for the first five years of their marriage. Sometimes they wondered what they were doing in their house on a cul-de-sac in the suburbs. They had had desires to live radically for Him and they weren't always sure this normal-American-life they were in was how they should be doing that!
They kept praying and kept applying and kept looking into other things; yet doors opened, and opened, and opened right in that community.
So they decided to live faithfully right where they were. They kept their radical hearts and they prayed and invested in small, mundane, normal ways with  the people around them. Fellow PTA moms came over to discuss logistics and sometimes ended up pouring their hearts out about their broken marriages. Coaching the soccer team of seven-year-old boys became an unofficial way to model an involved, affectionate dad to kids who didn't have one. Refugee families who had just been resettled into the community were surprised when the white couple in the school office invited them over- in Swahili!

And every Tuesday night, while that young couple went to Bible study, a fourteen-year-old girl in their neighborhood came over to babysit.

They hadn't known anything about her the first time they called; a-friend-of-a-friend had passed on her number when they mentioned they were looking for a sitter, said she was a friend of their daughter's who had just recently started coming to church. She had babysat for them for a few Saturday date nights and the kids had taken to her right away, so they asked if she would be their weekly sitter.

The girl liked being in their house and liked seeing their family interact. She noticed how affectionate the parents were with each other, and how intentional they were with engaging with their kids on a deep level. She noticed that even when they were a little stressed about being on time, or where their books and jacket and keys and directions were, or why the kids still had not eaten their vegetables even though they'd told them to, they still smiled at her and asked how school was going and listened to the answer.

After the kids were in bed, the fourteen-year-old would curl up in their living room and do her homework and watch One Tree Hill... but sometimes she would also read her Bible or write in her journal.There was just something about the atmosphere of their house that for some reason made her want to do that.

The kind, happy, tired couple didn't think too much about the fourteen-year-old girl besides the fact that they were grateful their kids loved her and that when they came back every week everyone was alive and the house hadn't burned down.

They didn't think about the fact that from the kitchen she could hear on the baby monitor how they prayed earnestly when they put their youngest to bed- (even though she was just a baby and it wasn't like she could even understand all of these words about her growing into faith and joy and strength!).
They didn't know that she saw through the window that they held hands as they walked from the car up to the house.
When they told her she could feel free to borrow whatever books on the bookshelves looked interesting, they didn't realize she was paying attention to how dog-eared and underlined the devotionals and Bible studies were. That she read the thoughtful notes and prayers they'd written in the margins as well as the authors' words.
One day the dad came home exhausted from work, and muttered under his breath, "Work as if working for the Lord and not for men". He never knew the girl took the reference to heart, and started applying it to her own hard days.

The couple didn't know those things... but they knew there was a young girl in their house every week, which was enough for them to know. That was enough for them to ask if she wanted to eat dinner with them as a family before they left. That was enough for them to ask how they could be praying for her when they drove her home at the end of the night every week.

A year or two down the road, they found out the girl's parents were separating. And even though the girl was really convincing about how she was doing totally fine, every once and awhile they'd ask if she wanted to come by just to hang out- even if they weren't going out and didn't need her to babysit. Sometimes when the dad would take the kids in the backyard to play, the mom would encourage the girl to stay inside and drink tea with her, and they would just chat. Sometimes the girl was confused by the decisions her friends were making, or by why she was still not perfect even after being a Christian for three whole years!! Their kitchen became a place she could sort through those things. Even if they were in the midst of folding laundry or stirring spaghetti, they always had time for her questions; and even if they admitted they didn't know any solutions, they always offered to pray.

*******

Once upon a time, a twenty-four-year-old girl speed-dialed a number that's been memorized for a decade, just like she does most Saturday mornings.

A newly-deep voice answered. When he heard who it was he immediately launched right into telling all about his soccer game and the youth group event the night before. And even though he's a head taller than both of his parents and applying for colleges, he still was the first to say "Love you" before he handed off the phone.

Then the dad got on- he put down what he was doing so he could talk the girl through an adult-life-worldview-formation question (just like he did a couple weeks ago).

The twenty-four-year-old girl has an inbox of loving, Scripture-filled replies to spiritual-freak-out emails sent to that couple across the country, because she knows they will read and pray and encourage over every doubt and failure and question.

She has a cell phone filled with text messages from a beautiful girl who once was a kindergartner with impossibly cute chubby cheeks, and now is an inspiration with her passion for God and her desire to show His love to every single person in her tenth-grade classes.

The smiling mom who once wrote her a check every week while balancing a baby on her hip is now one of the girl's very best friends in the whole world.

Because of that young, happy, kind, a little tired couple, that girl loves Jesus and others more. She had a place of stability and an example of life lived in faith and love that made more of a difference in her life than probably even she knows.

*******

Sometimes that girl wonders if what she's doing is really very important either.
It's so easy to look at the blogs and the conferences and the passionate declarations of justice and think that that's where the real work is happening.
Walking and hugging and studying and praying and sending a text message or sharing a meal all seem so... small. So unimportant and unexciting.
So non-radical. So non-impactful.

And then she needs to talk or pray through those questions, and she realizes who she can call...
and knows she's just answered her own question.

*******

Moral of the story?
Be really nice to your kid's baby-sitter.

*******

 

.cozy Oregon morning.

After the sunniest, driest August-September-October in seventy-one years, the rain has returned. In a few months I suppose I'll miss the sun, but this morning when I woke to the familiar chill calling for a hot mug and a blanket, I felt joy.

I lit candles, hung out with my cutest neighbor while his mom went for a run, and baked maple muffins. It was a good morning.

Rain feels like Oregon to me, and Oregon has been a place of joy and rest.

Welcome back, rain.

Maple crunch muffins from here. I did:

3 cups flour

1/2 c plain granola

1 heaping T baking powder

1 t salt

1 c milk
1 c maple syrup

1 egg

1/2 c canola oil

2ish T  applesauce

& 1/2 a can of cream cheese frosting mixed with maple syrup

with granola on top.

.this week's fall joy round-up!

Celebrating this week...

*******

Baking.

Erica and I made pumpkin cookies and they were fabulous.

Lots of pumpkin, cinnamon, nutmeg, and we added applesauce in place of butter, making them even more fall-ish.

(Plain granola sprinkled on top. Yum yum yum.)

*******

Miss Sicily came over and helped me get started on Halloween costumes!!

It was a delight to sew with her.

Girlfriend is an amazing rockstar with the sewing machine.

(The ladybug spots that are perfectly round and gorgeous were all Siss.)

*******

Time to be back in this book...

Prayers for Autumn and Wintertime.

Grateful for the rhythm of returning to these prayers.

*******

Everyone's excited to be reading autumn picture books!

*******

I love the autumn-colored table settings at Aaron and Irene's

(they switch it up seasonally).

*******

Candles lit. Always.

Adding to the color and scents collection this week... mulled wine and apple pie.

(Especially lovely when the power goes out unexpectedly.)

*******

A walk today reminded me how happy I I am to be here.

So in love with how beautiful where I live is.

(I almost cried when I saw this tree a few nights ago. I don't know why. It had just been a hard week and the sun coming through it was magical and I suddenly just remembered that life is actually really beautiful.)

Happy second week of fall from Oregon, friends...