Cheeky Musings

Three years ago we toured a valley of giant sequoia trees, some of which had been standing for hundreds of years. One tree was over 1500 years old. I felt a kind of reverential awe for the majesty of these towering trees standing in silent vigil through the march of centuries.

But there was one tree in particular that captured my interest. It was, in fact, two trees merged together. They've been dubbed " The Faithful Couple."

The audio guide told us that this tree is an exceptional rarity since what usually happens is that a larger, stronger tree takes over a smaller one or simply kills off the smaller tree by blocking its sunlight and sucking up its water supply. 

But in the case of "Faithful Couple," two trees of equal strength pushed against each other. And as they pushed, they grew into one another. However, this was no hostile takeover. It wasn't one tree defeating and/or swallowing up the other.

Each tree retained its individual "treeness."  After forming their solid union--a fortress-like base--they continued upwards, growing stronger and taller. Finally, after many years of almost indistinguishable oneness, the two trees separated--just ever so slightly. They are still one, but they are also beautifully distinct.

This tree gives me hope. It represents what I hope my marriage can be.

I say this because I know I'm not an easy person to live with. I'm strong-willed and defiant. I question everything. I'm extremely emotionally sensitive. And I have, um, baggage. I'm quite a catch, yes? Heh.

Well, I'm probably a terrifying catch to someone who is not equally strong, someone who enjoys a challenge. 

This is why I adore my husband. He is a worthy opponent--but not in a hostile, takeover way. More in an "iron sharpens iron" kind of way. He is, quite simply, a man I can respect. 

Yes, we have hurt each other many times over the years. We've had our huge ups and our huge downs. Our love is nothing if not imperfect. But through all these years--15 already!--he has always won my unflagging admiration. 

I don't write about the love of my life very often. My words seem foolish and inadequate in the face of this monumental force that has shaped the topography of my life. Whenever I start to write about him, I sound like a wildly clanging cymbal. Nothing I can say speaks to the mystery and sense of reverential awe I feel toward this man.

I also don't write about him very often because it seems unpopular to say that I don't know myself apart from him. But it's true. I have grown into and out of him, lost myself and found myself with him. We are one, but we are also beautifully distinct.

He gives me my space. He's protective without being controlling. He's masculine without being macho. He is my most trusted advisor, confidant and dearest friend. And I am his. 

Bonus? I also think he's super hot! I just love everything about him. The way he talks, the way he smells, the way he sings off-tune.

I even love that he never smiles for the camera! He just squints into it like a little old man. Eeek! The sexiness!

OK, me and my exclamation points will cease and desist now.

Happy Father's Day, beloved old man. Thank you for growing up and growing old with me. xo.

I'm writing this after a 14 1/2 hour shift. I didn't get paid for the work I did today. I just barely got a couple of potty breaks. I sweated. I supervised. And now, I stink.

Today, there was blood. I bandaged a smashed toe, a tweaked toe-nail. I wiped her tears, rocked her at my breast. I comforted, I cooked, I cried. I prayed for strength.

There was poop. Then again, there is always poop, rain or shine. But today it was sunny. On sunny days, they like to run naked like wild banshees. And I let them.

I lifted, carried, stacked, organized, cleaned. We ate. 

I argued with my husband about the proper tending of a tweaked toe-nail. He said Neosporin and Band-aid. I said antibacterial spray and a Band-aid.

We compromised. Except the Band-aid kept coming off, so. Maybe he was right.

We forgave each other and he made me laugh. I kissed him at least five times today.

I had a serious conversation with a child. Being honest means not exploiting loop-holes, son. He said he wants to be a lawyer. Figures. Still. Honesty. I'm serious, son. There will be serious consequences if I catch you lying again.

"Is inflating facts lying?" 

"Nice phrasing," I say. 

"Yes," says Dad, stepping in. "Be clear on your facts or else they're not facts."

Excellent job, Daddy!

"Gotcha," says son.

There was also a Choking Incident today. She popped a lid in her mouth. Started choking, chubby hands flying up to her mouth. Daddy scooped it out.

Another disaster averted.

But the school science project almost got ruined. It was melting to death on the front porch. I saved it.

Later, we tried to watch a movie together as a family. But it did not pass muster. I turned it off. Sorry, guys. Inappropriate content. Who rented this? DADDY.

"What?" he says. "I watched this movie when I was a kid!"

"My point exactly," I say.

"That's true," he grins. "Sorry, kids! Bedtime!"

Kisses, prayers and just one more drink of water?

And now, now I'm exhausted. It was a hard, long shift.

But it was a good day. A very good day, indeed.

[Many heartfelt thanks to our American veterans for their service. Their sacrifice provides the freedom and safety that allows me to have such beautifully ordinary days like today. Happy Memorial Day.]

I started praying a risky prayer a few weeks ago. I asked God to help me speak in a loving, gentle tone to my children. I've continued to pray this each day and let me say, if you wanna pray prayers like this--just prepare to have your heart broken. In a good way.

The first thing that happened was that I began really hearing myself. Do you know what I mean by that? I mean that for a very long time, I'd been sorta deaf to my own voice, to how it sounded in my interactions with my children.

But in the last few weeks, I've begun hearing my tone of voice again. At first, I only heard myself after the fact, after I'd snapped at someone or interrupted, cut someone short or blasted someone away with my dazzling wit and logic. Ha.

And then I began hearing my tone of voice parroted back to me in the voices of my children. I heard it in the way they spoke to each other and on one occasion, I heard it in the way one of the twins reprimanded her baby doll.

It was embarrassing, heartbreaking and totally, completely convicting. It also exposed the myriad excuses I've used to defend my harsh tone of voice. 

I began intentionally trying to speak kindly, gently and lovingly. Here was the big revelation: speaking kindly takes practice! Cultivating a kind, gentle tone of voice doesn't just happen. I used to comfort myself with the notion that the moms who spoke gently and kindly were born with that kind of voice. 

Now I'm not so sure. I think maybe they've had to work at it. Maybe it's a fine art that must be practiced and cultivated, disciplined and tended.

Here's another revelation: the test of a kind, gentle tone of voice comes when life is difficult.  I mean, anyone can use a kind, gentle voice when life is going smoothly and according to plan. But most of our life in a large family does not go smoothly. And it almost never goes according to plan!

So, what should I do? Wait until life gets easier or do the right thing even if it's hard?

Here's what I've started doing: when I'm irritated or tired, I try to pre-empt my harsh tone by sending up little SOS prayers to God for help. Usually it sounds like this: God, grant me grace right now, please. 

It's a simple little prayer but I've been surprised at how effective it is. It feels like a little pocket opening up in my mind giving me that extra ounce of patience I need in that exact moment, just enough to get me through the current ordeal.

And when I choose to speak kindly and gently, I feel an immediate sense of satisfaction. It's like take taking pride in a job well-done. It feels like I've ministered grace into the moment instead of chaos or worry, hurry or fear.

The funny thing is that before I had twins, I almost never raised my voice. I really tried to speak moderately and gently at all times. But since having the twins, it's like I've had to re-learn it all over again.

Or maybe it's just that BT (Before Twins), I could handle it all in my own strength and AT (After Twins), I realize I can't do it on my own. I'm dependent on the mercy and grace of God every single day. Scratch that.Every single minute.

Maybe there's no better place to be.

Do you struggle with using a kind, gentle tone of voice?

Do you have any practices/ideas for cultivating a kind, gentle tone?

I could use some helpful encouragement, so please SHARE!