A Worthy Life

a wallflower picks her friends

I had the simple pleasure this evening of swinging alone in my back yard. Except for the gentle sound of water falling on parched grass, it was silent as day faded into darkness. At this moment, I experienced how solitude is a refreshing gift and silence it's blessed companion. After a day of noisy bombardment from the kids, the traffic, the tv, the radio, the computer, the vacuum, the sounds of life, I could finally think. I could think about whatever floated into my head from my heart, for now I could actually hear what it was beating.

Tonight I thought about friendship. I thought back to the days when I longed for a bosom friend and a circle of companionship where I was accepted and appreciated for who I was. I always felt like the outsider looking in, wondering why I had friends but didn't seem to fit in with any groups. I used to wonder why my friends seldom looked like me or talked like me or even had more than one shared interest. With my teammates, I would talk volleyball. With my work friends, I would talk shop. With the girls who carried the same magazines through the hallways, I talked fashion and pop culture. I tried to stay within the boundaries that seemed specified by our connections. Yet, in each of those circles, I knew I was different. Most of the time, though I would be a part of much and with many people, I kept back part of myself, hoping against hope that whatever it was that was different about me would go unnoticed if I just did the right thing and said the right words.

Even though I knew I thought differently and wanted desperately to be unique, there was a strong desire to fit in. To blend in enough to not attract attention that would highlight what I thought was so blindingly obvious. I watched what others wore, how they acted, what they did and tried to assess if these were worthwhile decisions for me. I had a strong sense of what I would not to and had no desire to conform to their every motion but I also didn't want to stand out. I just wanted to somehow be everything that everyone was.

Over the years I have come to see that at the core of what makes me different is my faith, my assurance in the call of God on my life. I have recognized that what kept me from blinding following the crowd or bending to the will of my peers was a deeply rooted sense of what God wanted for me. I am a child of God and as such there is certain behavior and choices that exemplify what that means.

Yet here I am, at not quite 30, finding myself standing again against the wall and assessing what my friends are doing. What decisions are they making? Where are they going? How are they doing this? Why are they doing that? I'm observing to see if what they are doing and choosing is right for me, hoping that if I can find a majority that is doing what I hope to, I will have the boldness to walk that way too.

The problem I'm finding with that is that I am looking to too many people. I'm listening to the counsel of people that I can't say I admire completely. I'm tuning in to the experts who believe that we are all gods and finding our greatest purpose is our only real meaning in life. I'm striving to imitate friends whose lives I would never even want for myself. I'm yearning to live the lives of those I was not called to follow.

When I first moved away from home to a new country, the thing I desperately missed was friendship. I looked for it everywhere I could - the gym, the parks, my husband's work functions. And then, when I was least expecting it, a wonderful and beautiful friend made her first appearance in my life. She phoned me after meeting me one day and we found out that we lived only a few blocks apart, not a small miracle when the place we met was a good distance away.

Over the years our friendship has grown as our families have doubled and tripled in size. She is a friend that I honestly probably have very little externally in common with. Yet at her core, I catch a glimpse of myself. A woman who is striving to walk worthy, a woman who knows there is but One God and He gave us His Son Jesus Christ, and a woman who is learning to love Him, her husband, and her children a little more every day.

Today I got an email from her. Knowing that I am preparing for vacation and anticipating the stressful moments among the fun, she sent me this reminder:

It seems that the true success of a trip can rarely be measured by what we do and see, but rather by who we are in the middle of what we do and see.

In my world that is heavy with voices and influences coming from a thousand different sources and a hundred different friends, this was a quiet whisper that proved that this friend was a keeper. With her I don't worry about measuring up or comparing successes or pretending to have it all together. With her I can just be me and know that, because she is wise and discerning, she sees me for who God is forming me to be and will be there as He works to get His image impressed in my life.

Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, said it best when he said, "A (wo)man of many companions may come to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother."

Again, he writes, "Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and the pleasantness of one's friend springs from (her) earnest counsel."

Tonight my heart that was before parched by trying to meet the expectations, achievements, and advice of so many, was watered by the pleasantness of a true friend, a bosom friend, a sister in God's family. I am reminded that while I try to keep in touch with so many friends, choosing the right ones, the best ones is vital to me staying on track and gleaning wisdom from the piles of rubbish opinions.

Tonight I am still a wallflower of sorts, watching and learning from the crowds. But with a confidence and wisdom granted me over the years, I can continue to walk worthy with the support and encouragement of a few good friends picked up along the way.

great eggspectations

Every day that passes means the countdown to vacation is getting closer and closer. The days left til departure get fewer and fewer and the excitement and anticipation in our household is beginning to grow. Every year we set out to do nothing but relax and take it easy. Yet each of us has at least a few things we'd like to do and pretty soon, multiplied by 6 plus the expectations of those you're visiting begins to consume all of our do-nothing time.

Towards the middle, one or all of us, starts to get grumpy because things just aren't turning out the way we had planned and certainly not the way we had envisioned when we played out the moments in our daydreams. What was supposed to be a time off becomes a time busier than ever with places to go, people to see, and things, things we can do nowhere else but here, to do.

It's not that we don't try to plan ahead. We do. Oh, how we do! We take inventory of everyone's expectations and try to figure out well ahead of time how we can fit it all in, with a little bit of do-nothing on the side. But as it turns out, fitting in all the extra sides of everyone else's dream vacation leaves you with a meal you just didn't order and pretty soon vacation starts to leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

Are you still with me?!

I liken vacation to eggs. No, really, stay with me, I think I have a point to be made somewhere here! You'd have to be crazy (or deathly allergic) to not like eggs. I mean, what's not to like? They are the incredible edible chameleon of food and pack a powerful nutritious punch to boot. They are like a versatile foundation willing to conform to whatever your heart and tongue desire. With a plethora of ways to prepare, accessorize, combine, cook, not cook, eat with a fork or eat with your hands, eat it chunky or eat it drippy, eat it hot or eat it cold, or leave it underneath the mama until it becomes a chicken, there is just no good reason for people to boycott eggs.

Still with me??

But to agree to liking eggs doesn't mean that you like them every which way. I fully understand how some people only like it one way or the other. Me, I don't like them drippy and gooey yet my husband loves them partially raw. No matter how much I love him, if a plate of sunny side up eggs were set before me, I could not get them down. In fact, if I ordered mine scrambled and instead got sunny side up, no amount of mental exercise could convince me that either way they're both eggs so slurp away!

Ok, I can tell I'm losing you a bit here...

It's like that with vacation. If you were to offer me an Alaskan cruise in the middle of winter, it'd be hard for me to envision it as vacation. C'mon, I live in winter 10.9 months out of the year! My ideal vacation is always one where the sunny side is up and the beach and nature is at my back door. 

This year, I vow things will be different. Not because I am bent on making sure every one of my expectations becomes a reality but because we have discussed what kind of eggs every one likes.

Everyone remembers the quote from Runaway Bride when Ike is trying to convince Maggie how confused she is. "You're so lost...you're so lost you don't even know what kind of eggs you like!" She was trying so hard to please everyone, she wasted time and frustration agreeing to things she didn't even like.

Instead of trying to conform our family's vacation to other's expectations, we're taking the time now to lay down what kind of vacation we need and what kind of vacation we'd like. Time with our loved ones, times with the kids, time in the evening to linger over dinner, time to take a slow walk to nowhere, and time to be completely alone. This of course means sacrificing some of my vacation time so he can have his and aligning my expectations to meet the kids'.

But whether or not all of our great expectations are met, we know that at the end of the day and the end of our trip that we made our decisions based on more than just what tickles our tongues. We made it for the company around our familial table and for our voracious appetite to spend time together. Because, after all, nothing beats a great meal of eggspectations better than the dessert of sweet satisfaction in the blessing of each other. ;o)

ps. If you made it all the way through this rambling post, thank you! That you come here to visit is amazing enough but to stick through my seemingly irrational mutterings is quite another. If you're asking yourself, "am I the only one who doesn't get this?!", the answer is a resounding, no. But thank you for loving me anyway! :oP

an extra/ordinary day

The day started like every other. No matter how hard I try to switch things up or be more disciplined, I am so not the kind of person who hits the ground running. Ever. So, the day continued like all the rest: I was slow to rise, lingered over a breakfast of cinnamon raisin french toast and berries while the kids amused themselves, and kept a running dialogue with myself on all the things there were to get done.

The list today wasn't long but everything on it was urgent. I needed to get passport photos and guarantor signatures for Emmanuelle so I could wait in the gosh-awful lines down at the passport office today. I totally forgot that we hadn't processed her application yet and we are leaving on vacation in 4 days!

I packed snacks, games, and markers to ensure that the kids were kept busy during the anticipated long time spent at the office. I went door to door asking friends to please, oh please be my daughter's guarantor! Finally, one agreed. ;o) We went downtown, walked up to a very empty office and were thrilled to be in and out in less than an hour. But while I processed everything with the agent, I had all four kids sit on the chairs and wait. Soon, they became the spectacle of the place!

Everyone was whispering to their neighbor and commenting on the unbelievable good behavior the kids were showing. People turned and marveled. Many approached me to tell me how amazed they were and all I could do was smile and shrug in amazement myself. The security agent at the door said he had never seen anything like this in all his life. I assured him it was the power of the Cheetos. He wasn't convinced. All right, all right, I fessed, it's the miracle drug I sprinkled on the Cheetos! He laughed but insisted that these were the most well behaved children he had ever seen! A momentary miracle to be sure but one that made this mama's heart swell with pride for her children!!

We stopped at the post office on the way home and were greeted at the door by a pharmacist offering to take special photos that could show sun damage. The kids were keen so we did it. They, of course, were damage free. Mama's on the other hand revealed what she always knew to be true, serious damage waiting to spring forth in premature aging. Yes, thank you for that!

I loved the kids' photos though! Since I'm 13% of this, a little bit of that, and a sprinkling of just about everything else with a strong line of nothing in my blood, I qualify as 100% American and the papa is 100% East Indian. We kid that our children are therefore 100% American Indian. But it was hilarious to see what they would look like if they were full blooded Indian, as shown on the right images! Jacob reminds me so much of the little boy in Slumdog Millionaire. ;o)

We all took a good nap in the afternoon and had a great evening of time spent in prayer with friends. Preparing for bedtime we looked out our window and noticed the luxury hotel near us shooting off a display of fireworks, which the kids took to be a private viewing for them alone.

It was just another ordinary day here in our household. But when the kids display behavior that you have worked so long to instill in them and you experience overwhelming hope and peace after giving all your worries, all your cares into the hands of Almighty God, you realize this day has been extraordinary indeed. The fireworks displayed just for me just about proves it!

rosa amarilla

When my older sister and I were young women, just embarking on that bothersome interlude between teen and adult, we went with our family on a cross country trip from the Midwest to California.

We were close but different. She was the talker, I was the listener. But I loved talking/listening together! We would talk about nothing and everything. One of my fondest memories of our friendship at this time was the notes and letters she would send me. It started when she allowed me, a lowly underclassman, to share a locker with her, a totally established senior in high school. She would slip me a note in between classes or stuff one somewhere visible on the locker's shelf, sweet nothings that meant everything to me.

On our trip out West, we passed a small town deep in the miles of arid deserts we waved goodbye to from the windows of our air conditioned car. Rosa Amarilla. I knew from my years of highschool Spanish that this meant, Yellow Rose. Knowing that yellow roses were the symbolic gift of friendship, my sister dubbed me thence and henceforth with a new code name for our secret communication: Yellow Rose. It was a name that has since been celebrated with gifts and momentos honoring our friendship, many emblazoned with this title or simply echoed in their color choice. 

My daughters are even closer in age than my sister and I. Their closeness these days is marked more by bitter bickerings and frustrated sharing but even now they have begun to share a language all their own. Quotes from movies that only they would recognize, garbled languages that mean nothing to everyone else, spot on imitations of accents from East India, and smothered snickers deep under covers when the lights finally go out for the night. They may not recognize it now but they are busy in the building of memories and the establishment of a friendship and sisterhood that I pray will last them a lifetime.

Earlier this week I took my girls out for a photoshoot deep within a vacant lot of glorious yellow flowers. While not a decadent carpet of roses, the yellow from nature's weeds reflected in their eyes and their smiles as the setting sun threw it's golden rays their way.

To Eliana and Eden, may the sun never set on your burgeoning friendship. May you find ways to seek within your sister a playmate and confidante, understanding that she was heaven sent just for you.

faking it

What could possibly be so picturesque about this site?! A vacant lot next to a strip mall, set in the middle of a concrete jungle and a forest of cookie cutter homes? Look closely, the answer is hidden in plain view in each and every photo...

What for it...wait for it...wait....

(coming soon, in a post to follow!)

repost: the death of superwoman

Today the to-do list is long. I'm far behind on almost everything due to the unexpected events involving my husband's minor injury. So today I awoke a little short of breath, a little overwhelmed, and a whole lot later than I should've. Trying to keep it all together, the house, the kids, the Plans (oh, I have BIG plans for this summer!), leaves me exhausted before my feet even hit the floor. The only solution: checking back into Superwoman Anonymous and remembering the 12 key steps to making it through my day...

This is a repost, originally written February 2008.

Can't. Suck. In. My. Gut. Any. Longer.

My elusive attempts at becoming Superwoman are hereby put to death.

Baby, these hips don't lie...they have now borne multiple children and that micro-mini leotard is no longer what to wear. When my first thought in the morning is "how will my booty look in Superwoman's bad-booty undies?", I think my illusions of one day morphing into her killer physique are more aptly stated as delusional. After all, it ain't easy for a four time suckling mother to keep that bold initial buoyant on a chest that has long since gone south.

So, I quit. With the help of the Twelve Step Program for Superwoman Wanna-be's, of course.

My name is Dina and I am a Superwoman-wanna-be.

I admit that I am powerless over the desire to be-all and do-all, my life has become unmanageable.

I am done trying to fix myself and instead come to that Power greater than myself that alone can restore me to sanity amid the laundry and dirty dishes, tantrums of a toddler and chaos around me.

I choose to turn my desire to lead a perfect life on the arm of my perfect husband with my perfect kids in my perfect house over to the care of God.

Oh, how I could skip this step: that searching moral inventory of myself that has led me to such fear of failure! (Deep breath...)

I admit to God, my husband, my children, my family, and friends that I have presented a facade of perfection that has slowly begun to crack, leaving me emotionally and mentally unstable and very nearly clinically insane!

I will continually make amends with my children when I am impatient, with my husband when I am selfish, and with all others when I am characteristically moody, mean, and menopause-ish.

I am ready for God to take over in His transforming work, to re-shape and re-mold me into a vessel that will only be devoid of defects on that day of presentation before my Creator.

God, take control.

I surrender to you my fantasy of having a phone-booth-morphing-moment in exchange for those quiet times with you, where you will teach me and speak to me, encourage and strengthen me, and answer my cries for help.

I will share my humiliating experiences and lessons in humility to other Superwomen-wanna-be's and will practice honesty in all my shared life stories that together we might be transformed more and more into Your image and not settle for some hour-glass shaped caricature with a personality complex.

My name is now, Dina. Just Dina.

simplekids.net

Good morning all! Today I'm over at www.simplekids.net guest posting for Megan who just celebrated her 32nd birthday! Come on over and wish her a happy day!

relationship

Our papi loves to play. When the weather finally warms up, it beckons like a private invitation for him to come out and play. Volleyball on our river's beach, tennis with friends at the club, and basketball, sweet basketball! Driveway drills with the kids or the park's blacktop with local teens. Papi prides himself on being able to hang with the younger kids, the kids who are on their way to university scholarships and provincial championships. Seeing as the only ship papi has let to climb aboard is the old timer's league, he puts in his time now to ensure that that ship sails out of harbor without him.

This past week we all went to the park to do our things. Me, to help Eden on her fewer wheels and the kids to climb, flip, and make sand angels. And Papi, well, we all know where to find Papi. This night he finally found his sweet spot, his shot was coming back and he was hot. After a few games, he paused to look our way.

A young girl came up to him and asked, "What school do you go to?"

Papi, tickled pink with pride on the inside, modesty replied, "I don't go to school. I'm a Papa."

"You're a PAPA?! A DAD?!", she was incredulous to say the least. I mean, how many dads do you see taking on the young punks at the courts these days?

Eliana overheard the conversation and ran up to take possessive hold of his hand. "He's MY papa," she said, with a proud smile up his way.

And Papi's heart did sing! No old timer's league for him, he was still pre-papa-pro days in the eyes of his miniature fans.

That was last week.

This week finds our dear Papi elbow deep in a cast with a full line of stitches embroidered on his right pinky. Intent on stabbing apart frozen hotdogs on Sunday, Papi's knife slipped and cut right through his tendon. Recovering today from minor surgery yesterday, the summer now looks bleak. No volleyball, no tennis, no basketball, no working out. For at least 3 months.

Hopefully I'll prove to be a wife who buoys him up in the times when he's down. At least he has that, a devoted spouse and loving relation-ship! (ok, ok, I admit that's a stretch. I'm with you on this one...groan!)

somebody's daughter

Her face too quickly faded from my memory. Yet the image of someone's daughter standing in the wee hours of the morning on a stronger's front porch is one that will stay with me forever. And I wonder, will she remember the face of the lady who turned her away?

Just before 5 o'clock on Saturday morning, my husband and I were awakened by the incessant ringing of our doorbell. In the brief moments it took for us to fully know the time and our whereabouts the doorbell was never silent.

Fearing it was our neighbor with young children who needed our help, I flew down the flight of stairs. But even as my feet hit the first floor, the bells were sounding danger in my mind. I approached the door cautiously, peering out and into the face of a teenage girl.

She was frantic, insistent that I allow her in. I asked that she instead speak to me through the window.

"My friend just left me here, outside, last night. We were drinking, they left, I have no idea where I am..."

I stood behind the defense of my front door and felt vulnerable and afraid. Sleeping upstairs were my four young children and their safety is always at the forefront of my mind. I didn't know if this was a trap designed to break into my home or if this young girl was still raging from a drug high. Or if she was only what she claimed to be, abandoned and afraid.

All I knew were the facts: she was safe. Daylight was dawning and all she had to do was walk to the corner and call for help at the corner drugstore. My family would remain safe, as long as I kept the door closed.

Our entire conversation transpired in moments. After insisting she could use the phone a few minutes' walk away, I turned her away. I watched from another window as she made her way down the street and saw her get into a black vehicle. My fear rationalized that this was her awaiting partner in crime. My heart hoped desperately that it was instead a guardian angel who was willing to help.

Everyday that has passed I have thought of this young girl. I have prayed for her with tears in my eyes, hoping that today she was alive and safe. I have second guessed myself continuously since. I have wished that when looking out from my place of shelter, I would have peered out from a heart of compassion rather than a spirit of fear. I have regretted not offering her a shelter under the protection of my care and concern. And I have wanted her to know that I was sorry, that I wish I had been there for her.

I am left only with questions, wondering if she is ok, wondering if she learned anything from this night's experience. I wonder if she has made new friends, ones that will stand by her and guide her into better alternatives for a good time. I wonder if she had the courage to tell her parents the truth and if they, in turn, smothered her in the security of their embrace.

I wonder and I pray, hoping that to all of these questions the answer is, yes.

summer picnic

Finally, a break in the weather. Beautiful blue skies, a new swing installed by the mama, a brilliant sun to kiss a soft tan onto our skin, and water to cool us off: a perfect setting for an outdoor lunch.

Being outside, watching my kiddos, reading my bible, papa working nearby in his home office...life is good. Really, really good.

Thank you, Jesus.