Extreme Makeover: Today's Guest-- Encouragement~

I’ve often been told I am an encouraging person. I am always so happy to hear it. I love to think that something—anything that I have said or done could have helped someone I love to feel better about themselves, feel stronger, feel more loved, or even just ease their days a bit—help them get through whatever they are going through at the moment. In fact, I have always felt that the role of encourager is one of (if not the) highest callings in this life.

I have changed my mind.

This past week I was on the phone with a very good friend, a friend who has become almost a mentor of sorts, a big brother who I thank God for daily. This friend was asking me about my life, and I was sharing with him about what had been going on—my hopes—my dreams—my goals—my prayer requests. He wasted not one breath before affirming to me verbally that “You can do it, AB!” and “All of these goals are realistic” and “You have a gift, and I know God has an amazing purpose for your life!”

I felt immediately encouraged. And I thought, “I can get through this day, because God has sent my friend with words to sustain me and keep me going one more day.” Just as I was thanking God for this encouragement and sustenance, I noticed that my friend was not finished. He went on to actually sit down with me and talk through exactly how I was going to take the first step(s) to actively move towards accomplishing all of my heart’s dreams and hopes and goals.

He prayed with me right there, on the phone…yes, actually prayed—not just let me know he was going to pray for me—he prayed with me right then and there. We made a list—we walked through how to make a website (step by maddening step). We worked out my budget. We made phonecalls. We signed me up for a yoga class and healing workshop to quiet my heart and mind. We made small changes in my diet (I feel better already). We made progress.

As I think of this friend, every time I remember him in thanks and praise to God—I try to pinpoint what it is about him that is such a gift. Why I always cannot wait to talk to him. Why I value him as I do. Why I long to seek time with him, and feel such a lightening and hopefulness when I leave him. Today, I figured it out.

He does not encourage me in my life. He empowers me.

He does not tell me nice things, to help me feel better so I can make it through the day. He physically takes my hand, pulls me up on my feet and walks with me.

This new way of seeing my friend challenges me in my friendships. I wonder back now, when a friend has shared with me their biggest fears, or discouragements, or even prayer requests—have I offered them some flowery sounding platitude or scripture verse? (To be sure, scripture is powerful and a gift to us all)…but next time, and from now on….I want to not worry as much about making them feel so good about themselves by what I say, so that they can survive that day—but rather take their hand, walk with them (make a darn list), and have them feel good about themselves because they had the tools and power to create their day.

Kenophobia...empty spaces, blank pages~

Wastebasket overflowing,

Reruns of that Shamwow guy *and every other 2am infomercial * on loop,

Inkwell’s full belly,

Temper tantrums flare

Empty pages,

Redrafting-->rambling-->rut-->repeat.

Silence, screaming

Banging forehead, *table * * wall *

Loose Ponytail, sweatpants, Wrigley’s spearmint, that millionth cup of coffee,

Optimism out the window

Clustering’s a crock!

Kenophobia kicking in…

Wabi sabi~

I have two mothers. A biological mother, and a spiritual mother (although there are no real words to do her justice). Birthing me into this world, and into the woman I am daily becoming, I thank God for you both.

My spiritual mother mentors. She teaches me, chides me, frustrates the snot out of me…and relays truth to me—in unexpected times and avenues—and always for this (usually/ admittedly most of the time long after the * revelation times *) I am profoundly grateful.

One such truth seed was planted in my heart and mind by her with the introduction to the concept of “wabi sabi.” It was when I was living with her on her farm, and I was seeking the peace and tranquility and life that her home seemed to exude from its very core—covering every inch of the dwelling—from the rooftop to the rugs.

She knew what I was seeking *she always has, I believe * was wabi sabi—to be embraced, understood, acknowledged—and truly lived~

“Pared down to its barest essence, wabi-sabi is the Japanese art of finding beauty in imperfection and profundity in nature, of accepting the natural cycle of growth, decay, and death. It's simple, slow, and uncluttered-and it reveres authenticity above all.”

Barest essence.

Finding Beauty in Imperfection.

Accepting Life (and Death) in its Natural State.

Simple.

Slow.

Uncluttered.

And, my favorite…wait for it….authenticity above all.

After hearing just this concept from her, I became insatiable in my research--of what I now see as a salvation of sorts in my life. Wabi sabi exists everywhere, in everything, if we can only cultivate it—or moreso—allow it to exist and embrace it--as it is daily right in front of our very eyes…right there—hidden beneath all of our clutter, our drama—our masochistic quest for unbending perfection.

Wabi sabi is even known in the art and interior design world…it is minimalist. It strips away the clutter, the garish colors and austentatious, gaudy accoutrements—all that is unnecessary—leaving only a stark and striking, austere beauty.

I see wabi sabi much as a challenge (to me I am saying…take what you will) to dare to take off the delusional/ life stealing/ grass is always greener/ covetous of others/ rose-colored glasses…and gaze upon this world…the world in which I now live…in all its sepia toned splendor…and begin to see the radiance--of simple shadings--shadings that only light and dark provide. Yes, the light and the dark. The shadows and coal black lines casting a poignant contrast to the radiance of the alabaster angles…making up this masterpiece of balanced “be-ing.”

Wabi sabi…applauding that quiet, undeclared beauty and grace…silently, patiently, waiting to be unearthed from beneath the “other”—I praise life that you exist…and that in the light and perspective of you—even I, am breathtaking~

Let Em' Know~

This past week the islands where I live have mourned the loss of one of their own. A world champion surfer, Andy Irons, unexpectedly passed away. He left a young, beautiful widow and a unborn baby boy on this earth…too soon.

As I watched the local news, and made my way throughout the community these last few days, it has been touching. An outpouring of love, aloha, respect and compassion has saturated the surf community. From fellow champions and contenders sharing their favorite memory, to younger teens attesting to the fact that Andy was many of their main inspirations to begin their love affair with the water and waves—all speak of Andy with such warmth and care.

I hope he knew how much he was loved while he actually lived on this earth. I wonder if these same people shared that love, warmth and care then?

I ask myself who in my life do I love and care for? Who makes my life bright and beautiful? And who do I not want to wait until it is too late to let them know….NOW?

Suns and Beaches....and Democracy~

Sign reads: “Yes We Can!”

Tho’ the man in front of “we”

Slightly disagrees…

Long line—and I wait

Audience to hems and haws

man’s face getting red

his volume rises

neck veins strain—it ain’t pretty

this rocking the vote

speaking of rocking-

he must own a boat--somewhere

maybe north? Must be!

Why yes….Nan-tucket…

He shouts only of this place…

its suns and beaches….

Line dies down—my turn

Nan-tucket! Suns and beaches!

It all becomes clear

Whining, complaining

When there are boats to be sailed!

free suns and beaches~

Sign reads: “Yes We Can”

Thank God “we” begins with me.

oh democracy…

Baby's Got a Brand New "Do"~

I was a nanny for just about the cutest little girl in the world a few years ago. This child has spunk. She is sassy, and stubborn, and deliciously full of sweetness AND spice. (And the ‘and’ is the oh so very important part!)

It is always interesting to me to listen to adults’ reactions, or to observe their behavior upon encountering and (ahem) “conversing” with children. The words “sweet,” “adorable,” “angel,” “princess,” and “beautiful” always seem to replay like they were rotating around a magical Disney DJ’s turntable….and all is happy songs filled with soothing piccolo trills and melodious harpsichord harmonies…* tra- la- la* (cue cherubic smile and floating on air parents here_____)….and as I think of this familiar scene and cycle….(I can already feel the cavities from sugar shock practically sucking the enamel from my soul…er…teeth)…sweetness overload. Enter the sudden scratch on the vinyl--*EEEEK! * --speed it up and make it funky—get down, get down! And some do…thank God.

Yes, praise be to the children that introduce some sassafras! I applaud your passion-filled, devil-may-care, “deviant” spirits! Your spontaneity and unpredictable eruptions of emotionally driven exploits make me feel just a little less old and crusty. Passionate little pixies, I am beholden to you for the blessings that you are to this soul—you bring refreshment to a fat and arid world of too much sweetness—I long to drown myself in the waters of your whimsical ways (We, of course, will jump off the deep end...doing a tuck and roll into a cannonball upon entrance, shan’t we?) —I can already see the look on the "dry ones'" doused faces…would the caption read: shock….exasperation…envy?)

This week a child got a new hairdo. The closest way I can possibly describe this “do” (or what her parents might very well call a “don’t”?) is what you might get if Dog the Bounty Hunter miraculously procreated with Billy Ray Cyrus-- and they birthed a little girl who apparently would enjoy both a party and business if asked….

This haircut was the impulsive act of my little charge I previously mentioned. Her father just recently posted pictures with the single caption: “No repentance!”..... And there was none! Ha! That little spunky sprite stares straight into the camera and owns it….owns that hideous haircut—so shocking that I cannot look away…I am taken aback….mesmerized…drawn to…the courage. The aliveness I feel when I look at the action she took…snip, snip, snip….cutting away at the ties that bind---the cares and worry of what people might think.. All she knew is that she felt the need for a haircut…it seemed simpler to just do it herself…and she did. Snip, snip, snip…she cut because she could, and because she wanted to…and because she wasn’t afraid.

When I looked at those pictures, two things happened:

First: I promptly scanned and copied them all (in order to add to the plethora of paraphernalia I will most assuredly have the great pleasure of busting out at her wedding reception one day)~

Second: I realized that little Liana had reminded me of a beautiful truth this day:

This was not just a haircut, this was a declaration of independence (from expectations), a peace treaty (with herself), and a pint-sized middle finger raised (to whoever looked at her funny that day--obviously not appreciating the brilliant artwork now adorning her crown--oh yeah)~

You go, little girl~