sidetracked but in the right direction

line-a-day journals

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Fri, 10 May 2013 12:00:00 +0000

I had a great phone call with a dear (long-time but not old) friend earlier this week who was curious about the journal I mentioned here. So in true fashion, I figured I would share my goofy five-year journal with everyone.

The line-a-day that I use is this one. I like its nice green color and it small/fat size. Fortunately, there are quite a few designs out there. Here are all the ones you can find on Amazon. Another intriguing idea: a sketch-a-day journal. Can you imagine looking back over all those sketches and seeing how your skills have grown? It reminds me of the 365 photography projects I see people doing. And for you Happiness Project fans out there, you may be most interested in the one from Gretchen Rubin, here. There are journals for moms, kids, readers, etc. Whatever floats your boat!

I recommend this little exercise in record-keeping.

Note: none of these links are affiliate links. I don't get anything for mentioning these and I don't get anything if you buy them.

the turning point

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Fri, 03 May 2013 11:00:00 +0000

In my line-a-day journal, I usually record the key points of the day. As I was reading through the day's entry from last year, I found the turning point in my stance on my marriage. I'd forgotten this moment -- something I could hardly believe after I read about it and then remembered. There was something inexplicable that my ex had done -- it was shocking and seemingly came out of nowhere and flew in complete contrast to the man he'd been before (and likely was also inconsistent with the man he presented himself as being).

Something in me broke, that moment. I knew he was different, and not in a good way, and I knew I needed to get away from him. I was stuck in a bog, sinking in quicksand, and I needed to escape the internal chaos and find some semblance of peace. Not long after, I asked my mom for a plane ticket to get me (and the baby) out of Denver for a few weeks, to clear my head and figure out exactly how to proceed. And by the time that month away was over, our marriage was over and I had two weeks to collect my things and find a new home.

That one little moment was hugely significant. I don't know how I ever forgot about it, but now that I've been reminded, it's not far from my consciousness. Maybe this isn't terribly uncommon, to block out the one thing that tips the scales and never think of it again. Or maybe most people actively remember the last straw, the specific moment when everything shifted.

how and why i abandoned attachment parenting at night

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Wed, 01 May 2013 12:15:00 +0000

The sleeping situation here in Casa Moi has been a near-continuous struggle, with shifts and turns and endless hours of agonizing and fretting (on my part) and a good amount of fussing and demanding "a certain way of doing things" (on his part).

When Gabriel was a baby and we were still living in Denver, he slept a lot in his crib and seemed ok with it. When we moved, I didn't have his crib for about 6 months, and during that time, he became fully acclimated to sleeping in my queen-size bed with me. We were in that arrangement until he was about a year old, at which point I had just figured it was going to be a battle to get him back to sleeping on his own, and I had neither the time nor the inclination to fight. So when we moved again, into our own apartment this time, it was just him and me on a twin mattress on the floor. Cramped quarters.

Eventually I hauled his crib mattress into my room and set it between my bed and the wall, making him a little "sidecar" arrangement in the corner. It took a while (...quite a while) to get him ok with sleeping there, and it required significant amounts of nursing and about three weeks of reassuring him as he screamed for an hour or two each night to get him sleeping through the night. Once he accepted the transition, though, I felt a new sense of freedom. No more babies draping themselves across my neck at night! No more being kicked and prodded. It was glorious.

Until it wasn't. Not long into our newly accepted sleeping arrangement, Gabriel got sick. Like sickie sickie sick. And he was sick for well over a week. Poor baby would wake up in the middle of the night feeling super yucky, and of course I'd be right there to help him out. Well, that was fine, until he was all better but still waking up constantly at night, climbing all over me, and fusser-fusser-fussing to nurse (and screaming, up to hours at a time, when I would not acquiesce).

I was exhausted.

I was also beginning to resent him. He was always touching me...I never had a break. And nursing was starting to hurt. I thought about quitting -- he was 15 months old, for goodness' sake. I thought about some sort of schedule of weaning (only nurse at these times or whatever). I mostly just thought "maybe tonight he'll sleep through and we can get on with this. It's been a couple of weeks...surely he'll adjust soon...I'm too tired to figure it out."

Well, he never adjusted. And late into the evening one Friday, after he nursed himself to sleep at 9:30 and then woke himself up five seconds later, I snapped. Mama couldn't handle one more second of bedtime hell, of not knowing if or when he would finally pass out, of having a toddler who stayed up until 10 or 11 and left zero margin for grown-up not-mommy time, of having my hopes for a normal bedtime and decent evening and hope of sleep dashed. Nope, I snapped. Pretty sure I even said "I can't do this anymore" out loud.

I held my son up, looked him in the eye, and told him that it was time for him to start sleeping in his crib.

And just like that, I abandoned my long-held practice of co-sleeping or bed-sharing or whatever you want to call it, and I plopped him in, sang him songs until he cried himself to sleep, and had the rest of the night all to myself. The next morning, I woke up happy to see my son. It's been fairly smooth sailing ever since.

I feel like a new woman.

adventures in undergarments

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Mon, 29 Apr 2013 11:54:00 +0000

This is maybe TMI, but it's been a long time since I've had undergarments that I could feel good about. I used to wear really cute things underneath my clothes, but then I worked a string of jobs that barely paid anything, and one of the things I let go of was the "silky bits." Fast forward several years, a 40lb weight gain, a pregnancy, and then a 40lb weight loss (in addition to the pregnancy weight), and the contents of the silky bits drawer were looking a little bit ... uninspiring. And you could read the lack of "inspiration" under everything I wore, though I barely noticed. Who has the time for that?

The weekend after I turned 30, I decided it was time to address this situation. Quite frankly, I was tired of all the cotton sportswear and the odd shape of my upper body. A trip to the outlet malls and a coupon to the Hanes store later, I had the situation all under control. It's amazing what a difference it makes! Having spent the past several months with a very limited wardrobe on account of everything being 2-4 sizes too big and 2-4 years too old, I feel like I have a new lease on life.

So let that be a lesson to all you ladies who haven't had a "fitting" in a while....do it! Now! And paint your toes while you're at it. You'll start seeing the world a little differently.

lessons learned from a line a day

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 11:00:00 +0000

In January of last year, I started keeping a 5-year journal. Each date of the year gets a page with five entry slots. Over the course of the year, you write your little entry in the current year's section. Eventually, you're writing on the same pages year after year.

I'd wanted to start the journal when my son was born, to serve as a little daily record where I could note our lives without feeling the "pressure" of recording everything or having to do long journal entries. There's only room for a couple of sentences in each entry -- just enough to capture the essence of each day. Most days I mention Gabriel and something he did, but this journal has been the repository for a lot more than mama memories.

Sometimes, it's really neat to read about what was going on last year at this same time. Right now, though, it's a little tough. I'm reading through, and to an extent reliving, a lot of the marital anguish that marred the spring of 2012. My journal notes involve things like anger, fear, and confusion. We were "going to counseling" (a sham, the purpose of which I may never know). We were coexisting, barely peacefully. He was working (or "working") long hours every single day, and/or not speaking to me for days on end, inviting his new social cohort of single college girls to hang out with us and being mean to me the whole time. I ask a lot of painful questions in this journal -- why is he still pretending he's not leaving me? is he trying to torture me? is it worth my sanity to keep trying to save this marriage when he is so clearly planning a future without me?

Now, a year later, I can look around and know that everything will work out. I can tell that scared, exhausted woman with a new baby that there is grace for her, that her worst fears won't come true. I can even go for strings of full days without thinking about my ex or feeling the "scarlet D" burning on my forehead. But when I sit down each evening to write in my journal, I am taken right back to that miserable place, full of rage and hurt and fear. It's hard, so hard to walk myself through that experience again. Even if it's just a line a day.

nouwen on solitude

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 11:00:00 +0000

Several times in the past few weeks, I've had the opportunity to reflect on this brief passage from Nouwen. (Remember how dreamy he is?) There were times, when I first started going to my new church, that my priest was a real friend to me in the sense that Nouwen describes. There have been other times when I've been able to offer this type of friendship to someone else, as well. I do think there's something special about sitting in silence with someone. It speaks to me of total acceptance.

Sharing Our Solitude

A friend is more than a therapist or a confessor, even though a friend can sometimes heal us and offer us God's forgiveness.

A friend is that other person with whom we can share our solitude, our silence, and our prayer. A friend is that other person with whom we can look at a tree and say, "Isn't that beautiful," or sit on the beach and silently watch the sun disappear under the horizon. With a friend we don't have to say or do something special. With a friend we can be still and know that God is there with both of us.

sickies

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 12:00:00 +0000

It's been quiet around here, and it may continue to be for a little while longer as we fend off a pair of sinus infections. All the best to you and yours during this beautiful Holy Week.

bruises by train

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Not long ago, I was tooling around in my car and a Train song came on the radio. I really liked the song, and as Amazon would have it, the album was on super-sale just that day. So I plinked down my two dollars and have been enjoying it ever since. Today, I thought I'd share a different song from that album with you.

If I hear it correctly, it's two friends from high school who haven't seen each other in ages -- 10 years or more. They're catching up on each other's lives, careers, relationship statuses, etc. It's kind of a cute conversation, and they each have some big ups and downs to share. It's the chorus that I like, though. It refers to the "downs" as bruises, and it says that everybody's got 'em and they are what make for good conversation.

That idea -- that our willingness to show our "bruises" contributes to good conversation -- has been rattling around in the back of my mind as I get to know my new friends here a little better. As I share more of my history with people who haven't been around to witness most of it, I feel the weight of there being too much...too much drama, too much pain, too many seemingly bad choices (even too many babies!). I worry that my story is too much, and that I bring too much to the table, and therefore I am not enough. My friends have not once given this impression, but the insecurity persists.

This song has been a nice reminder, popping up in my memory here and there and speaking a sort of peace into the occasional storm of thoughts. It's ok, it's really ok; people will still love me, and I am not inferior...I'm even possibly more interesting! Pat Monahan is maybe not the calibre of spiritual advisor I'd seek out, but I do think he'd be a good friend (and, in my case, a celebrity crush that has lasted 13 years and counting). And with that thought, I'll leave you with this:

breaking the habit of "us"

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Mon, 04 Mar 2013 13:00:00 +0000

As I get further out from being part of an "us" and I spend more time talking to new friends, I find myself not knowing what to do when there's a relevant reason for mentioning something from my past life, whether it's a story or what. I hate feeling like I am bringing up my dead marriage and all of that, but at the same time I don't want to NOT share aspects of myself just because they are, in my memory, inextricably linked with my ex.

For example, if I am talking about dog breeds with someone (which is something I do!) it might be relevant to mention the fact that I had a border collie when I was married. I don't have her now, and my ex doesn't either (she now lives with a family that has three young kids she can herd). Sometimes just saying I used to have a border collie is enough, but sometimes there are follow-up questions that would require me to mention my ex in some way or another. Is that weird? I can't decide; regardless, though, I don't like talking about him. But I haven't figured out a workaround.

There are some times when I can just say "when I lived in Denver" or "when I was going to the Presbyterian church" or whatever, but that doesn't always work. Talking about being a single-car family, for example. These days, it makes sense that I would be a "single car family" because I'm the only adult; there was a time, however, when I was part of a pair of adults sharing one car, and I don't know how to refer to that. It's weird if I say "when I lived in Richmond, we only had one car" because the pronouns don't match up and not everyone I talk to knows I'm divorced. Gah! This kind of thing doesn't happen often, but it happened a couple of times recently so it's niggling me.

I think the biggest issue is that I still feel compelled, at some level, to tell "the whole truth" all the time. It doesn't matter that I went to a firing range because it was something my husband and I did together; all that is significant is that I've been to one. There's a shift that needs to happen, somewhere in my mind and in my habits, but identifying exactly what needs to shift and how to make it happen has proven tricky.

Maybe it's just something that comes with time. Thank goodness there's plenty of that left.

friday link, baptism edition

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Just one link today. Here's something a friend posted on Facebook recently on ways to celebrate your baptism. Just thought I'd share! It's got some great ideas for remembering your baptism and/or that of your child(ren). Maybe I'll get to do some of these with my own boy!

Do you celebrate your baptism anniversary? Would you?

i vote for the andorpersand

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Wed, 27 Feb 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Here's a little example of something my editorial colleagues and I find humorous:

Eight new and necessary punctuation marks

What strikes me as salient about these punctuation marks is that quite a few of them would offer signals about intent that would otherwise be missed due to the nature of the writing - presumably text messaging, where things are often written in haste and there isn't much opportunity to craft and nuance your words in a way that conveys your mood (for example, the "I'm not angry" and sarcasm-related punctuation). I wonder if the coming years will see the development of new punctuation (or repurposed punctuation) to meet that need.

Which one is your favorite?

some thoughts on baptism

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Mon, 25 Feb 2013 13:00:00 +0000

This school year I've been going through the adult inquirer's class at the church where I've sort of planted myself. Inquiring means I am learning about pertinent topics in Christianity and how we as Christians and as Episcopalians can begin to think about these topics.

Most recently the class talked about baptism. I have never really understood baptism, and whenever I've tried to understand baptism, I get stuck in the "infant baptism doesn't make sense" trap. In short, here's the deal: baptism is a one-time thing (at least for mainline denominations). Once you're baptized, you're baptized. You can't undo it and you can't re-do it, either. The purpose of baptism is to set yourself apart with a public declaration of your acceptance of God, Jesus, the gospel, etc. There's a covenant involved, where you answer questions and make a commitment out loud in front of the congregation (who also makes commitments to you). It's an act of intent, and most people are required to go through some sort of education process beforehand, because it's kind of a big deal.

So because it's kind of a big deal, it's a one-time-only thing, and it's a personal commitment, the question is, why do we baptize babies? They aren't capable of making this commitment and shouldn't we let them choose for themselves? I was generally of this persuasion until this last inquirers class. That's when one of the other parents in my discussion group said something about how meaningful the line in the Episcopal baptismal covenant says "you are marked as a Child of God" (or something like that), and I started to rethink my stance.

It probably goes without saying at this point that Gabriel isn't baptized. This is in part because I wasn't sure I "agreed" with infant baptism, and it's also in part due to the fact that his dad is a minister and there is some inherent conflict there that I am not quite ready to face. If I had him baptized, I would want it to be at our church, where the people know and love him and he'll presumably grow up. I imagine Brian pictures himself as the one to baptize Gabriel, but I for personal reasons have a lot of reservations about that, because among other things I think it would be painful, awkward, or both, especially if he's still a baby. We could do it at my church, and the priests there have offered to have Brian involved if we did that, but it would be strange for me to see Brian in that context. We could do it at whatever church he'll be serving next, but that would be really weird for me, and I'm not sure what the point is if it's a congregation where no one knows him and he has no real connections. Someone suggested doing it at Brian's home church, where people know and care about all of us, but I don't plan on darkening their threshold any time soon, so that's out for me, too. There aren't any other churches in the area where we have any ties, too. So if I want to pursue this baptism thing, I am left with doing it somewhere not-at-a-church, which is fine except it kind of goes in contrast to one of my biggest draws to baptism -- the congregational witness. So I'm back to thinking maybe I shouldn't impose baptism on him and let him decide for himself when he's older, so we can follow his lead.

Hearing that line about him being marked as a child of Christ, though -- that's something this mama very much wants for her little boy.

for all you overly curious out there

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Just a little heads up: I've added a new Goodreads widget to the blog layout.

Don't you just love that word? Widget. Hilarious.

a deeper lent

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Mon, 18 Feb 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Lent has always been a part of my spiritual life, but I don't think I ever got a very good understanding of it. For the longest time, Lent was when we draped stuff in purple (yay Lutherans!) and talked about "giving up" things. Chocolate, sodas, and TV were popular choices. Note: I think my lack of understanding probably had more to do with my not paying attention than it did an improper or inadequate theological upbringing.

Turns out there's more to lent than just swearing off candy for a while and then giving up three days in. The Anglicans (and the Catholics, which, duh) talk about focusing on three spiritual practices during lent: fasting, prayer, and almsgiving. These are three areas of spiritual growth that I think are pretty important for any devout Christian (of any traditional persuasion). We should pray, that's a given. Fasting is something that we maybe don't think about very often but in general is seen as something that "is done" from time to time. And almsgiving -- giving your money to causes -- is certainly not an unfamiliar topic to the churched.

This lent, as I start to take on some of the spiritual practices of the liturgical year, I am thinking about how to incorporate these three lenten teachings into my day. I do a lot of conversational praying as I go about my regular business (generally of the "help, thanks wow" variety, and most frequently of a "helphelphelphelphelp me please!!!" or "thankyouthankyouthankyou" bent) but sitting down and praying is not really something that is a part of my life right now. Prayer, for what it is, is maybe not too difficult of a practice to incorporate, at least in theory.

Almsgiving is similarly pretty easy to figure out. We live with such abundance in this society, and how many of us never even realize it? My income technically puts me below the poverty line, but I am still astounded every day by the ease of my life, the abundance I have, the good fortune I so easily take for granted. Alms is kind of a funny word, not one that we hear or use all too often outside of Ash Wednesday services, but the concept of giving to those less fortunate is not unfamiliar and it's not too tough to figure out. I regularly donate my excess stuff to Goodwill and I tithe to my church and another ministry, but I'm sure there's more I can do. The tzedakah box my mom brought back from Israel for Gabriel is currently sitting on my kitchen table with my bible, lent book, and candle, and I'm pondering how I might be able to combine the tzedakah tradition of Judaism with the lenten practice of almsgiving in a way that makes sense for my situation and will be teachable in the coming years.

Fasting...yikes. Nobody wants to talk about fasting, right? We used to refer to giving up chocolate (or whatever) for lent as a fast, but I don't really think that's what the church founders had in mind. Any significant fasting in the not-eating-anything-all-day sense is probably not feasible for this nursing mama, but I am poking around for thoughts on fasting a meal here and there, or maybe doing the no-meat-Fridays thing or something like that.

So. Prayer, fasting, almsgiving. These are what's been on my mind lately. They're adding up for a new, rich, deeper take on lent this year, and it's been really cool to move into this season.

Do you do anything different to mark the days of lent? Do you think there's merit to participating in these old traditions?

ash wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Wed, 13 Feb 2013 13:00:00 +0000

It's Ash Wednesday today. I've got a few things to do, not the least of which is to have a visible sign of my faith placed on my forehead. Below, I've pasted one of the scriptures for today. It's a piece of a larger something I memorized in the 6th grade...odd how I "knew" this scripture better back then, being able to recite it and all, but I didn't really know what it was saying.

I'm contemplating the practice of fasting this Lent. Have you ever fasted?

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

6:1 "Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.

6:2 "So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward.

6:3 But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,

6:4 so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

6:5 "And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward.

6:6 But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

6:16 "And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward.

6:17 But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face,

6:18 so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

6:19 "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal;

6:20 but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal.

6:21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

preparing for lent, with a toddler

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Tue, 12 Feb 2013 13:00:00 +0000

For a while now -- maybe a couple of years or so -- I've had an interest in celebrating the liturgical year, observing major feasts and festivals and liturgical traditions. I think it stems from my Lutheran upbringing steeped in liturgy. Before I was pregnant, I found myself browsing family blogs written by moms who are intentional about making church celebrations a part of their home life. Then I was pregnant, and then my marriage fell apart, and then I had a baby...and my interest in liturgy at home grew but my capacity to read shrank.

Now that I'm getting re-calibrated, I'm turning once again to liturgy, at church and at home. Really, liturgy is what drew me to the Episcopal church, and this rich church history of tradition and ritual is something I want to learn more of and teach my son.

Advent was kind of the beginning for me to dig back in, find the books, revisit the blogs, and get my head in the right place. Since then, I've been aware of what's going on in the liturgical year but I haven't done a whole lot of actual practice yet. And now, step one is right around the corner: Lent.

There's a real desire to carry Gabriel along with me and make these celebrations a part of his life from the beginning of his consciousness. He is not old enough to pick up on any of the significance of Lent, which leaves me a lot of room to get my feet wet and figure out how these celebrations might look for our little family. I'd like to involve him in ways that are age-appropriate, even though he isn't quite learning anything yet. It can still be a part of our collective memory -- the family memory. Celebrating the church calendar is something that we will say we do, that we've been doing since before the time he could remember anything.

Right now the primary resource is a book I found maybe a year and a half ago, called To Dance With God. I've read the book and it is rich with ideas, but it is so much more than a list of festivals and rituals. It's a resource for understanding the basics of theology, for finding ways to distill big concepts into things that can be grasped by people of all ages and experiences. I think maybe it's from a Catholic bent, but I could be wrong about that.

In addition, these are three of the blogs that I've found to be particularly helpful as I get my head around this whole church-at-home thing:

Like Mother, Like Daughter (this is actually one of my very favorite blogs of all time, hands down)
Watkins Every Flavor Beans (this one has a Montessori/Godly Play approach that I just love-love-love)
Carrots for Michaelmas (this one also has a homesteading/DIY sort of aspect, which of course I eat up)

At least two of these blogs are from Catholic families, though I haven't found that to get in the way of what I'm after. Episcopalians aren't necessarily too far from Catholics when it comes to liturgy, as best I can tell, though there is maybe not as strong of a push on the saint stuff.

If you're curious about celebrating the liturgical year, I'd recommend starting with any of the things I named above. I've found Pinterest to be another great resource, especially for digging up ideas for a specific feast or holiday (you can find my specific Pinterest board here). And there's also the good old internet search, beloved standby of mine (that's my referral link to Swagbucks, which I also love-love-love).

nouwen on forgiveness

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Mon, 04 Feb 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Some stuff converged, my tired brain sputtered into gear, and I'm now on kind of a theology kick (in case the Bonhoeffer stuff didn't give that away). Part of my self-imposed theology overdose is a subscription to the daily meditation from the Henri Nouwen society. Each morning -- or maybe it's just weekday mornings...quite frankly, I'm too tired to notice -- I get a little email with a piece of Nouwen in it.

Have you read much Henri Nouwen? He's like totally dreamy. My friend Angie introduced him to me several years ago when I was going through a particularly rough patch, and he's been one of my besties ever since. He's always got something new and relevant to add, and he does it in a way that challenges you without scolding you or coddling you. You should meet him. Here, I'll introduce you! This is what he told me the other day:

Healing Our Memories

Forgiving does not mean forgetting. When we forgive a person, the memory of the wound might stay with us for a long time, even throughout our lives. Sometimes we carry the memory in our bodies as a visible sign. But forgiveness changes the way we remember. It converts the curse into a blessing. When we forgive our parents for their divorce, our children for their lack of attention, our friends for their unfaithfulness in crisis, our doctors for their ill advice, we no longer have to experience ourselves as the victims of events we had no control over.

Forgiveness allows us to claim our own power and not let these events destroy us; it enables them to become events that deepen the wisdom of our hearts. Forgiveness indeed heals memories.

See what I mean? Dreamy. And now I shall add my clunky thoughts and ruminations on my own navel.

Forgiveness is not something I think about often. It's one of those things that comes fairly easily to me, I think. Relationships are important to me, and I don't often find it hard to set aside past hurts, accept apologies, and move forward, restored. I do this maybe to a fault, becoming permissive and even complicit in really bad behavior, but ultimately my particular ability to forgive is something I see as a gift, and something for which I often thank God. Unforgiveness is destructive -- I've witnessed it, firsthand. It's destroyed families, it's ended friendships that once brought joy, and it killed my marriage.

Divorce goes hand-in-hand with unforgiveness. Unwillingness to forgive is what often leads to the decision to divorce, and then as two people move through the divorce process they tend to dredge up old pain and inflict new wounds. It's just part of the process. Two people make vows, and then one or both of them breaks those vows. The act of divorce, in itself, creates a wound; bad behavior and clouded judgment just worsen it.

As I was reading about forgiveness, I entertained this brief thought of "I'm so glad I don't struggle with this. I don't need to forgive anyone -- I've already done it." Come on, Ashley. And then it hit me: I haven't forgiven myself for my divorce.

I don't really cry over my marriage anymore. Really the only time I get particularly emotional is when I think about my son, and how this divorce will affect him for the rest of his life. Being divorced feels like a failure -- specifically it feels like I've failed Gabriel, in the biggest of ways, before he was even born. It's been a hard thing to get past.

As I tried to share the depth of this feeling to a new friend the other day, I was met with encouragement. I don't remember the exact words (self-loathing makes it hard to hear, sometimes) but the message was something like this: "You aren't a failure. You're a person who's had some bad things happen, and look where you are now." And that's something I apparently needed to hear, judging by how it reached me. But there was something more, something left unaddressed. This little bit from Nouwen showed me what.

"We no longer have to experience ourselves as the victims of events we had no control over."

Divorce isn't what I wanted, and because of that, it's felt like getting divorced is something that "happened to me" instead of something I specifically did. There's a deep feeling of failure in that. Maybe it's the sense of powerlessness that comes from being divorced. Maybe it has to do with my ultimate failure of choosing a partner*. Either way, feeling like a victim -- in this case, of my own stupidity -- is hand-in-hand with feeling like a failure.

But if I take all of three seconds to look around, it becomes obvious that I'm not a failure. My son is healthy. He is happy. He's growing and engaging and he even pees on the potty occasionally (a fact I managed not to share with my friend at dinner but have not managed to excise from this blog post). I keep both of us fed, and 98% of the time it's not junk food. I dredge up enough work each month to get the bills paid. We have a small but beautiful place to live that is slowly...slowly...becoming our home.

Clearly I am not a failure.

"Forgiveness allows us to claim our own power and not let these events destroy us; it enables them to become events that deepen the wisdom of our hearts."

Now I've got some work to do.

Have you ever been surprised by how hard it was to forgive someone or something? Is reconciliation important to you, or would you rather just cut and run? Who's your favorite theologian/philosopher/great thinker?

*Some people have criticized me for marrying so quickly, but the truth as far as I can see it is that we could have dated for years and I still would have chosen him -- the things that would have been red flags to me were a direct result of marriage and probably wouldn't have shown up beforehand. Maybe he would have chosen differently, but I don't know. We were both poor judges back then.

friday links: quiet little life edition

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Fri, 01 Feb 2013 13:00:00 +0000

- Some sweet, gentle thoughts on the magnificent and the mundane -- It really touches me to read that some moms do feel the way I do about being home with kids, deliberately, instead of drawn to work or elsewhere.

- Such rich, profound wisdom form Ann Voskamp about failure and perspective - I come back to this post from Ann Voskamp regularly.

- An oldie but goodie from Newspaper Blackouts - This one has stuck with me. Maybe you'll love it, too?

So tell me! Do you have any fun weekend plans? We have a little bit of adventure scheduled...Gabriel has a photo shoot(!!!) tomorrow, and then there are baptisms and an ordination at the church, which I'm looking forward to celebrating.

finished object report: fox scarf

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Wed, 30 Jan 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Behold, Gabriel's 2012* winter scarf:

The pattern is here (with a semi-wonky English translation at the bottom) and here's my project page on Ravelry. I made some modifications based on projects other people had done. Knitted with yarn from my stash.

Grown-ups love it. Gabriel is less enthused. Let's just say there's a reason I made him a scarf that effectively cannot be pulled off by tiny toddler hands.

Welcome to our den, little fox!

*selected, knitted, and finished in January 2013

bonhoeffer: thoughts on creation

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Mon, 28 Jan 2013 13:00:00 +0000

From last Wednesday's entry in the Bonhoeffer book:

IN MILLIONS OF YEARS OR IN INDIVIDUAL DAYS

When the Bible speaks of six days of creation, it may well have thought of a day as consisting of a morning and a night, yet it may not have meant the day literally, but may have thought of it as the power of the day that makes the physical ay what it is, as the natural dialectic of creation. When the Bible speaks of "day" here, the discussion does not concern the physical problem at all. It does not matter to biblical thought whether creation happened in rhythms of millions of years or in individual days; we have no reason to value the latter or to doubt the former. But the question as such does not concern us. There is no doubt that the biblical author, to the extent that his words are human words, was subject to his time, his knowledge, and his limitations -- nor is there any doubt that through these words only God himself is speaking to us of his creation. The daily works of God are the rhythms in which creation occurs.

p. 24 (not an affiliate link)
Your thoughts? Here are some of mine:

I agree. As I grew up in a pretty conservative evangelical Christian environment (church, school, home to a lesser extent) I was told, again and again, that God created the world in six literal days, that anyone who said otherwise was misguided at best and was waging a war against Christians at worst, and if I were ever to doubt the six day thing, it was a slippery slope from these minor doubts about biblical inerrancy into a murky pit of sin and Liberal Christian-ness that would make God weep and jeopardize my soul.

I bought this, for a while. I don't buy it anymore. These days, I more or less hold the stories in scripture lightly. I accept them at face value, knowing it's possible that all these thousands of years and how many transcriptions and translations later, maybe the words aren't exactly the same as they were, and maybe there's some context missing, and maybe there's more to the story than what appears on the page. The God I believe in -- the one I understand to be present in the bible and today -- is certainly capable of creating the world in 6 days, creating man from dust, and bringing a baby to a virgin. Maybe he did, but maybe he didn't and maybe the creation story is a giant metaphor. But this is not the essential matter on which my faith hinges, and I am willing to accept the ambiguity.

And now it's your turn. Am I a loon and Bonhoeffer a heretic for suggesting that creation wasn't six literal days? Or maybe we are loons and heretics for suggesting that creation DID occur in six literal days. What are your thoughts?

bonhoeffer

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Fri, 25 Jan 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Are you familiar with Dietrich Bonhoeffer? I'm only slightly familiar with his name and story. By many accounts, though, he was a great theologian and his writings are worth the read.

Two years ago (gasp) when I started taking an interest in theology, I came across a collection of brief excerpts of Bonhoeffer's essays and other writings. The book is one of those "year of daily devotion" books, and each day of the year has its own reading. At some point during that year (was it really two years ago?) someone gave me the book, and I set out to read it in 2012.

Confession: I made it about three days into the new year and realized that 2012 was not the right year.

When 2013 dawned, I thought again about reading Bonhoeffer. I have a little bit of traction now -- at least there's enough to read a paragraph or two on most days -- so I picked the book up again and put it in my reading basket. I'm now 23 days in, and I think it's possibly going to stick this time.

"Doing theology" does not come naturally to me. I've wanted to incorporate more of a spiritual dimension to my days, especially after having a baby, because God should be a part of our inner and outer lives if we profess to be Christians. I used to have a ton of "bible knowledge" and the easy, pat answers that you learn in Sunday school that supposedly answer all of your questions but lose their efficacy as you move into adulthood. Nowadays, I feel sometimes like I'm missing out on a spiritual depth that is within reach, if I only make the time to go there. This Bonhoeffer book is one step in that direction.

Who knows - maybe this year Gabriel will start asking questions about God and faith, and maybe I'll even have some answers for him.

(note: the link is not an affiliate link.)

eli at 35mm

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 13:00:00 +0000

I'm the lucky girl who received a super-awesome new camera for Christmas. With it, I received a couple of new lenses. One is a zoom-y telephoto. The other is a 35mm prime lens.

Eli says I should go photograph that really interesting thing over there.

I've been doing a little bit of practice with the new gear. Eli is a common subject, as has been his habit for the past 7 years. Eli tends to get a little timid when the camera is on him. He thinks the flash is going to go off, every time, and this disturbs him. He recognizes the "I'm focused!" beep the camera makes, and he closes his eyes in anticipation of the flash. I have about a billion photos of Eli looking nervous with closed eyes. For example:

Eli says he hates cameras.

Sometimes I try to humor him by pointing the lens not-at-his-eyes, but he doesn't seem to notice the difference. I'm just glad he returns the favor by sitting still long enough to get a few pictures. I have approximately 45 seconds of camera practice time in any given day, and it's nice to have a live model who doesn't clamor for that curious thing mama keeps holding up to her face.

Eli says he's ready for his manicure.

I also have the option of photographing Gabriel while he's napping. He sleeps by a window and there is this delicious, beautiful natural light in there during nap time. Sometimes I just can't pass up the opportunity, but most days I am not willing to risk waking him. It happened once....that was a rough day.

Here's an out-take. Let's all pretend my apartment doesn't look like this approximately 95% of the time.

our setup

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Mon, 21 Jan 2013 13:00:00 +0000

I thought it might be interesting to share our current setup and structure here.

Gabriel and I share a 900-square-foot apartment. It's a good size for us, even a little on the roomy side. Our apartment is situated over the detached garage to the home my mom shares with her husband. I used to describe it as "an apartment over the garage" or something like that, but then I had friends over and they all said it's too nice to call it a garage apartment. So now I call it "the loft" in my head. Our neighborhood is safe and secluded, a great place for Little G to spend his first years.

Living with family can be perilous and I happen to like my independence, however delusional it may be to prop up some sense of "independence" at this particular point in my life with these particular trappings. However, I have a lease and pay rent. It's not an insignificant rent, either. I work from home and I rarely take a day off, because independence costs money.

I am more or less "unpacked" but I don't quite feel "settled" yet and it is definitely nowhere near "done" in here. Of the 7 windows, one has a curtain and two more have sheers; the only artwork that's hung is what's in Gabriel's room (not counting the stuff that has already fallen off the walls in there), and I'm pretty sure I will spend the spring re-doing every closet and overhauling every storage-related decision I've made to this point. But it's a great apartment and I love living here. I shudder to think of what our lives would look like if I'd stayed in Denver.

It's weird to say this and really weird to think it, but I am blessed beyond measure to have this life I call mine. I never thought this would be how I wrapped up my 20s, but here we are and here we go.

why I use cloth gift bags

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Wed, 16 Jan 2013 13:00:00 +0000

I like to decorate for Christmas somewhere between the day after Thanksgiving and the first few days of December. My decorating isn't a huge to-do, but I do the must-haves. Something else I like to do is buy Christmas presents over the course of the year, and then finish my shopping on black Friday/cyber Monday with all the sales and whatnot. That usually translates into a huge pile of gifts that need to be wrapped.

A couple of years ago, to save myself time and money and also to exercise some budding creativity, I started making gift bags. I buy a couple of yards of Christmas fabric every year in mid-December when it goes on sale and add to my collection of bags. It paid off immediately, and it continues to pay off now both as a money savings and an efficiency thing.

The gift bags are very simple to make if you have a functioning sewing machine. I won't bother with a tutorial because there are about a billion already available. Mine are the extremely simple "cut a rectangle, fold it in half with the right sides together, sew along the two edges that share a corner with the folded edge, flip it inside out, and sew a ribbon about 1/3 down" variety, though I could easily get fancier with hemming and decorative edging and making the bottoms more box-shaped and drawstrings and blah blah blah. I don't have time for that nonsense.

And because I had this nifty stash of gift bags ready to go, I saved myself a lot of time and a LOT of trouble with gift-wrapping. I had a pile of presents to wrap, and I was able to get it done in about 10 minutes. Add another 10 minutes to account for time spent making new bags for the oddly shaped gifts, and I was done.

It was glorious.

File this under "do your single-mom-self a favor."

telling my story

noreply@blogger.com (bashtree) — Mon, 14 Jan 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Most people say there are two sides to every story. I don't agree. I once heard someone say that the truth is like a coin. There's one side - heads - and the other side, tails - and then there's the edge around the coin, the third "side." That third side is the truth. Here, you'll find my side with what I hope is a reasonable allowance for the edge of the coin.

A dear friend last month encouraged her blog readers to keep telling their stories. That message from her reached me when I was feeling particularly sensitive to the fact that I have not felt very free to tell my own story - the one about my marriage. Becoming the former spouse of a pastor has been a little weird to navigate, and there's been a lot of internal and external pressure to keep things neat and tidy.

It occurred to me at some point in November that I have more or less allowed myself to be put in a box (or maybe I put myself there?) as far as what I do and don't say about Brian and how things got to where they did. At first, I (mostly) felt the need to restrain myself from going on a "smear campaign" against him. I was hurting, and I didn't want to become that angry woman who flames her ex everywhere. In a (mostly successful) effort not to say too much, I think I basically stopped saying anything.

As was my habit in our marriage, I became complicit in a cover-up, in an unspoken acknowledgement that the illusion of "good"ness is more important than the truth of broken-ness. The general audience of our lives was shocked when we split, because we'd both done a decent enough job of pretending that things were good between us and we let the banner of "pastor and wife and new baby" fill in the gaps.

There are certainly things I would do differently, if now-Ashley could talk to then-Ashley. I would approach counseling with more honesty. I would keep my mouth shut a little more, assume a little less. I would make the desperate phone calls to wise friends before it was too late. There are a thousand other things.

I still struggle emotionally with my choice to leave Denver, though I know it was the best thing I could do for Gabriel given the options of "bad, terrible, and even worse." But it's been hard, selfishly. I know it has been all too easy for people to "come to their own conclusions" about what happened between us, and I'm not foolish enough to think that those conclusions would favor me. It's taken some real work to embrace the fact that I cannot control what goes on in the "ether" (and any attempts to do so would be unbecoming of me). I was the one who suddenly moved away with the baby, you know, and he's the one who's an ordained minister of word and sacrament. Pastors don't divorce their wives and leave their brand new babies. But the truth is, sometimes they do. Sometimes people are so full of pain, fear, and insecurity that they make terrible decisions. You aren't exempt, I'm not exempt, and pastors aren't exempt. We are all broken.

So this is my story. A month before my first baby was born, my husband and I separated; a year later, we were divorced. It wasn't my idea and it wasn't what I wanted. Ultimately, however, I didn't have a choice. I moved back to where our families live, knowing I would need the support and wanting an alternative to job-hunting and daycare. And now we are a broken family of sad statistics, preparing for lifetimes of consequences and finding ever-increasing pockets of joy.