Jennifer's Writings

Super Fine

As my kids get older my new strategy for bath time is to put them in swimsuits so they can still take a bath together.  Skirting back and forth between the bathroom and kitchen I check on them while starting dinner. Stirring vegetable beef soup I call out, "Maddi! Jordan! Are you okay?"

"Yes!" Comes the reply in unison and then Jordan adds, "Good."

"Good? How good?" I ask to make sure I can hear both voices, my assurance they are okay for sixty more seconds.

"100," Maddi tells me as I walk back into the bathroom.

"What does 100 mean?" I ask her.

"We're super fine," she says.

Super fine. I love that. I want to be super fine.

I want to be super fine with my day. Super fine with my kids. Super fine in my friendships. Super fine with God. Super fine with my work. Super fine with my insecurities. Super fine with how I share and give to others who need a gift only I can give. Super fine with setting boundaries. Super fine with my weaknesses because this means I am finally accepting myself as I am.

Then I can copy my son and daughter and say, "I am good. I am 100. I am super fine."

Cartwheels

Maddi's new love--cartwheels. Outside, inside, down the aisles of the grocery store, in the living room, at the neighbor's house, at grandma's house, at church. She can be found numerous times a day flipped upside down, practicing her form.

Her brother tries to copy her without the same success. With shoulders slumped he says, "I can't do a cartwheel!"

"Jordan, you have to practice!" his sister instructs.

Jordan isn't too interested in taking his sister's advice and decides to play with his toy cars instead. 

Isn't it true that anything worth learning, anything worth cultivating, anything we want badly enough is worth the practice? In fact, our most valued talents own more meaning and merit when we have given our best work. 

Practice loving your family. Practice listening. Practice something outside your comfort zone. Practice something new. You have to practice.

Move--Put it on my Checklist

One of the main things I talk about when I speak for different events is the concept of moving--the importance to do something along the journey of grief, even if it seems small. Sometimes the most significant blessings in our lives are small and ordinary--often the same things we take for granted. I've told many people that I'm thankful to not be in bed with the covers over my head. Moving is my strategy for healing.

A guest from one of my talks shared his own thoughts on the "just move" concept. I feel compelled to share:

As my iPhone alarm goes off, I shudder at facing the world once again and hit the Off switch. I stare at the ceiling, breathing in and out, in hopes that it will give me a sign.. and then my alarm goes off again.  

"You can do it, just sit up, stand, and head to the shower," I whisper out loud to myself, trying to reassure myself just how easy it is. “Come on…  Just move.”
 
Simple, right? Roll over, sit up, stand up, and walk. I imagine it was purely mindless before losing them, but now it's a game to get out of bed. It's almost like a checklist in my head.  
 
Breathe... Check!
Out of bed... Check!
Move... Check!
Live... Check! 
 
Sounds unbelievable, right? I wish it were. Grief has had an impact,--not just for the two weeks after the funeral, but for many years after. Losing someone so essential in your life twists your sense of direction. I have had this “lost” feeling inside of me for nearly eleven years. While being “lost,” I have reacted by moving through life’s twists and turns by just thinking, “Fred move to the next moment.”  
 
Why?  It's a goal, if I can survive life long enough to get to the next moment, well then why not the next, or the next, or even the moment after that. Moving gives me the means to live my life, while not hinting to others that I'm dying inside. It's an illusion to the world, but in a sense it creates moments that can reshape your destiny. And perhaps even lead you down a new path.
 
I believe it’s the second step in grief, denial being the first and acceptance being the third. Moving creates the moments in time to figure out your next steps. All of these moments are gathered to re-create the foundation that was literally yanked out from beneath you. Think of it as a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle: It takes forever to put together, and when you think you have it, you realize you are missing a few key pieces.
 
Moving is not only a way of thinking but an action to deal with grief. Simply put, after my father’s death, I threw myself into working out. Every day it created a distraction from all events in my life. For that hour or so, I was focused on the simple yet mind-numbing aspect of moving. I hated the discipline for so many years until it finally became second nature. Then, three months ago the ability to work out was taken away from me. I was thrown into the “lost” whirlwind again, trying to find a stable place.  It was then that I realized how important moving truly is.  
 
Sounds kinda crazy, doesn't it? Two weeks ago I had a conversation with my sister-in-law about listening to one of her friends speak about her book “Believe.” She thought it would be great if we would meet and chat. I said yes, but I kept making up excuses in my head not to go. The night of the presentation, I had made it to the parking lot of the event and sat in my car for nearly ten minutes. I wasn't ready to leave, until I shook my head, turned off the car, and whispered, "Just move."

To read more of Fred's writings, please visit his blog at:

http://fredlangenfeld.typepad.com/movetothenextmoment/

Comfort

Over the weekend I spoke at Our Saviour's Lutheran Chruch in Stillwater, MN. The church is doing a book study this month on my book Believe. During the question/answer time, I was asked, "How do we comfort others who are hurting?"

This is the number one question I'm asked when I go out to speak for different events.

My response was, "There has to be more than lasagna."

I quickly clarified that meals are a very needed and appreciated gift. But, what happens when the meals disappear and your heart still hurts? What about a year after loss when you really need to talk to someone but feel like people expect you to be better? What about the random days when you feel alone but can't really explain what triggered the loneliness. Of course you know the reason, but not the specific reason for each and every breakdown. What about the day you wished just one other person in the world remembered. Maybe it's a phone call, maybe a card, maybe a hug. 

I believe the best way we comfort others is to be there. To truly, purposefully, intently, daily be there.

I'm intrigued with this topic of comfort. Please share with me what has comforted you the most on your darker days. I would love to hear from you this week!

Simple Creativity

"Making the simple complicated is commonplace; making the complicated simple, awesomely simple, that's creativity." - Charles Mingus

November will be my busiest month for speaking. The best part of sharing my story are the people I meet at each talk and learning from the unique stories they share with me. One of the attendees from my talk last week sent me the above quote. I pride myself on being creative. Still never have I thought of simplicity linked with creativity before. After reading this idea, I am enthralled. Living simple is an art form. Living out simple meaningful moments is my intention. In the chaos of everyday, what can be more creative than that?

Grief Is Sneaky

I spoke last night at Roberts Family Funeral Home in Forest Lake. One of the women attending came up to me afterward and commented, "Grief is sneaky." I smiled and said, "That is a perfect way to put it."

She continued, "You never know what grief is up to and why it does what it does."

I nodded, understanding clearly what she was describing. Just that morning I had found myself floundering and questioning if I really was the best person to give a talk about grief and healing and hope.

"Like getting up in the morning and thinking this will be a good day," she told me. "Then you look at the clock and it is 4:00 PM and you wonder what you have done all day."

Did she know she was describing my day? How accurate! Grief has a way of disorienting the best made intention. My plan was to have everything ready for my talk that morning and when I glanced at the clock it was 4:00 PM and I was scrambling to gather my things for the evening. I could blame it on being a single-mom. I could blame it on being disorganized. I could blame it on grief. And I wouldn't be wrong for that.

Or maybe I will just call it life. Life isn't always neatly packaged, perfectly in place and ready on time. Life can be sneaky for us all. In different ways, at different moments.

I'm just hoping we are sneakier. That no matter what grief delivers or life brings or even what we do to ourselves...we will find a way to out-smart, out-wit, out-stand the delirious making days and somewhere find a few composed moments. A place to say, this will be a good day...sneaky or not.

I Sure Do Love You

Jordan had a school field trip yesterday to visit a working farm. I told him to look for Officer Mike, one of his classmate’s dads who was chaperoning and who had also worked with Shawn. Jordan glanced at me as if I were trying replace his dad with someone else’s and said, “I wish my dad was alive so he could go."

I had no response. For someone who thrives on words, I couldn't find one that seemed helpful. I understand. I wish the same thing. I’m sorry. Every possible response felt like I was trying too hard...like I was playing copycat and waiting for my kids to tell me, “Stop copying me! You don’t understand! Don’t be sorry. Just bring him back.”

So I did what felt like no solution at all…I said nothing.

I gave Jordan a big kiss before he had to catch the bus.

“Your kisses sound like you’re eating me,” he said.

Again I had no words for him, but at at least this time I could laugh.

“You can only kiss me on Thursdays,” he told me. “Is today Thursday?”

“No, it’s Tuesday,” I admitted.

“Okay, then you have to wait till Thursday,” he said as he climbed the steps of the yellow bus. I shook my head at his goofy seriousness to make up new rules.

Maddi and I went Caribou to review my notes for a talk I have tomorrow. Good thing Jordan will kiss me on Thursdays so I can get a good luck kiss before I speak.

Maddi walked up to the counter and said, “I want a coffee, Mama.”

With coffee (and hot chocolate) we found a table and Maddi started to draw in the notebook I brought. She practiced writing M-A-D-E-L-Y-N-N, decorating each letter with tiny dots and filling the next page with random letters. I am raising a writer.

I was at peace. I trusted Jordan would enjoy the field trip to the farm. I trusted that Maddi would like her time alone with Mom. I trusted that life would be okay...if just for today.

I looked at Maddi, content with her notebook and told her, “I sure do love you.”

She grinned at me with a dimple that dominates her face and replied, “I sure do love you, Mama!”

Later when Jordan returned home I decided to use the only words that really seem to work. I told him the same thing, “I sure do love you.”

He started to tell me about the hayride at the farm that had real hay. Interrupting himself he looked up and said, “I sure do love you, too!”

Pride

Maddi and I went to have lunch today with Jordan at school. Maddi sat next to her big brother like she knew exactly what she was doing in hopes that maybe she could graduate into Kindergarten at the wise age of four.

Jordan bragged to his classmate across the table, also named Madeline, "This is my sister."

The little girl asked, “What's your house like?”

Jordan told her, “It's a little bit small and a little bit huge. It's medium size. We like it”

“What 'bout your bedroom?” she asked.

“It’s messy,” Jordan said.

“Does your mom clean it?” She wanted to know.

What an intuitive little girl I thought.

“We clean it together. We're a team!” Jordan said.

The children were hustled outside after lunch and I let Maddi graduate at least to recess. When we walked outside Jordan said, “You're going to like this Maddi...we have monkey bars and all the equipment you would ever like!”

I watched my son, who normally isn't overly interested in school, tell and teach his sister about his day. He spoke with pride as he explained the things that are important to him just like he spoke with pride explaining our house.

What is something important to you? Do you speak about it with pride? Do you speak with pride about the relationships in your life? How do you describe the people you love most?

Today is my day to speak about those I love with dignity and delight. Not to boast--instead to appreciate what they add to my life and recognize how much that matters.

Be About It

“Whatever I have tried to do in life, I have tried with all my heart to do it well; whatever I have devoted myself to, I have devoted myself completely; in great aims and in small I have always thoroughly been in earnest.” —Charles Dickens (1812–1870); novelist

The greatest writers of all times have some of the greatest ways to say things. And yet at times, I wonder if I can really relate. Like Dickens, can I say that my ways have always been sincere? Do I live out my life strongly?  Can I make such an intense statement to claim, I have devoted myself completely?

I heard another quote this week that sounded like a good Monday motivator. "Don't think about it--be about it."

How often do we talk about what we want to accomplish never considering how to be about it...taking a step to make it happen? Even if just one initial, tiny, non-threatening step.

I'm not trying to criticize. I need to jump into the same lake as anyone else who has found themselves unmotivated, lazy, overwhelmed or going crazy with a to-do list that really has nothing to do with what they want "to do". 

Still I strive to live with all my heart. To do it well. To live intentionally. To see a bigger picture. To work on patience with my kids. To accomplish the goals I find important. To eat more green salads. To let go of past hurts. To try new things even if it scares me. To be about my life, whatever the day holds--in both expected and unexpected surprises.