Disconnected

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It's been nearly a week since my iPhone suddenly stopped working. I made a call to my husband that went off without a hitch. Then, I tried to text Colleen. My phone popped up a message that said there was no SIM card. Since there had been a SIM card three seconds earlier for the phone call and I was sitting the same place, with the same phone, I figured it was a little cyber hiccup. Tried again. Same message. Colleen is in the jungle in Costa Rica; only God knows where half the texts I send her actually go. I tried to text Katherine. Katherine is in very civilized Dallas. She has a fully functional iPhone. It didn't work. I tried calling home. Nothing. I tried calling Mary Beth. Nothing. 

Over the next couple of days, I backed up everything on my phone and then deleted and reset. Well, I tried to reset. One cannot reset without a SIM card and my phone continues to insist I don't have one. After two very disappointing trips to AT&T and Apple, I still don't know why my phone doesn't work. I do know that, at the time it suddenly quit working, I was 24 days past my warranty. 

My husband is going to try to see if he commands more respect from either AT&T or Apple. Mike spent all last week in Miami. Just as he arrived home for the weekend, his studio in DC flooded. My sense is that between catching up at the DC office and mopping up at the DC office, phone relacement for me is going to slip a bit on the priority list. I'm actually fine with that for now.

It's become a bit of an experiment. I decided not to fight it too much. This was as good a time as any for an Instagram break. I set a limit on Facebook to 5 minutes a day, mostly just to check local groups with  pertinent kid information. And I promised myself to embrace this opportunity to re-think my habits before getting a new phone.

I figured it would be a day or two. It's not, but God knows I'm a slow learner.

I do miss my phone. First, I miss it for the genuinely important things. There are at least three life-or-death situation text messages I have not read. Two are from friends facing tragic illness. One is much happier. When one of my friends in a tragic situation told me on Friday that she was worried I was mad at her because she'd been texting with bad news for three days and I hadn't responded, I felt terribly. I had put the word out on Facebook that my phone was out of commission, but that's not very reliable, is it? She and I made a promise to have a good, long face-to-face chat. Still, though, I'm haunted that I wasn't there to help in the moment.

When my phone first died, I felt very out of sorts. My phone, for better or worse, is an integral tool in many of my habits. I quickly learned that I check my mail far more often than necessary. Still, since I wasn't checking mail, I nearly missed the email demanding that I fax Stephen's sub order before a deadline or leave him to go hungry on a long out-of-town soccer trip. I've been checking too often, but how often is enough? I have no idea. One of the reasons I wanted a smart phone was because so many people associated with my children assume everyone has one. Checking mail whenever, wherever makes my mom job more efficient.

My prayer routine was seriously affected. Nearly everything was tied to my phone. I've since transferred prayers and such to paper, but I do miss the ease with which it was all there, ready and waiting. And I miss my chapel bells. On the other hand, I like very much that my phone isn't the last thing I put to bed at night these days. I think I will continue to keep night prayers in paper format even after I have a new phone.

I miss my iPhone camera. Ideally, its absence will force me to get to know my new camera and lens. My iPhone was instrumental in developing in me an eye for capturing moments in pictures. Before my iPhone, my brain always processed even the simplest things in words. I did--and still do--think in narrative. After getting an iPhone--now 1 year and 30 days ago--I began to think in pictures too. Or, maybe I always thought in pictures, but now I had a tool for capturing those thoughts with images. I miss that. A lot.

And I am pretty bummed that I missed the virtual waiting room texting party while a small group of us prayed for Patti as she labored and delivered her baby boy on Mother's Day. Early in the labor (the day before Mother's Day), I got an "I'm so sorry your phone doesn't work" email and I suggested that updates be texted to Christian's phone. Poor Christian, it was more than he really wanted to know! Poor me. Christian passed along news when it was convenient, not as it was happening. I had promised Patti to pray and pray I did. I didn't need to know the details. God knew. So often, when we get a prayer request, we press for details. Those details don't make us better prayer warriors. They just satisfy our curiosity. So, I prayed without knowing the updates in real time. I will admit, however, that I broke down on Sunday and asked for Mary Beth's iPhone so I could log out of her Instagram account and on to my own, only to see pictures of Patti's baby.

I was very late to the cell phone party. Everyone I knew had a cell phone when I first got mine for Mother's Day, 12 years ago. It was a super simple phone. I didn't want a phone I could take with me, but our house was on the market and our realtor really thought it was a good idea. I rarely called anyone but Mike. And when Mike called me, he could almost never reach me. It drove him nuts. I always deliberately left the phone in the car. I figured I only needed it when away from the house, so why even bring it inside? If it was in the car, I wouldn't forget it. I existed that way until about last year.

Until 1 year and 30 days ago, I didn't have a smartphone. I didn't even have a QWERTY keyboard. And I didn't much mind. I really wanted an iPhone for the camera. Since acquiring a smartphone, I've learned to appreciate text messaging. Mostly, I love to be able to send little notes to my husband and children. With Mike, I flirt. With my kids, it's so handy to be able to text, "Dude, I just put Sarah to sleep AGAIN up here. I don't care if it's overtime, do not yell at that TV, no matter how great the goal." And yes, I write it all out, just like that, with commas and such, because by golly, if we are all going to being writing so much more than we used to, let's practicing writing well.

Frantic bedtime texts aside, I am definitely missing being able to text my kids. I didn't recognize what a great tool texting has been in staying very connected to my teens.

When my phone first went down, I posted to Facebook. I was looking for suggestions on fixing it and I wanted to let people who usually call or text know that I was out of touch. Gretchen wrote this comment:

I haven't had a cell phone since December...sadly, that coincides with the date I lost all my friends. I am completely isolated from all my real life "friends."

I replied: do you still have a home phone? Can you call that way? Can you email them?

And she said:  I can call them or email them...but, most people want to text so they won't call me. I have a whole blog post going together on how the cell phone/internet ruined real conversations and friendships.

I thought she must be exceptionally unlucky in friendship. I have since discovered that there is a certain degree of truth to what she's saying. People are in the habit of texting instead of talking. It's been very quiet around here, despite my repeated attempts to persuade people to call my home phone. And of course, I'm much less available to those people because I'm only available when I'm at home. It's been really interesting to see how that dynamic works. It's also been very heartwarming to know that there are some people in my life who will always find a way to share.

It's going to be at least a couple more days until I have a cell phone again. I'm still thinking for that perfect balance of use. Surely, most people who read this will think I'm overthinking and it's ridiculous.

Regardles the outcome of this experiment, I need to cultivate a big camera habit. I have no pictures of the beautiful Mother's Day dinner Mike and Christian crafted. I have no pictures of Patrick (and Zach), bearing roses and surprising me with a visit on Mother's Day. I have no pictures of the glorious place where Nick played soccer. Well, actually, Mike took about a zillion pictures of Sarah there and they are wonderful. I asked him to send them to me, but he must have sent the small files. They're all pixelated. Maybe I can share those tomorrow. There no chance I'm calling the flood zone (from my home phone) and asking him to send the large files.

Mary Beth did grab the big camera a few times last weekend. Nick and I spent several hours on Saturday trying to tame the jungle that wants to be my rose garden again.They were mostly prickly weeds and it was slow going. Thank goodness for Christian, who bagged eight lawn bags full of the debris. I was undistracted by texting or by photographing. We made great progress, but there are still plenty of weeds to pull. Maybe once they're all gone, a phone will appear. Or maybe not.

For more about the lovely chair (including a tutorial) and for an introduction to my new favorite blog, click here. You will be so glad you did.

Let's Try This Again

Last week, I introduced you to  Pat Gohn, author of Blessed, Beautiful, and Bodacious.

I had hoped to spark some conversation about friendship and about spirtual mentors. Since I know you all are interested in both, and since usually it's not terribly difficult to strike up a conversation here, I was surprised to see so few people chime in. I'm thinking I just picked a super busy day for almost everybody. But this is a topic thtat's become a bit of a passion for me, so I'm going to go out on a limb and give it another go.

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I am truly amazed at the wisdom Pat has crammed into these ten minutes. I think her insight is so valuable that I stopped and let my girls listen. We had an excellent conversation about how these five principles can be adapted even if you're only ten years old. Life with four daughters has given me lots of insight from an adult perspective on what makes for healthy friendships. What a lot of friendships I witness these days! Some are genuine blessings. Some, not so much. Some girls have a gift for friendship. Some must overcome some real deficits to be or to have good friends. Just as we train our children in good academic habits and good moral habits, we need to train them in good friendship habits. These are valuable lifeskills. This book is a valuable life book.

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This time, after the podcast link, I'll recap Pat's five talking points, so that even if you don't have ten minutes to stop and listen, you can walk away this morning with some truly priceless food for thought.

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Pat has recorded a thought-provoking (and sweetly short) podcast for you to listen to with your morning cuppa. She's got me thinking about spiritual motherhood. I'm reflecting gratefully on the women who have taken the time and care to mother me spiritually throughout my lifetime. They have firmly imprinted goodness on my soul and I am eternally grateful. I mean that. Eternally. Those women who have mothered me spiritually have affected eternity for me. And, through me, they have affected eternity for my children.

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Spiritual mothers aren't just mother-figures, they're the good friends in our lives, even the ones who are from our peer group. I can think of at least two women who fill that role in my life who are much younger than me, too. We are all called to spiritual motherhood. And, I think, it's in answering the call to that particular vocation that we become genuinely good friends.

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Pat has some wonderful concrete suggestions for us. They aspire to help create spiritual mothers and strike right to the heart of creating really good friends. Oh, how the world of women is desperately in need of good friends!

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This is a ten minute podcast that might change your life-- and your friendships. I'm not exagerrating here. Take some time --just ten minutes-- to listen today. The world and your world will be a better place because of it. I know mine will be.

>>>Click here to listen to ‘In the Heart of my Home hosts the Blessed, Beautiful, & Bodacious Blog Tour’ on Audioboo<<<

Five recommendations for aspiring Spiritual Mothers (Pat fleshes out these ideas in the podcast. It's only ten minutes. You'll be glad you listened.):

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1. Make friends with one another. Create a non-competitive sisterhood. 

2. Find THREE. Find three friends: one younger, one from your peer group, and one older than you are.

3. Raise the fun quotient. Do things that bring a smile to the one you want to befriend.

4. Pray for one another.  Ask. Seek. Knock. 

5. Use the four gifts of receptivity, generosity, sensitivity, and maternity. 

After you listen, come back here, because there's something in it for you and for the community here at Heart of My Home. 

Let's have a conversation. I really, truly want to hear your heart on this topic and I want to share with you in the combox. 

Who has been a spiritual mother to you? Describe her ways. You don't have to name her, but let us know how she's been a help for you. Pat talks about five gifts. How can we live those? How can we encourage one another to be spiritual mothers, both in real life and here online? 

Winning a copy of this book is very simple. Listen to the podcast. And then join the conversation. If you come back here to chat with me, you will automatically be entered to win a copy of Blessed, Beautiful, and Bodacious. I'll announce the winner right here, next week:-)

I'd Dearly Love...

...just one more day of babymoon.

To hold you close all day and night, while the world swirls by.

To know that no one expects either of us to do anything except be here in the quiet and sweetness of each other.

To inhale that precious baby smell, blessedly sure that nothing, no one, has yet hurt you.

To hope and pray, with wide-eyed innocence, that no one ever will.

To rest in the assurance that I can provide absolutely everything you need today.

Right now.

I'd dearly love just one more day of that kind of mothering. 

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Even one hour of it would be a welcome gift.

How Compassionate Are You with Yourself?

It was something I’d done with ease just the previous week. This week, on the same mat, in the same space, I struggled. A trainer spotted me, steadied me and then whispered, “Compassion. Give yourself some.” That’s all she said. I admit leaving the gym berating myself, doubting my body’s ability to ever get the hang of it, and wondering if it was even worth it to return again the next day. I’d been working hard at this, every day for a month, and I felt like a total failure because of the last hour spent struggling. Please read the rest here.

Renew

Last year was pretty huge. I was so tired, so completely spent at this year's beginning that I noticed year-in-review posts on other blogs, and just pulled the quilt up tighter around my ears and closed my eyes. I didn't have the energy--physical or spiritual--to revisit it all, even virtually. It was just.so.much.

I went through that year of many, many transitions kicking and screaming. Turns out I'm not a big fan of change. The reality is that I liked the baby years, loved them, really and never once wished them away. And yet, in the big giant year of transition, they were indeed being swept beyond my reach. I left my children for the first time. And then for the second. Someone turned four and there was no one younger than her around the table at dinner. But there was someone new at the table. And she came to be one of us. I gained a new role. The transition was absolutely unmistakeable.

Our culture is so youth oriented. For the most part it seems, no one really searches out ways to be older. We celebrate 21 in a big way. We mark midlife with black-themed birthday cards and bad jokes about being over the hill. I think I bought into that mentality a bit. And I think I know a big reason I was such easy prey.

I was so dang tired. The truth is that this wholehearted, all-in, very attached parenting style had depleted me to the equivalent of soil dust. Nothing rich was growing there. If this was what the mid-forties felt like, I could not imagine sixty.

But I have a four-year-old. And my most fervent prayer is to grow old healthy, and holy, and helpful. I want to be there for her. I want to see how the story unfolds. I want to get out of bed in the morning without my knees cracking so loudly it wakes my husband.

In the blur that was the new year, friends were choosing words for the year--just single words upon which to focus, meditate, seek wisdom. A word to live for the whole year. I couldn't wrap my brain around one. 

And then I could. Aimee said her word was renew. Renew.

That's it. That's the word. It's the word that says that this stage in life is not the beginning of the end. It's the beginning, instead, of something better, stronger, wiser, and yes--older. But older in the richest way. That's certainly being proven true in marriage. Did you know that the sweetest wine is grown from the oldest vineyards? Grapes grow best when the farmer works in harmony in with the earth, when he embraces the whole and considers that plant and the land around it as they were endowed by the Creator, with an eye towards preserving the quality for a long time. The goal of biodynamic farming is to be sustainable. When you grow grapes, you draw something from the soil and you have to replenish that. 

When we learned about biodynamic vineyards, one point that came home to me is that growing practices greatly influence how long the vineyards will continue to bear fruit. The vines where the practice is focused upon sustainable growth--where the big picture is considered and every element of farming is oriented towards ensuring health of the vines down deep and over time--are the vines that bear the sweetest fruit. At first, the explanation of biodynamic farming sounds a bit hokie. But then, you can literally taste and see that the fruit borne of the wisdom of old is of a superior quality.

This image works so well for me. The Bible is rich with imagery of vineyards. Clearly, God wants us to consider how to grow in a sustainable way in order to renew the face of the earth. I've never been more certain of that than I was this morning. I had written the above over the course of the last few weeks. I clicked over to visit Aimee in order to link to her in my post. When I did, I learned she's writing today about sustainable homeschooling. My jaw dropped and I smiled widely at God's thunk over my head. If ever I asked for a sign that I was on the right track, I got a clear answer at 7:00 AM on Tuesday January 29th while visiting Aimee's blog. It's a post that just might easily have catapulted to my favorite home education post ever this morning. There is wisdom there, my friends. Rich, rich wisdom. Get this: middle aged wisdom. Yep. There is wisdom and it's invaluable.

I look around at the friends with whom I've had babies and I am blessed to know that they've grown wise. How amazing! We all learned something during those hazy, intense, sleep-deprived years.

So, now I embrace renewal. I look to tend the vineyard of my soul, to be sure, but I am not going to neglect the rest of me any more. The big picture of renewal is one that encompasses physical health, spirtual growth, creative energy and enthusiasm, and an invigorated sense of hope and optimism for the future. I look to my home, to my homeschooling, to the relationships within these walls and to the people I love beyond these walls. Renewal. All of it is waiting to be made new again. 

What a different perspective than that of a withering towards an inevitable end. We can renew and renew and renew again, until our dying breath. God is generous that way.

I've talked a bit about stillness. About allowing Him to come in the silence.

Be still and know that I am God.

The last two weeks at Mass, an old familiar hymn has settled on my soul in a new way. I've listened to You Are Mine and heard the refrain of stillness. I will come to you in the silence. But I've also heard the rest. I heard the echoes of Isaiah 43:1

But now, thus says the LORD,

who created you, Jacob, and formed you, Israel:

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by name: you are mine.

There is nothing to fear. I am redeemed. 

And the promise of John 14:27

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid

Transitions can be scary. Aging can be scary. Renewal, though? The sustainable model of growth that keeps us renewing until we reach heaven? That's peace.

Last year, was a hard year. It was exhausting. It was a compost year, I think. A year of creating very fertile ground for renewal.