Curiouser and curiouser

While getting ready for yesterday's job interview, I had an odd sense of calm. The 'little voice' (God's quiet nudges) kept telling me to not stay up too late, not stress too much. For the most part, I listened.

Even while getting ready, I just didn't have much 'juice'. I kept thinking, well, if I get this one, it'll be like the story of Gideon where God kept taking away all the props that would have let him say he won the battle on his own. My go-to outfit needed hemming, my backup outfit didn't seem right for the company. I got that sorted and arrived with about 7 minutes to spare before my appointment.

I'd been told there would be two people in the interview; there was just one woman a couple years older than me. She started right away with this, "I hope you don't mind that I went ahead with the interview. The position you applied for is already filled, but honestly, that wouldn't have been a good fit for you. I wanted to meet you and talk through your work. I thought about calling to let you know, but I didn't want you to opt out! Is that ok?"

What do you say to that?! I was gracious, but kind of bummed.

She wanted me to walk through my portfolio. I have it all set up on 'my' iPad (I plan on returning it within the 30-day window...cause I just don't want to own one.) For last week's interview and this one, I tried to figure out the five key stories they need to hear. Last week was all about the big, sexy, fun ideas. This week was more about my capabilities for corporate clients. It's nuts that I have to spend a few hours prepping a new document for each interview. (OK, OK, 'it's' not nuts, I am!)

Here are some of the snippets from our conversation:

"Your work and thinking are very strong. You know you're not really an art director, right?"

She'd worked in California, too, so I could ask her about that, "Yeah, I'm starting to get the sense that in Dallas an art director is just a glorified graphic designer?"

"Exactly. When I hire someone from design school, they are a junior art director. You're working at the level of at least an Associate Creative Director, but really, you could be a Creative Director without a problem. If I were you, I'd consider freelancing in town for a while. Speaking from experience, if you go straight from a California company to a Dallas company, you're in for a lot of culture shock. It's better to get a sense of the players before you commit to one place. I think you could stay very busy as a freelancer. Would you mind if I tell people about you if I hear that someone is looking?"

Of course! I asked her about the need to 'tone it down' as a woman leader in Dallas culture. She nodded emphatically, "You have no idea! Not only have I worked in LA, I'm from Chicago!" I cracked up as she continued, "They had no idea what hit them. Eventually they realized my assertiveness was all on behalf of the client, so they stopped taking it personally and got used to me, but it was an adjustment for all of us. It helps that only 10 percent of our company are Dallas natives."

In the end, it was a great talk, she wants me to keep in touch, seems like someone worth meeting for lunch every month or two, and I'm really bummed I don't get to work with her (yet)!

I'm also bummed that I need to rework the website and redo my business cards. My Dad wants me to pause and rethink everything. What would I do if I had $100,000/year for the rest of my life. If money were no object, what would you do? I need to think about it more, but I think I'd still do design; perhaps teach it in underserved schools (after buying computers for the class) or do design for non-profits, etc.

In the meantime, given that it's nice to be paid for my expertise, I'll likely spend more time thinking about how to retool my 'brand'.
What do you think about the presumption factor? I can easily claim the title of Art Director on a business card, but calling myself a Creative Director is a bit of a leap. Do I put my current title: "2D Exper1ence Designer" and explain that it involves art direction and creative direction and that I'm seeking a job as a CD?

This definitely helps explain why it's been hard to find a good fit, or even get interviews. I'm overqualified for the job title here. It's amazing to get such a strong vote of confidence, but I'm intimidated!

Grooming Behaviors

I've always been a kid magnet. Without trying, in many social situations, I end up with children climbing all over me. So other people being friendly or enjoying playing with children never seemed like an issue until I worked in a residential treatment center for behaviorally disturbed kids. In English: they'd all been physically and/or sexually abused and had behaviors that resulted from the abuse.

One of the 10-year olds started dressing like one of the 9-year olds. She started making gifts for the other girl. One of the staff said, "We need to make sure those two are never alone together; those are grooming behaviors."

"What do you mean? Isn't she just being nice?"

I got a Look, "Girl, lissen up. If someone wants to abuse a kid, or anyone, sexually, they usually set them up. They get them to want to spend time with them: gifts, fun events, fun yard, stuff like that. That girl is setting up her friend to try something."

So much for innocence. Mine.

At church, Brex and I often share a pew with an older couple. At first I thought they were irritated by his antics, but they slowly warmed up. One Sunday they had a friend with them. He and Brex made faces at each other and did other cute interactions. I assumed he was just good with kids.

The next Sunday, the older woman gave me a new toy truck. "Our friend Big T wanted to give this to your son. He really had fun playing with him the other week. He just loved your kid and wanted to make him happy." I said thank you, and Brex loved his new truck.

A gift after one interaction sent up a warning flag. I usually wait for another data point before concluding anything, but I knew I'd never leave my kid alone with Big T.

Another data point came the next Sunday. During worship the older woman signalled she had something for me. I nodded. I took Brex back for Sunday school and then came back and sat in the back. After the service, the older woman gave the card intended for me to the pastor's daughter who was working in Sunday School. When the older woman saw me and told me she'd made a mistake and gave it to the wrong person.

"It's ok. I'll get it. Don't worry about it.

When I got the the Sunday school room, the pastor's daughter looked stricken, "I'm SO sorry, she gave me this and I opened and read it cause I thought it was for me. Are you ok?"

I was confused by her concern. The card was from Big T. In it he wrote that he's sorry he hasn't been able to come by church, but he's a missionary and travels alot. He's been praying for us and wants me to know that everything will be ok (I often cry during worship. Usually cause I'm just so struck by something about who God is that feels so big or amazing). He gave me his phone number and told me to call any time. Apparently my facial expressions reflected the same emotions the pastor's daughter had experienced.

 

I quickly explained the situation. I laughed ruefully, "Since Jrex doesn't come to church, he must think I'm a single mom. I thought Brex was the target, but it looks like it's me!" Of course, the terrifying truth is that there are men who target women with children in order to get to the children. How sad that if I were single and feeling unlovely and unloved, and if I didn't know about grooming behaviors, I might be drawn to someone who seems like a very nice guy.

Now, I don't KNOW that's he's an abuser, but two data points confirms my first conclusion: he will never be alone with my son. It also means I need to write him a note to thank him for the gift and let him know that I'm happily married, fine with interacting with him when he visits church, but not looking for anything else.

What truly struck me was coming home from church and telling a friend about it. "You mean people like that go to church? Surely not!"

Did she miss the whole thing with the Catholic church? Never hear about youth group leaders abusing kids? Many pedophiles and sexual abusers are charismatic,  compelling, friendly people who are great with kids. As much as part of me is sad that I need to be on guard, I'm grateful that I know some of the warning signs and know when to proceed with caution.

Real life incidents that I look back on and see red flags:

• The nice policeman with the pool who was great with neighborhood kids and would take groups of them to his house for the afternoon. My brother and sister went. He abused one of their friends, or at least did inappropriate touching.
• The discomfort I felt when our pastor treated me like a beautiful woman when I was a shy, awkward young girl. I thought he was being kind and I just didn't know how to respond. I found out later he was inappropriate with adult women in church; I suspect I was picking up an 'off' vibe.

Given that it was news to me in my 20's and was just news to my friend in her 30's, consider this my public service announcement for the day.

Third time's the charm?

Rochester: Car next to the house while we were sleeping. Cops showed up within a few hours. Car found within a week.

Baltimore: Wedding ring, engagement ring, jade ring, laptop. Through the back door during the day while we were at work. No cop ever came. I had to request a crime scene investigator. Then waited until 1 AM for him to have time between murder scenes to swing by and fingerprint. Nothing ever found. No follow up.

Dallas: Bike, Bike pump, 8-foot aluminum step ladder, toolbox (old tools). Contractor's tools, 6-foot ladder and paint supplies. From the open garage, through the open gate while we were doing things on the far side of the fence.

We weren't going to call the cops about this burglary. None of the stolen items added up to our deductible, so it didn't seem worth it. However, after a Facebook post about the burglary, a friend asked about recent neighborhood break-ins, "Do you think this is the same guy?" In the most recent incident, he'd kicked in a garage door.

I called the detective on those cases to see if he thought it was worth reporting. He asked me what they'd taken. I listed the stuff above, then added, "The ballsiest thing they did was go through some thrift store donation bags I had in the garage, strew the clothes all over, then take one of the three bags to carry what they took."

He got excited, "Ma'am, what were the bags made of?"

"One was plastic."

"Could you please call it in and ask for fingerprinting? All I've got for evidence are a couple of photos that could be anyone and a bad video. None of the other victims asked for prints."

So, in the midst of a day full of deadlines, I called 9-1-1. Within 30 minutes, an officer knocked on the back door (the gate was open since our contractor was working in the alley). Muttola went CRAZY. No one comes to the back door first.

"Good girl. That's your job."

I praised her as I held her back and opened the door. The cop asked for details, and we toured the garage. Then we headed to the alley to chat with the contractor about what he was missing and when he noticed it. While we were talking with him, as a collarless Muttola sniffed the grass at my feet, two cops rode into the alley. I held the dog back so she wouldn't attack the horses. (We're definitely in Texas, y'all! Horses!!) The officer told them the crime had happened sometime in the last few days so there wasn't a need for them to do street patrol.

[pause. Now visualize being a thief running down the street as you're being chased by a horse...]

An hour after the officer left, the doorbell rang. I assumed it would be the fingerprint team, but NOOOOoooo. Alarm chasers. They must listen to the police scanner and then show up to the house to sell an alarm. Half an hour after they left, it was my neighbor. They'd knocked on her door, too!

THEN it was the fingerprint officer. I loved the irony that the woman responding to the actual crime was a petite, though tough looking, woman. The guy doing the post-crime analysis was over six feet tall and obviously lifted weights on a regular basis.

The good news is he found three viable prints. Now we just hope that one of them belongs to the thieves.

15.8 years and we're still learning

Since moving here we've had trouble figuring out how to do date nights. Sure, the kiddo is a factor, but it's also been rough for Jrex to figure out how to relax in the middle of his job pressure. As much as he's thriving and enjoying his job, it also consists of the worst of being an entrepreneur, a CEO, CFO, CTO and non-profit fundraiser.

We tried doing a Sabbath from Friday night to Saturday night. After two weeks, it devolved into just Friday night. Two weeks of that and Jrex (and I) were too brain dead to talk on a Friday. We ended up watching movies, but it didn't solve the issue of when and how to connect. A friend mentioned that she and her husband take a bath together every night: wine, music, touch, conversation. Jrex thought that sounded too contrived (particularly since he's not a bath guy).

We never figured out a solution. Instead I started saving up topics to discuss during our vacation. Driving. Lounging in a cabin with no TV or computer. Hiking. All wonderful times to talk and connect, right?

In the middle of our vacation as we sat looking at the moon rising in the midst of an embarrassment of stars, I brought up Brex and the issue of discipline. What model are we thinking to follow? Time outs only or any spankings? After a pause, Jrex said, "When I'm looking at the sky, it's like I go into right-brained mode and language is hard for me. The same thing happens when I drive." I already knew that he doesn't talk while hiking so all of a sudden it felt like our marriage was utterly empty and without hope for the future. (Why, yes, I have been accused of being melodramatic, why do you ask?) We've learned the hard way that it's better if I pre-process my emotions and then, usually, write out a response and give it to Jrex so he has time to work through the issues without feeling attacked. So, here we are in a 2-room cabin in the wilderness. The baby is in the bedroom, it's freezing cold outside. Where do I go to cry and wrestle?

Long story short, I cried and journaled in the living room, then went outside to throw rocks in the ravine. The next day I brought the iPod and my earphones for the car ride. You don't want to talk. FINE. We talked about logistics. A bit about the scenery.

We clarified things that night. For him, being in nature, or looking at it, is like being in an art gallery. I'd be annoyed if he started talking about calling the plumber while we were looking at Cezanne paintings. Fair enough. The big issue still remained: if we weren't going to do a Sabbath, or Friday nights, or deep talks while driving, WHEN were we going to connect?

We both thought of Mondays. Since it's expensive and a hassle to go out, we decided to do date night in. He picks up take out on the way home then we take the food and some wine and go upstairs to our sitting room. After lighting the candles in the fireplace, we snuggle on the love seat and just talk about whatever.

Thus far we've had two of these, but it feels 'right' for both of us. We're away from the easy temptation to just watch TV, we're away from any clutter in the kitchen or any visual 'to do' items, and it's non-fussy and comfortable. Somehow we're not as brain dead on Mondays, it even extends the weekend emotionally. It's reminded both of us of our dating days. Hanging out with no agenda except each other.

Phew! Yet another hurdle navigated. We keep hoping we're done with the major hurdles, and then we stumble over one and fumble around kicking each other until we figure out a way over without damaging each other or our marriage.

Hard work, yes. Worth it? Definitely.

Mom reflection

I just wrote this comment on a friends blog. She was reflecting that she knows very few Mother/Daughter relationships that are good. Another person commented and wondered if part of the problem is moms projecting themselves onto their daugthers and not allowing them to be their own person. Here's my response to both of them:

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Given the caveat that a mother who has been dead for 15 years colors my view, overall we had a good relationship.

I think the previous commenter has a good point about Moms not letting the child be their own person. My Mom seems to have been very unusual in the degree of autonomy she gave each of us.

For my college graduation my Mom wrote a poem about how I'd been her teacher. That I'd been born with such a distinct personality that she learned from the beginning to let me be the person God designed me to be. She was definitely not perfect and when we shared a house she drove me CRAZY, but she had a lot of wisdom.

She let me express anger. At her. She asked for forgiveness. She viewed our primary relationship as sisters in Christ and therefore (sometimes) made room for me to speak into her life. Even when I was 7-year old who knew it all.

When I fell, she told me I'd be fine (rather than running to comfort me). When I dyed my hair black as a teenager, she said it was striking. She wouldn't let me dress immodestly, but otherwise, was ok letting me express myself through clothing (even a punk rebellion). She told me to trust my intuition. By expressing her real emotions, she showed me how to handle mine.

I think it's possible to have a good mother/daughter relationship, but I think it requires a Mom who isn't threatened by her daughter and who can make a lot of room for God to be the one who is in control.
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Do you have a good relationship with your same-gender parent? Why or why not?

[On a different level, it's a relief that I can write a post like that and have it feel good, yet matter-of-fact. I know that a few years ago it would have brought up many overwhelming emotions.]

Talking about violence

I'm seeing many friends on FB who are agonizing about how to discuss the tragedy in Newtown with their young children. It made me realize that my parents were given no option to hide such things.

Sure, having no TV meant that we didn't see everything that happened in the world every day. However, they made the choice to raise us in a neighborhood where we were exposed to life's hard truths every day. They didn't get to choose whether or not to discuss personal safety, homelessness, drug use, murder, and death. I have friends who have trouble talking about Easter with their children since it involves talking about Jesus dying on the cross so that Easter could happen. I can't remember a time when I didn't know that Jesus died for me.

When I was four, tragedy came very close. My godfather was involved with Teen Challenge. He was in a park talking with some teenagers. Without provocation or warning, one of the kids hit him in the head with a baseball bat. In trial the kid said he didn't know what came over him. For six months, my godfather was in and out of a coma until he died. I can remember visiting him in the hospital, sitting on his bed. Knowing he was watching me with love as I played in the room.

That same year, our pastor's oldest daughter was hit in the head with a hammer by her ex-boyfriend. She'd gone to him to tell him they couldn't have any further contact. Her sister was my sister's godmother. My pastor and his wife ended up founding Parents of Murdered Children after that. We watched them when they appeared on the Phil Donahue Show.

We attended both funerals, me as a four year old, my brother as a two year old and my baby sister.

While I was sad, I don't remember feeling personally scared or threatened. Why not? I'm trying to figure that out.

I remember knowing the facts about each of them. I don't remember the specific conversations with my parents so I can't remember their exact words. I know from how we handled things in general that they would have shared the facts without embellishment or euphemism, let us ask questions and then after the discussion, we would have prayed. For a child, that's a powerful thing. I totally believed that anything I asked God, he heard me. He might not answer as I liked, but he heard me in love. So I prayed earnestly for the people who'd done the violence, that God would change them. I'm sure my parents prayed for our safety. We prayed for comfort for my godmother and for our pastor's family. As a child, I felt like I was impacting things for good when we prayed. As an adult, I've become more resigned to 'how things are'. I still pray, but it's definitely not with the same undiluted faith I remember having as a little girl (Jesus knew what he was saying when he told the disciples to have faith like a little child).

I wonder if we sometimes protect our children at the risk of disempowering them? As a kid, I knew that Jesus died, but I knew that he rose again and beat death. So I knew that anyone who died knowing him also beat death. Which meant that somehow death wasn't the big, scary end point to be avoided at all costs. I learned very early that it's a doorway.

The fact that it's become a doorway for 26 people who were forced through before their time feels unacceptable. Aside from sending letters to Congressmen and the President, I guess that all I can do is pray. I'm letting my childhood self remind my adult cynic that 'just prayer' is not as small as it feels.

Temper, temper

I think I've mentioned that when Brex hit the one-year mark, he also hit a key developmental milestone: wanting his own way. I keep thinking of the G.K. Chesterton quote from Orthodoxy, "Certain new theologians dispute original sin, which is the only part of Christian theology which can really be proved." It's the idea that we each come out wanting our own way above all others and have to learn that life doesn't work that way.

Well, Brex is learning. I've figured out a few consequences that seem to work very effectively for his current behaviors. For each of these I give him a "When/then" statement as I see the willful moment approaching.

"When you touch that, then..."

"If you keep pulling those out, then..."

1. Move him
When he sits there staring at and scooting closer....and closer...and closer to whatever I've told him not to touch, I just say, "If you touch it, you get moved out of the room." He looks up at me and then back down. Slowly his fat little finger oozes toward the object of desire. As he touches it, I swoop down, grab him and move him out of the room. Not in any mean way, but not in a cuddly way either. He wails and gnashes his eight teeth as I leave him there to go back and finish whatever started the conflict. Then I come out and say, "I'll pick you up when you stop crying." He whimpers up at me with tears in his big brown eyes. Sniffs. Gets quiet. I pick him up and he grins and all is well.

2. Let him go
His other favorite reaction is to arch his back away from me if I say he can't touch something. (Example: we're in a store and he wants to touch the display items. God FORBID he can't touch them. What do you MEAN, 'it's not for you'?! The outrage! The horror! AAAAGGGGHHHH!!)

I have zero tolerance for that kind of tantrum, so I just put him on the floor as he's arching. (I do it gently enough that he doesn't bang his head, but quickly enough that he knows he started the motion) I leave him there to wail and again say, "When you stop crying, I'll pick you up." He usually stops fairly quickly. Yes. I've done this in a store. No, it's not fun. I figure the fits will only get worse, so it's worth it to do now when he can't yet walk away.

3. Walk away
He's just recently started shrieking if he's not getting something he wants (usually me).  I refuse to pick him up and reward the shriek. So I repeat, "When you stop crying, I'll pick you up" and then walk out of the room. The volume increases exponentially of course! When it winds down to a low whimper, I go in and get him. As soon as I pick him up, he grins like none of it ever happened. For some reason that's when I think, "Little punk!"

I figure all of this will have to be adjusted again once he can walk with confidence (since he will get up and run after me). That day is coming soon! Yesterday he had multiple times where he took 10 little robot steps (mostly towards the dog. Must. touch. her. Must. not. get. licked. in. face. Must. stand.)

So, as in most parenting thus far, as soon as we figure out a working system, we are due to enter newly uncharted waters.

For Halloween, I dressed him appropiately as a 'curmudgeon'. The shirt says "This is my costume".

Caring for your introvert

I saw this via FB a while ago. It helped clarify many things in our marriage. While in Minnesota, I chatted about it with a couple of my aunts, so this post is for them.

Our first fights as a married couple were around Issue 1: Privacy (closely related to Issue 2: embarrassment). My Mom had a bone-deep value around not having hidden secrets in the family. I'm sure she'd gone a little too far in the self-revelation direction, but I'd seen the power of not living with shame. If I did something embarrassing, turning it into a funny story meant that I no longer had to worry about someone 'finding out'. During college, I spent hours discussing every emotion with each of my close friends. How can you discuss emotions without describing circumstances? We all discussed our relationships including physical issues, emotional frustrations, etc.

After getting married, I continued to talk with my college friends and my sister in the same way I had before marriage. For Jrex, this felt like a violation. I felt like he was telling me I had to be bound by HIS embarrassment or shame or whatever and I REFUSED to live like that. Well, it took me a while to come around to realizing that even though his story and my story were now deeply intertwined, I could tell my story while trying to limit the details of his story. It's been a strange/frustrating dance for both of us. When I saw this list, it gave me an additional 'aha!' moment. It was ALSO an introvert vs extrovert issue. 

Issue 4 jumped out since within our conflicts I usually pushed him to respond. To TELL me what he was thinking. In my defense, half the time when I gave him time to formulate a response, he fell asleep! (Marriage during the PhD, Med School, Residency, Fellowship years meant he was ALWAYS tired).

We're currently working on #5. He will often have long pauses while he thinks of how to say what he's thinking. I jump in and try to finish the sentence. There's a little bit of the fun of a quiz show if I get it right, but it drives him crazy. I'm trying really hard to just sit on my quick words and wait. Sometimes I then have to remind him he was thinking of an answer... (since he's still tired).

We thought for a while that Brex was also an introvert. I'm not entirely sure anymore, but I've got this list in the back of my mind in case he is.

I also heard from a friend who was deeply trained in the Myers-Briggs personality test that the deepest conflicts in a relationship are between an introvert and an extrovert. The issue is that an introvert processes emotion internally and when speaking, states a conclusion. An extrovert process externally. Therefore, for an extrovert, there's a swirl of emotions and she doesn't know what's really bothering her until she talks it through with a friend or a counselor. There's a need for someone to ask a key question, or even to just hear the words out loud in order to have the 'aha!' moment when she can identify the THING that's at the center of the swirl. Thus, an extrovert states a premise and has NO idea what the conclusion will be. The introvert hears a conclusion and gets upset and defensive. Meanwhile, the extrovert has NO clue why there's a fight about something that isn't even the THING.

I'm not sure what the list for care for an extrovert would be. Any ideas? Obviously one would be to listen and ask questions to help them think out loud. Any others? Are there other things that should be added to the introvert? Anyone else married to their opposite on the intro/extro scale?

Negotiations and Love Songs

Advice. It pours out when you go through a life transition. Marriage. Death. Birth. School. Moving. New Job.

“The key to a happy marriage is for each person to give 100 percent and expect 0 percent.” The most counter-intuitive advice given when we were getting married, it’s what echoes most true as we muddle along this path together.

We’re trying to work through this new pattern of parenting and owning a house and both working demanding jobs. In Baltimore, Jrex was sucked almost completely dry by his onc0logy fellowship. He had very little left for me or us, and hardly anything for a house. In Baltimore though, I had a job where I worked four days a week, usually had lots of time for surfing the internet, and was only stressed in small spurts. My California job gives me rare slow days and is creatively and emotionally draining.

Now, again, he’s being sucked dry. He loves the new job and is working hard to figure it all out, but it’s challenging to be an entrepreneur inside a big institution. Not only to measure up to his own expectations (high), but to also not disappoint all the people who have believed in him, granted him space, given him advice and who want him to succeed.

In the midst of all that, who takes out the garbage?

Who wakes up and stays up to engage with the baby when he’s up for the day at 5:30 AM?

Who makes dinner?

Washes dishes?

Picks up socks?

When sick, who gets to rest? When?

These are ordinary negotiations around a new pattern. Nothing out of the ordinary except the compression into the same few months of so many new things.

While on maternity leave, it felt ‘fair’ that I do all the laundry and deal with all the house stuff. That felt like my ‘job’. Focus on the baby and deal with what I can around the house. No problem. I was able to mostly give cheerfully.

Now that I’m back at work, it’s been hard to not keep tally. Not on a daily level, but over time, feeling like I’m giving 110% and getting 30%. Knowing he’s giving as much as he can, but feeling overwhelmed, tired and increasingly resentful. Behind it all lies a fear that if I give 110%, it still won’t be enough (since my 110% still doesn’t match what his Mom was doing when she stayed with us). A fear that he’ll take my actions for granted and ask for still more. That as much as I’ve flipped a switch into being a Mommy (Moms wash laundry, Moms cook dinner, Moms are available for their kids and keep house and make the world a better place for everyone around them...), maybe he’s switched into being a deadbeat Dad (easily frustrated, lashing out, stressed, no emotional resources, sitting on the couch watching TV while the Mom does everything without complaining, impatient with children, waiting to be served).

The fear that the cup of love just sprang a leak and all I can give will never be enough.

Knowing it’s a lie, yet being driven by that fear into self-protection and counting the cost. Demanding more from him. Beating a winded horse and getting impatient when it won’t pick up the pace.

“The key to a happy marriage is to give 100 percent and expect 0 percent.”

But if I do that, I’ll die!

Yes.

I’ll die. I have to die to my ‘right’ to whatever it is I’m demanding from him. Yet, behind that. When I give up that demand. When I open up my fist, turn my opening hand up and let the ashes of what I was clutching blow away. When I trust that behind every true death, there is a better resurrection. Well. Then. Then there is life. Then he turns towards me and towards us. Then there’s room for him to give, in his way. And for me to be grateful instead of thinking, “That’s it?!” Usually then, he gives more then than I could have ever demanded.

Somehow, that lesson is the hardest part of marriage. I stop on a threshold filled with fear, need and disappointed expectations. How could I give MORE? How can I let him get away with IT (whatever that IT might be)? And in that place, our marriage begins to shrink and shrivel from bitterness and resentment. Knowing this secret of the resurrection, that there’s a joy set before me that outweighs the death required right now, it’s not enough. Somehow, on the threshold, that hope seems like a tiny little liquid light. Barely weighing anything, certainly not heavier on the scale than this current NEED.

Hands open before Him. Crying again. Breaking open. Waiting. The light gets bigger, brighter and heavier until my life fills again with a golden light that is warm, thick and filled with love.

Welcome home. Be at peace. Be still and know that He is God and this marriage, this child, this home is His. We are not alone here left to our own devices and our own capacities. There IS more. And it IS good. Take the key, open the door, and rest.

Trust your gut

One of the reasons I enjoy direct contact with clients is that I often get an intuitive sense for what needs to happen next. We had a call on Friday afternoon with a client who needs an identity for an event by tomorrow. He was full of 'strategy', but none of it translated into visual terms. Having gone through a hellacious process last year with a different strategist, I've learned that the best thing is to get a bunch of visuals in front of them and see what sticks.

Monday morning, while waiting for the client to give us art direction, I started pulling images for four concepts I thought could work for the show. He wanted 'anti-trade show': nothing traditional. No booth rentals, no vinyl signs, no bright colors. In the meantime, my fellow 2D designer had come up with a concept that he was really excited about. When I mentioned my deck, he didn't think it was necessary. I discussed it with our 3D designer who was lukewarm. The truth is, this is all a bit muddled since there's also a creative director working on the experience in the booth, so my deck crossed the line a bit. When we met with the client, it was just the 2D designers and our instructions were to use a specific font, specific font color and specific background color and 'have fun exploring'... Really? Whatever.

In the midst of all that, I almost didn't finish my deck. Our other 2D designer sent out a nice 4 page PDF while I was still assembling the PowerPoint (the client LOVES PPT, even though as a designer, I hate it). I thought that he'd come up with something that made a lot of sense from a conceptual level. My ideas seemed much more about 'interior decorating' and less about a strategic concept so I felt fairly insecure about them. Yet, I felt like it was the right thing for that particular client so I ended up sending it at the end of my day to our client services person to forward if she thought it best.

In the meantime, Jrex was struggling with whether or not to apply for a certain grant. If he won the grant, it placed restrictions on how much time he could spend on other projects. He was hearing from various people that he should apply, but it wasn't sitting well in his gut. As a result, even though the deadline was beginning to loom, he'd still not asked for recommendation letters from his usual suspects. One of the great things that U T has set up for him is a requirement that he meet 2-4 times a year with a mentoring committee. He's got three amazing guys: Optimist, No BS and Middle Ground. When he met with them on Tuesday, No BS immediately asked why he was applying for the grant. "Your CV is amazing. You should be applying for an RO 1 (one of the biggest grants available from National I nstitu tes of H eal th). This will tie you down. Forget about it."

Jrex was really excited after that meeting. Middle Ground said during the meeting, "This is amazing, I wish we'd had this system in place when I was starting out." The three mentors all seemed to enjoy spending time together talking science. Obviously, for Jrex, it's wonderful to get more experienced voices helping him think about the bigger picture. It was yet another degree of confirmation that we made the right choice. The P ortland program had no peers for him in l un g research only some other clinical people. These guys are all hard-core scientists.

On my end, throughout the day on Tuesday the client service rep kept forwarding feedback from the client. He really didn't like my coworker's idea. Of mine, he didn't like the first one and liked little bits here and there from the rest of the deck. He really liked an idea I had for creating relatively open 'cabanas' at the edges of the trade show space. They allow for more intimate conversations and gatherings, but open into the common area for the big end of day speech by the guru.

In the end, for both of us, it was a great reminder to trust our guts.

One Month and counting

You are one month old today. How can the world change so much in such a short amount of time? How have you impacted our lives?

1. When you’re falling asleep at night, if I’m not next to you when your eyes flicker open, you start to cry. Having your father next to you trying to soothe you doesn’t seem to be enough. I have to finish feeding you, put you into your co-sleeper (Dman and Singer gave us an in-bed cosleeper), and then remain next to you until you’re in deep sleep before using the bathroom, brushing my teeth or running down stairs to refill my water bottle. It’s a strange feeling to know that I’m someone’s magnetic north. I’m deeply humbled and awed when I think that I will define comfort, safety and home for you. I’m enjoying being that for you so far, but the ongoing implications are a bit daunting.
   
   
2. Over our 14 years of marriage, Jrex and I have journeyed from being each others’ best friends, to being co-habitating adversaries, then eventually making an emotionally charged journey back to being on the same team. My biggest fear in becoming parents was that we’d drift into different worlds and lose that sense of being in each others’ corner. Instead, as proved by how we’ve handled the Mom K visit, we’re definitely working well together. Our philosophical approach--that you’re important and valued, but you’re not in charge, we are--is the same. We agree on mostly trying to do a schedule and give you structure without being hardliners about it. Thank you for giving us the chance to parent you together.
3. You bring out your father’s silly side. He loves to tell you his plans for you: teaching you four-syllable words by the time you’re three, that you’re not allowed to have a Texas accent, that you’re going to be a north-easterner even if you’re being raised here and that you’ll treat your mother well (love that one!). Appa loves your dramatic hand gestures and makes up music or monologues to accompany them.
   
   
4. I’ve always thought that I’d be a mother someday and be good at it. There have been many times in the past 14 years when I feared that kids would never happen. That was the saddest thing I wrestled with as I waited, prayed and endured the hard times in this marriage. After a pregnancy where it was hard to believe we’d end up with a live, healthy kid, it’s been wonderful to discover that mothering you comes naturally. Sure, you’ve had your inconsolable days when I’ve had to put you down and walk away, but overall, we’re a good team.
   
   
5. Your poor Halmoni keeps asking us what we’re going to do for your one-month birthday and for Christmas. We’re obviously disappointing her when we say, “Nothing. He won’t remember what we do or don’t do at this point.” She shakes her head, “At least you do and take picture! It’s his first Christmas, you have to do something.” Hopefully, not having those pictures isn’t going to scar you forever...
   
   
   
6. You are a reminder that one can survive much suffering. Having your diaper changed appears to be almost as bad as having a finger cut off; yet you survive and smile soon after.
   
   

A Christian conundrum

I just read a post on Gifts in the Journey that sparked this (long!) comment in reply. Since I rarely make time anymore to be philosophical, I wanted to share it with the rest of you as well.

As I've mentioned before, I grew up in a Christian family, but because we chose voluntary poverty and chose to live in a 'rough' area, I also grew up where prayer was super practical. Mom and Dad, not knowing where the next meal would come from, praying for food and there would be provision. At the same time, we also grew up surrounded by death and violence. (in the same year--I was 4--our Pastor's grown daughter was murdered by an ex-boyfriend and my godfather was hit in the head by a kid with a baseball bat and died 6-months later.) So my parents could never give us a simplistic version of faith where God would always make everything better. In fact my Mom often struggled with the idea that as much as she loved the Lord, she didn't trust him to "do her good". Toward the end of her life, while dying of cancer, she got a revelation of God's Father love that really changed her. She wasn't healed, but her joy in the midst of dying was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.

Part of what's hard about prayer is that (at least in the Christian version) it's as much a reflection of the relationship as it is about a formula or set of words. There's a reason that Jesus' revolutionary prayer begins with "Our Father". Not "My Father" not "Our Holy Director". It's about community with others and communion in a loving relationship with God. The problem is that when we go through really crappy life events, it's really hard to reconcile that with a loving Father and, and, frankly, the 'gimmee' faith that I've seen in many American churches makes that wresting match all the more confusing. It also makes it harder to find a community where honest struggle is welcomed.

My husband has been wrestling with these sorts of questions for much of our marriage. For three or four years I gave him a string of rah-rah answers, the lines that had been fed to me. In the end, I did a study of the book of Job where I went through and underlined in one color the things I heard him saying, in another color what people from our church told him, and another for what I was saying to him. It seemed like there were three approaches: God IS responsible and I want him to answer (Job/Jrex); God is always good and this bad stuff has happened because you deserve it (Job's three friends/church); and It's a mystery, we just have to trust (Elihu/me). In the end, God did answer Job, but the answer was mostly a non-answer where God basically says, I'm really big and most of what I do is beyond your capacity to execute or even fully understand. Somehow in the end, that glimpse of God's reality is enough that Job says he gets it. I don't fully understand it as an interaction, but it seems like there was something in that to reconnect the relationship enough for Job to return to a trusting relationship.

Again in the NT, Paul comes to the point where he questions why God does what He does and again, it's a non-answer, "Who are you to question God?" I find that one of the really difficult things about the Christian faith: the reality that Why? won't necessarily be answered. Perhaps Who? and What For? might get clarified, but going down the Why? road seems to lead to a lot of despair. There is a lot in the NT about counting suffering as joy and being thankful in all circumstances that I still don't understand. That somehow mixes into the life of prayer and the living of life in a way I don't often see modeled in the States.

For me, I've had enough relational encounters with Jesus/God that I can't walk away from the reality of his existence. Some of the theology/philosophy around who he is can be confusing, but the core of knowing he's real and trusting that somehow, somewhere along the road he'll use all this still feels true.

I found this verse last night in Hosea: "For I delight in loyalty rather than sacrifice, And in the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings." As much as Jrex isn't sure about a lot of the Christian faith, he trusts that Jesus died and rose and that heaven is real. Somehow that's been the thin thread that he's held onto and that verse spoke to me about God's attitude toward that. The person who chooses to not completely walk away is someone of great worth to Him. I think of that in your honesty and hope that maybe there's something worthwhile in prayer, there is great worth.

Working from home

I mentioned (whined) about the air conditioning breaking three times in the first month we (I) were in the house.

Part of the huge impact on me was that I really need my desk. I'm a bit quirky in that I need an organized environment in order to be truly creative. Even in college, I'd have to clean and organize my Art Barn space before beginning to paint. (I also have to do that in the kitchen before cooking.) Being 'homeless' and not able to work in my office made it that much harder to hit the insane deadlines that were being thrown my way. My brain felt fogged and it was hard to get into right-brain mode.

Since the second-floor AC still worked, I ended up perching on the loveseat in our room (not such a bad place to work, but it wasn't my custom built desk! Plus baby-belly hunched over a laptop=not comfy!) (I know, I know, "first world problems", right?)

Now that the AC is fixed, I love our office (bonus: replacing the fan motor got rid of the floor vibration completely). I say 'our' because Jrex is sharing the room with me. It's not as bad as it sounds. As you can see in the picture below, I intentionally set up my desk so that I won't see any visual "distractions" while working. (Let's just say one of us needs clean surfaces to have a calm mind and the other prefers the 'geological' method of organization. That is, finding where something is in the pile based on time of deposit.)

No office is complete without timezone clocks. The black frame is for me in Dallas, with the others for coworkers in Boston and California. It must be the visual thinker in me, but it really helps not to have to 'translate' what time it is.

As of September 6th, Jrex will have an office at UT, but since so much of his impending work will involve writing grants and responding to emails, it makes sense for him to have an office at home. Upon arrival here, we realized that even though the master bedroom closet IS huge, it's not THAT big. Fitting a desk would have been tight (and hot). Having this home office for Jrex also means he'll be able to come home early, play with the kid, and then continue working.

He has 1/3 of the room to the right of the arch while the daybed (for overflow guests as well as a place to brainstorm, sketch and edit) and my area take up 2/3rds.

Thus far, I'm enjoying the expected perks that come with working from home: wearing comfortable clothing, being able to sleep in, being able to take breaks to deal with contractors and repair people, not having as many distractions, and being able to take a nap as needed. The surprise is how aggravating it is being two-hours ahead of my coworkers. It messes up my mealtimes and means I don't get an evening. I often finish work at 8:30 or 9 pm and then have to figure out food (which keeps me up late, wakes me up late and costs the morning as well as the evening). That part should be better in September when there's not as much going on, but there's no guarantee in this business.

It's good to be able to check off another life fantasy ("if only I could work from home and make a good living, everything would be better"). This solution has been great for our transition to Dallas and should be good for the first year of the kid's life, but I don't see it being a long-term solution. It works out well since my company is nuts and burns people out faster than a six-year old boy who's found a box of matches. I'm really hoping to get the brain space to stop talking about my job so much and be able to LIVE outside of work.

Stumbling towards contentment

Last night over a lovely homemade pizza (Jrex learned from my many mistakes over the years and his first pizza was a resounding success), I asked Jrex how I should blog about contentment. “There’s nothing to write about. It’s great to live, but not a compelling story line.”

He tilted his head and thought about it, “You could write about how you’ve become content versus your old restlessness.”

He had a good point. Why have I laid aside my (usually thwarted) restless need to be doing something, moving somewhere, changing lives, having babies and/or creating art? Four years into our then troubled marriage, a counselor kept encouraging me to accept where I was and where Jrex was in life. I resisted that wisdom with all my might. For me, accepting meant giving up and surrendering to being completely stuck. Why would I accept stuckness? That felt like emotional suicide. So I kept pushing and pushing. It took two subsequent years of marriage counseling for me to finally stop pushing (which had the wonderful effect of allowing Jrex to stop withdrawing).

Before moving to California, my sense for WHY we were moving came from a passage where God shows one of the Hebrew prophets (Ezekial) a picture of a trickle of water coming out from the temple. That trickle later becomes a river along whose banks grow trees with leaves “for the healing of the nations”. I sensed that our time in California was for the release of that trickle. It wouldn’t be a huge river while we were here, but where we’d been in a desert for a long, long time, a small trickle would begin.

Soon after moving, I did a prayer retreat with my church. As I sat alone on the banks of a stream, I wistfully looked at the bright water and wanted desperately to be able to bless others and then move along to the next new thing. In the midst of that thought, I felt a quiet, persistent thought, “I don’t want you to be a stream, I want you to be a tree.” I looked up and saw a huge redwood across the stream. My gut reaction was, “But then I’ll REALLY be stuck!!!” I cried and prayed about that for a while. Once I’d calmed down I began to sense why He might want that. He showed me how a large tree becomes a haven for others. He reminded me of a verse that talks about us being “rooted and established in love”. He reminded me of the image in Ezekial of the trees that are for healing.

In the last couple months, I’ve sensed Him asking me to lay down what I thought my life was going to be about. As a kid I’d always had a picture of me and a dog, or later, me and a son traveling the world. I saw myself mothering abandoned kids, starting an orphanage, changing lives. I was convinced I would live in a place where people doubted that God exists and I’d be there to be His hands, His heart, and His expression of love for them. Instead here I was in a small apartment, tending to one man and one silly dog. Could I give up my need to DO (my Plan A)? Could I also give up the picture I’d created of a house of healing for broken Christians (my Plan B)? Could I just wait for Him to give me His dreams instead? Could I wait in emptiness and content myself with just seeking Him?

I’m definitely not there yet. I haven’t finished writing down all the details of Plan A and Plan B. I know I’m supposed to do that and then burn the pages. (I love creating rituals, especially if they involve fire!) Jrex told me last week that he has a sense that I need to give up my identity as a mother, too. Not that we’ll never have kids, but that I need to lay down the image I’ve had around that.

Sigh. I feel like I’ve mostly accepted my quiet reality (or at least, I’ve stopped thrashing around in stubborn resistance), but I’m still just starting on the journey toward contentment. It’s hard to blog in the midst of this process since I don’t have a big enough picture to fit it into a coherent narrative, but I figure glimpses of the process are sometimes as helpful as the finished story.

Laying your life on the line

Last night during book club someone asked, “In what circumstances would you, or have you, put your life on the line for someone else?”

Great question.

I racked my brain. After growing up in inner city Cincinnati, spending college summers in inner city Chicago and then inner city Boston, living in a rough neighborhood in Rochester, surely I’d been in a life threatening situation!

All of a sudden I remembered one incident. I related the following story to the group:

The summer of ’91, I lived in a Christian community in a really rough neighborhood in Chicago. As part of community life we had to ‘volunteer’ once a week; I chose the women and children’s shelter. It was a second-stage shelter so the women could stay there for up to 12 months while they earned money and took classes or worked. Every Thursday night I walked two blocks and descended into the darkness of ‘Blood Alley’ as the neighbors called it. We walked over in a threesome: a big guy, another woman and me. At night the guy kept watch at the front desk while the other woman and I bunked upstairs in an open dormitory with the women and their kids.

Every night at 9 pm the doors were locked. No one could go in or out (trying to make it harder for drug users to get out or boyfriends to get in). Many evenings I sat up and chatted with a woman named Sydnatta. We were both 20 years old and enjoyed each other’s company.

One Thursday we met a new resident. As soon as the doors were locked, she started complaining about being hungry. Can’t we order pizza? Why can’t she go out and get some food. What kind of place is this?

I looked around and saw a big pile of bread that had been donated, “Well, I’m sorry you’re hungry, but you can’t leave. If it’s that bad you can have some bread so you can survive until morning.”

She glared at me and pointed her finger in my face, “Honey, black people don’t eat BR--E--AD!” I shrugged, “Sorry. You won’t starve, but that’s all we have.” I got the cold shoulder or random jabs about bread the rest of the night.

The next morning (remember, I am NOT a morning person), I woke to loud shouts from the other end of the dormitory. I jumped out of bed. The other ‘staff’ worker was downstairs with the guy getting breakfast put together.

I saw Sydnatta and the new woman shouting at each other. Sydnatta brandished an iron toward the new woman who turned and snatched up a pair of scissors. I ran over and jumped between them. I forced my face in front of Sydnatta’s and told her in a loud, calm voice to go walk over and sit down. Don’t get into it with this new woman, we’ll sort it out. She kept yelling as she walked over, but then she quieted down. The other woman put the scissors down. Everyone wandered back to their respective bunks and I took a deep breath. I waited to make sure that nothing else was going to happen, then went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

A couple minutes later the new woman cornered me in the bathroom. In a quiet voice she whisper yelled at me, “OTRgirl, don’t you know better than to put yourself in the middle of a fight?! You couldv’e gotten hurt real bad.”

It suddenly occurred to me that I’d turned my back on an angry stranger with scissors. I thanked her for the warning and she nodded, “You’re ok, honey, but you gotta be careful. You’re gonna get hurt, girl. You got to think.” I kept my ironic laughter inside and nodded solemnly while thanking her again. “Allright then.” I never had any other problems from her that summer.

In our book discussion, after I’d related that story, we discussed the fact that the reason I jumped in was because I had a relationship with one of the women. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have trusted Sydnatta to listen to me so would have called downstairs for the guy to come up and deal with it. When I jumped in, it honestly hadn’t occurred to me that I might get hurt. In some ways it feels like it doesn’t count as a ‘life on the line’ moment because I didn’t ‘choose’ it despite danger. I just did the obvious thing and then thought about it later.

What about you, have any of you laid your life on the line? Did you have time to think it through first? Or have you chosen NOT to intervene? Why or why not? I think I might use this as a conversation starter at parties.

Maps help us see where we are

A couple days ago I learned about making mind maps thanks to a new blog find. Check out the video, it's worth the couple minutes it takes.

Since I was about to start a new journal, I decided to start with a mind map rather than a narrative. I usually start a journal with a "State of Life" entry. Where I'm living, what's important to me, and my friends list. Creating the "state of life" as a one page graphic was a fun challenge.

I drew our apartment in the middle, then a thick line to Jrex and all that's happening in his life. Another thick line to my job and all the annoyances there. A third branch out to exercise (biking and climbing) and its joys. Another to life in California and our friendships here (my restored 'best friendship' with Jrex being the biggest one). The line to my Kindle made me laugh, but it's true! I spend most of my free time reading these days. No different than before, it's just more conspicuous when it's all on the same device vs a string of changing books. Then I paused and realized I'd forgotten a line to God. OOPS. This past week I've been getting back into the rhythm of relating to him, but it's been a while. So it made sense that it wasn't one of the first things I put down. Then I added my joy/concern around my Dad moving to Seattle this week and Mom K and her future in NYC/LA.

That was it.

As a one-pager, my life felt small and insular. More so than it's ever been. No service projects, no 'ministry', no vast church network. Just a restored marriage and good friends. It fits with the ways that God's been challenging me to learn to BE rather than DO. I felt a bit weird (like it's not 'enough'), but mostly content when I looked at it. No wonder I'm fairly bland on the phone these days--there's really not that much going on!

(Well, Jrex did call to say he was asked to interview at Southwestern in Dallas. Sigh. I managed to say, "I'm proud of you" in the middle of groaning, "Don't make me do it!" He laughed at me. Mocking my pain, as usual. Sheesh. I might have to make the friend line to Jrex a little thinner...)

Need to be a boyscout

I know I should be professional all the time, but I'm just not. I dress up or down depending if I have any client meetings scheduled. My goal on any given day is to find the right combo of comfort and 'designer trendy' so that I don't want to tear things off at the end of the day, but I'm presentable.

Yesterday I had no meetings scheduled. Outfit: jacket & tank top with skinny black jeans and boots. At four PM my phone rings. I get pulled into an in-house 'rehearsal' that lasts for three hours and includes the three biggest players in my company.

Today, you'd think I'd have learned, but no. I put on a hat and some dangly earrings (the ones my Dad made me from hardware store pieces), a tunic top, skinny jeans and black boots. So, of course there was a surprise client meeting with our partner who'd flown up from LA. At least I hadn't gone full comfort with a fleece or something.

It's getting very tricky to think how I could juggle the timing to not really mess up my current job if I take the new one. Two major deliverables next Friday. And then my current CD is on PTO that next Monday. I haven't heard anything, but I know they are slammed at the new job, too.

Maybe I should just wear my heels tomorrow and assume I'll have four meetings. That way I won't have any.

The Letter that turned the tide

A week ago, Mom K woke up and prayed as usual. She felt somewhat peaceful about the idea of making Dad K comfort care, but as soon as she stopped praying, she started to get anxious, fearful and to feel guilty about the idea.

Then she checked the mail and found this letter from my Dad*:

Dear Mom K,

These are tragic times for you. I can imagine many of your emotions because I lost my wife twelve years ago. Know that both you and Dad K are in my prayers – a gift of peace for you -- a gift of healing for him.

And healing takes many forms. With My Wife’s cancer, we had prayer teams stacked up in our living room waiting to come upstairs to pray with her. At times she was too exhausted to see them, and we had to send dear friends away. I confidently expected Jesus to heal her – and He did – but far differently than I expected.

He healed her real hurts:

• Her lack of trust for her father; her gut feeling that she’d never had a father who loved her.

And as a result –

• Her lack of trust for her heavenly Father.
• And her fear of dying.

He healed all those hurts before she left us on September 28, 1997. Jesus gave her a new father – my Dad. In the final two years of their lives, they truly became loving father and daughter to each other. They talked on the phone. They corresponded. At times, quite independently of me. Because she could trust my Dad, it became easier and easier for her to trust the LORD. And then, during the last two weeks of her life, she looked forward to death. She said again and again, “I’m going home.”

All that’s background to an understanding the Holy Spirit gave me this past week. I was talking with OTRgirl on the phone when I remembered an insight that My Wife and I learned from Catherine Marshall. She made the obvious comment that, as we age, our bodies and minds deteriorate. But then, she followed up with the startling comment that for Spirit-filled Christians, our spirits continue to grow and expand, even when our minds or bodies are useless.

And if so, Dad K’s situation may be far different than what we naturally assume. We tend to see a person in a coma as being partly gone. But, if Dad K’s spirit is flourishing under the blessing of the Holy Spirit, then these may be the best days of his life.

Dad K may be longing for release from bodily imprisonment, so he can be with Jesus in his glorified body. As it says in Hebrews 11:6, he may be longing for a better country—a heavenly one. If so, what’s holding him back? Perhaps his loving care for you.

That’s the leading I’ve been getting from the Holy Spirit.

Christ’s and yours,
OTR Dad

The letter confirmed much of what had come up when she prayed. She called Jrex and his sister and told them to call the nursing home and start the process.

Then she spent the rest of the weekend going back and forth emotionally and mentally. On Sunday night, she called Jrex in turmoil. I sat and prayed while they talked. Jrex was SO articulate and compassionate: "Mom, I feel completely peaceful about this decision, emotionally, theologically, ethically. But. The most important thing is that you feel peaceful. We don't want you to feel pushed into this." Then, a little while later, "Mom, you've been a good wife. You've loved and served Dad very well. You don't need to feel guilty about this decision." In the end she felt very tired and very sad, but peaceful.

Tomorrow is the day they are supposed to withdraw care. Jrex and I are on (separate) planes at 7 am, to get to NYC by 4 pm. I'll have my laptop with me and will try to keep you posted.

*He ran it by us first and we both thought it was great.

Time

Yesterday morning as I prayed for Jrex and his family, I started to pray that the Lord would take Dad home. I got a nauseous feeling in my stomach. This has happened to me before and is usually an indication I'm heading off 'the path'. So I stopped and asked, "What are You doing then?"

I didn't hear a voice, no thunder or anything, but I got a quiet sense that He wanted me to know, "[Mom K] isn't ready yet. I'm giving her a little more time." Not the sense that He won't take Dad home, but to not yet actively pray for the end. I shared that with Jrex last night and we prayed together for Mom to hear what she needs to hear in order to be able to let Dad go.

It turned out their meeting with the medical team was today, not yesterday. I thought they'd be sending him off to a nursing home asap pending the outcome of the discussion. They will be sending him to a lower level of care (not in the SICU anymore), they will be putting in a feeding tube, but it's not quite a nursing home yet. Jrex asked about withdrawing care, but they said that it's too soon to tell if his brain is truly gone. They want to wait 2-3 weeks and then do an EEG to check for brain function.

At the moment, Dad has pneumonia, which could be impacting him. As a 75 year old in a coma for two-weeks, the likelihood of him sitting up and getting out of bed, even if he recovers brain function are slim to none. Jrex is trying to get Mom to opt for a DNI order (Do Not Intubate). She's signed the DNR (Do Not Resucitate; ie don't bring back from heart failure). Due to the pnuemonia, they'll likely have to put him back on a vent. (He's been off it the past three days and was breathing on his own.) Jrex's sister tried to get Mom to consider, "It would be easier to choose not to put him on the vent than it would be to choose to turn it off." Mom said she'd think about it, but I can tell she's just not ready for it.

One moral of this story is to put any of your end of life choices in writing. Dad said no tubes, no extraordinary measures, he told Mom he didn't want her making decisions he wanted Jrex (Dad knew it would be too emotional for her), but none of it is in writing. So here we wait.

Jrex's sister had another dream two nights ago. With reluctance she told Jrex she'd dreamt they got a call in the middle of the night that Dad was gone. Jrex told her that was his hope. I do think that will happen, but I don't think it will be in the next couple of days.

Mom is being given the gift of time.

This is SO embarrassing

I knew the company-wide "T0wn Ha11" meeting was today, so I dressed carefully and actually blow-dried my hair. I had trouble finding motivation to leave the house. The last couple weeks I haven't had much to do at work, and it's hard to make myself rush in just to sit around surfing the net. (yeah yeah, feast or famine, always complaining, I hear you say...)

Then I remembered the meeting was scheduled for the morning not the afternoon. I figured they would start at 10 AM since no one in our office gets here by 9 AM. Promptly at 10, I snuck in the back door and saw everyone already sitting in the lobby. Oops. I tossed my bag into my cubicle and then quickly and quietly slid in to sit by one of my fellow designers.

They were already at the "pengu1n awrds" (which happen at the end). Big OOPS. They'd given two of three away already. In recognition "For Outstanding Performance and Lasting Contribution", they pass out a $100 gift certificate, a plaque and a huge stuffed pengu1n. They called up the last presenter and my Creative Director walked to the front of the room. I got nervous.

"If I use a pronoun, you'll all know immediately who this person is, so I'm not going to try for surprise..." (I'm the only woman in our department, so I knew it was me as he said that.) "In the past four months, we've had a demanding client, tight deadlines and many, many deliverables. OTRgirl managed this whole project, including four designers in Detro1t and two freelancers here. She kept this whole juggernaut rolling and I was amazed how few times she had to call on me for any help. We're proud to have her in the department and wanted to recognize all her hard work and success."

I was blushing as I went up to get a hug from him. I started to drag off the pengu1n (it's heavy!) and everyone called out, "Speech!"

I turned back into fifty staring eyes, blushed a little more and stammered, "Phew. Thank you. I'm not at all sure what to say." I saw the account lead who'd shepherded us all through this whole process. She looked wistful and sad (since this year's show was the final one), so I continued, "I have to say it was an honor to be part of this project. We had a great team with a lot of mutual respect. I really enjoyed working with each of you. As usual, we can say we survived." (laughter) "I look forward to seeing what comes next." (The client's company was officially sold to The Evil Empire yesterday) I then shuffled back to my chair dragging the penguin by the head while clutching the plaque.

I sat down next to my Creative Director. I leaned over and said, "I thought this started at 10!" He laughed and said, "I was starting to get really nervous! Especially cause this isn't like you. Thank God you came in when you did!"

Last year I was a little hurt that I didn't get the award. This year I didn't expect it at all (since I WAS gone for a few weeks of the process).

That'll learn me to not be late for work...