On Loneliness and Milkshakes

There is the faintest hint of crispness in the dawn these days, just a little teaser that alludes to autumn’s approach. The seasons are shifting. A previously quick early-morning grocery run took 45 minutes transit time one way yesterday. Back-to-school traffic is a real thing, friends. 

September is a season of gathering. Everywhere we go, it seems we are gathering in groups: in classrooms, on sidelines, in newly formed committees, on crowded planes and subway cars, on Braddock Road at 7:40 a.m. We are always together. And we are increasingly alone. 

Last night, I read the text from a sweet teenaged girl barely into her first week of school: I just feel left out and lonely. My daughter — several years older than the message sender — got up, grabbed her keys and told me she was off to deliver a milkshake. On her way out, she paused a moment and glanced back at me over her shoulder.

“I don’t know why we all think we are the only ones who are lonely,” she said. “Actually, I think we’re all lonely.” 

She’s right. We are.

The go-to cure for loneliness in 2015 is to log-on. Flip open a laptop. Click open a smartphone app. There you go; you’re now surrounded by oh-so-many people. And many, many times they will make you lonelier still. As we scroll through everyone’s edited versions of themselves, it seems like all those faces are close to other faces. They have to be. They huddle together to fit in the frame and freeze the moment for publication, thereby ensuring a perfectly preserved testimony to togetherness. 

Social media can make it seem like everyone has lots of friends and they are all doing spectacularly fabulous things together all the time. The illusion is achingly close to being real, and then it’s not real at all. Those events are happening and there are connections in those moments, but all is not as it seems. 

Away from the moment — away from the filters and the framing — people are lonely. Even in the midst of the crowds of people drinking lattes on stadium seats on Saturday afternoons and gathering on bus stop corners on Monday mornings, we are each in our own bubbles, yearning for connection. Increasingly, studies show that the more time we spend online, the more likely we are to use social media to displace sleep, exercise and face-to-face exchanges, leaving us vulnerable to loneliness, a sense of isolation and true depression. 

If we are going to cure the loneliness epidemic, we have to reach into the personal spaces of the people we care about and offer something better that what the screen holds. Together, we have to engage in authentic opportunities for relationship. Together, we have to commit to face-to-face (or at least voiced and heard) conversations.

Relationships require risk. They ask us to put down the mask and to step out, unfiltered, into the presence of another person. More than hashtags, we are a people who yearn for authentic, honest conversation.

To move beyond loneliness, we need to be the person who sees the need for the real, genuine presence of warmth in the lives of people around us and decides to be that friend. We need to be the girl who shows up with a milkshake in real life at 10 p.m. on a Tuesday night and says, “You feel that way? Me, too.”

A letter to myself on my wedding day...

Dear Elizabeth,

You are so excited this morning! It’s all a bit like a dream come true. Ever the morning person, you’re about to jump right out of bed and into your very big day. Your plan is to meet your friend Lori at the hair salon. Lori went to high school with you. She watched this tumultuous relationship when you and Mike first started dating/breaking up/doing-something-that-wasn’t-dating-but-wasn’t-breaking-up.  She’s excited for you and she’s glad she gets you first today, to make sure she gets those curls just right and to talk you into a little bit of makeup. Let her do it. You’ll be glad you did.

When you get home, you’ll eat strawberries and cream for breakfast and then head downstairs to get dressed. You mother will want to help you. She’ll also want to mess with your hair, the hair Lori just finished. It’s ok. She just needs something to do with her hands in order to dispel nervous energy. And, by the way, she’s right; there’s a little piece out of place. If you let her fix it, you won’t notice it in pictures 28 years later.

After pictures at home, your dad is going to get into the car with you. You’ve saved money on a limo by having your friend Sean drives his father’s Cadillac. That was a good move. Sean is dear and familiar and a bit of comic relief. Your dad is going to want to tell you every single wise thing he’s ever heard. Let him. Many, many years from now, when you see that saying the right thing at the right time has become a bit of a struggle, you are going to appreciate how many nuggets he’s tucked away over time and you are going to respect and bless him for over-thinking everything. You are also going to recognize that you do the same thing. Grant grace.

At the church, surrounded by your girlfriends, you are so ready! Still, when you peek through side windows and see Mike walk out to the altar, you audibly catch your breath and you struggle not to cry. Don’t cry. Lori and the mascara and all.  Walk down that aisle and into your future. But know it’s not going to be exactly as you think it will.

People will tell you later that they have never seen a bride and groom so relaxed and so completely at ease with each other and with the Mass. You are going to pray the whole thing together, two hearts wholly united. It definitely will be a living, breathing sacrament—in the moment and in the decades to come. And you will laugh. You will look at each other throughout and smile at each other the smiles of just knowing what the other was thinking.  That twinkling laughter, that knowing, that’s a huge blessing. Don’t ever take it for granted.

You think that this is a fairytale. You think you’ve just walked into your perfect happily ever after. You think that this young man can make you perfectly happy. He can’t. Very soon, your life will be clouded by cancer. There will be a fight for hope and a future. There will be a challenge to faith (though it will be nothing like the challenge that will come many, many years later at the hands of the church). He’s not Prince Charming.

You're both about to learn that love is work. For a lifetime. And when in doubt, always remember that our best example of love on earth is the cross. If ever you wonder what the next move is, ask yourself how you can die to self for the person you love. It's going to be Mike's turn first. He'll teach you how.

He’s the guy who will drive you to every single chemotherapy appointment.  He will hold your hair while you throw up afterwards, until one day you have no more hair to hold. Then he will tell you that he really thinks that you are beautiful when you’re bald. And you will believe him. He will also tell you that you are beautiful when the Prednisone makes you gain 20 pounds. You will not believe him, then. It's too bad, really, because those pounds are going to come and going with babies over the next two decades and then, late in the third decade, they will return again. He'll still think you're beautiful. I have no idea what it will take for you to finally believe that about yourself. As you fight cancer, the doctors will tell you will never have another baby beyond the one you had the first year you were married. You will not believe them. Good for you!

His bedside manner so honed before you were 25, Mike will be at his best in labor and delivery rooms. He will tenderly coach those babies into the world. He will look at you in your moments of doubt and fear and he will speak with all the love and respect in the world. The rare gift of this man? He values your motherhood more than words can speak. That means that every time you are tired, every time you feel like a hamster on a wheel in a household of chaos and noise, every time you toss the alumni magazine in disgust and wonder if you’ve missed the mark on this whole vocation thing, you can rest in his abiding assurance: this is your calling and it becomes you. The vision he has for the wife you will be and the life the two of you will create is what will animate that that prayerful smile before the altar on your wedding day.

That vision will animate you for a lifetime. You think it’s all going to be a cross between The Waltons and Little House on the Prairie. You have absolutely no idea what it is to raise a large family; you just know you hear God calling you to do it. You know there will be struggles, but you figure they can be solved in about an hour every time. You think that now—now that you are a 21-year-old grown up --- there will be no dysfunction; everything should function perfectly.

Here’s the thing, sweet, idealistic girl: you bring a lot of baggage to this fairytale. The greatest lesson of your life thus far has been that you are responsible for everything that goes wrong. It’s going to take a long time to unlearn that. Your husband-to-be? The most patient teacher of that unlearning. He will blow a fuse on that count occasionally, though. And when he blows a fuse, no matter what the cause, there’s one very important thing to remember. Just stop talking. Quit. Just quit trying to explain and repair. It really makes him nuts. If you’re quiet, it’s much better. If only you would learn this today…

Even if you don’t know it, because you honestly do think that there’s no doubt you’re marrying Mike forever, your greatest fear today is the fear of being left. It’s a well-founded fear. You have a good reason to believe that people who love you can walk out on you and leave you in the midst of crisis. You learned it well in your growing years. Sometimes, especially early on, this fear will overwhelm you. But after cancer, you’ll know that you don’t need to fear abandonment any more. You’ll spend many, many years living free from that fear. After cancer you'll know; he's in it for better or worse, bald or fat. Warning: The fear, though, is not dead. It’s just sleeping. There will come a time when life is really hard and people you love will hurt you. Every memory and every chilling sorrow related to abandonment will come rushing back. Stay steady. Lean in to your good man. You’ll survive. This living a life of faith is not for the faint of heart. But you are a good mom, a really, really good mom. Try so hard not to forget that. Try not to get caught up in the inevitable mistakes and failures and so to overgeneralize and think that you are a mistake and a failure.  And your husband will never leave you. He will not forsake you. He will be both Father and Son to you as much as it is humanly possible for a man to be to his wife.

Put your feet on the floor, girl. Rush headlong into this glorious late summer day. Make all the promises. Dream all the dreams. Tonight, curl up together and know that this is where you will find true peace and rest for years and years to come. Gather the grace of this day. Take strength from it. And know it’s not going to be a fairytale. It’s going to be better.

It’s going to be a faith tale.

Dinner: The Love Story Begins

We got started on Periscope yesterday, chatting a little before dinner time. I learned a thing or two, most notably that it's probably not a great idea to let my 8-year-old man the camera and thereby read the live comments, unless I know for sure that the comments will be suitable for an 8-year-old. Working on that angle today...

Notes from yesterday: The recipe for pulled pork is here. I rubbed the entire thing with whole seed mustard after I browned it and before I put it in the crockpot. Other than that, I followed the recipe as given and it was delish. Highly recommended is the recipe for homemade barbecue sauce in the book, Dinner: A Love Story

We'll be back again today, right around 4:00, with Chicken Lettuce Wraps and some kitchen chatter. Here's the recipe, based on my friend Nicole's recipe and my own improvisation, depending on what's in the fridge.

• 1 1/2 lbs chicken thighs
• 2 tablespoons wok oil
• 1 teaspoon coarse salt
• 1 teaspoon coarse black pepper
• 4 garlic cloves, chopped
• 1 tablespoon gingerroot, peeled and finely chopped
• 1/2 red bell pepper, diced
• 2 celery stalks, chopped
• 3 scallions, chopped
• can of water chestnuts, chopped
• anything that needs cooking and works here: green beans, mushrooms, carrots, peas
• 3 tablespoons hoisin sauce
•  iceberg lettuce or Boston lettuce leaves

Directions

1. Chop chicken into small pieces or pulse in the food processor if necessary.

2. Preheat large skillet to high.

3. Add oil to hot pan. Add chicken and stir fry until done. Season with salt and pepper, then add garlic and ginger. Cook for a minute more.

4. Add vegetables according to necessary cooking time. That is, add the carrots before the mushrooms. Just think about what cooks quickest and add the ingredients accordingly.  Cook until desired tenderness.

5. Add hoisin sauce and toss to coat. Transfer to serving platter and pile the iceberg wedges along the edge.

Join us on Periscope! I'm @elizabethfoss. 

Carried on the Crest of the Waves

n a recent vacation to the beach, my youngest child did her very best to gather up every seashell on the shore. One after another, she’d bring them to me, marveling over their intricate beauty. Sitting on a quilt on a small piece of the edge of the continent, looking over the vast expanse of the sea, I inhaled the wonder of it all. There is a God, above and beyond my imagination, who has created a universe so vast and so intricate that His design genius is staggering. This God, the one who has attended to every detail of the smallest seashell while also filling the land with oceans deeper and wider than we can see, asks me to cast my cares upon Him. 

And I don’t. 

I mean, I do, but not really. I arrived on that seashore more tired than I’ve ever been. Life had thrown me one challenge after another, and, because I am just a child in the surf, every time I stood up, another wave sent me tumbling. I struggled under my own power to wade to shore when really He was waiting and wanting to lift me on a wave and carry me there. 

As I fought the current and worked hard under my own power to fix all the things I saw awry, I grew exhausted and very, very anxious. My mind filled with a myriad of “what-ifs.” Increasingly, I began to focus on the possible problems instead of fixing my eyes on the One who calms the seas. Anxiety took a stronghold as I scanned the horizon, and I was overcome with the potential storms that might blow in. Like Peter, who strode across the water until he took His eyes off Jesus, I felt myself sinking into despair. 

Life just doesn’t work without God. All the “what-if” questions, all the fear over the next phone call, all the struggle over the next bill are, at their roots, a blatant lack of humility. Anxiety is when I think that the God who created the universe cannot calm the storms in my small life. Further, anxiety is fueled by the pride that tells me that I have to rush in and make everything better instead of waiting patiently for the blessings of the God who parted the Red Sea. He has a plan. 

I have to trust.

There on the edge of the ocean, surrounded by His vast and wondrous creation, I am reminded that I am very small, indeed. I am limited in my knowledge of God, and honestly, I am limited in my ability to fully submit to Him. I am small. He is great. The waves can crash around me, and I can stumble in fear while I try to control them or I can be knocked over by His glory. 

It is pride that compels us to try to control, and it is pride that fuels anxiety. Both St. Thomas Aquinas and St. Augustine called pride the essence of all sin. Pride keeps us from knowing God, and it keeps earnest but anxious seekers from resting in the peace of Christ. We are people desperate for humility. C.S. Lewis wrote, “If anyone would like to acquire humility, I can, I think, tell him the first step. The first step is to realize one is proud. And a biggish step, too. At least nothing whatever can be done before it. If you think you are not conceited, it means you are very conceited, indeed.”

Every day presents a choice. I can choose to muddle through on my own power, pridefully believing that all good things depend on my ability to make them so, or I can choose God. I can awaken and submit the day to the master and creator of the universe. I can call out over the roar of the surf. In all humility I can beg for His help and also acknowledge that His plans are better than mine, that He is present in both the pleasure and the pain, that He works all things together for the good (Rom 8:28) if only I surrender to His majesty and let Him carry me on the crest of the wave safely to shore.

Gathering Sunshine and Books

Outside my window: It’s a gorgeous August day. After a summer of oppressive heat (and very scarce air conditioning), I'm inhaling these late season days in big gulps. Low humidity makes the whole world seem a little happier, doesn’t it?

Listening to: Katie making breakfast.

Clothing myself in: Still in pjs. That means I didn’t run this morning. I really need to get my morning outdoor groove back.

(Actually, it's taken all day to get this post ready. The spinning rainbow beach ball of death has tried mightily to silence me today. So, right now, it's late evening and I'm wearing jeans and listening to bad coffee shop music while I try again during soccer practice.)

Talking with my children about these books:  Here we go! School is back in session and here in my house it’s going to be another Storybook Year. This plan holds up very, very well. So, my younger ones (though older than you might expect with picture books) will be pretty much following the tried and true storybook schoolhouse plan. Most of the booklist is here. Scroll down the list on the lefthand side for lots of links to more lists--and more and more lists:-) Our formidable collection of picture books offers plenty of opportunities to explore reading and writing as well as most of the academic subjects covered throughout the elementary years. There are lots of ways to respond and interact with picture books listed here.

In my own reading: I’m simultaneously reading Simply Tuesday, The Best Yes, and Hands Free Life.  There’s a bit of a common theme going here. Also, personal reading time took a big hit this week as school kicked in. I’m actually reading a whole lot of philosophy right now. More on that below.

Thinking and thinking: about writing an Advent workshop. I think I need a web designer. If you know someone who would be interested and who might also love Squarespace, would you drop me a note?

Pondering:

I was starting to shape a theory about dinner. I found that if I was eating well, there was a good chance I was living well, too. I found that when I prioritized dinner, a lot of things seemed to fall into place: We worked more effectively to get out of [work] on time, we dedicated time and place to unload whatever was annoying us about work and everything else, and we spent less money by cooking our own food, which meant we never felt guilty about treating ourselves to dinner out on the weekend. And perhaps most important, the simple act of carving out the ritual- a delicious homemade ritual- gave everyday purpose and meaning, no matter what else was going on in our lives.” --from Dinner: A Love Story

Carefully Cultivating Rhythm: Since neighborhood kids are still summering, we’re easing back into a school year schedule. Mary Beth’s classes started this week, so I’ve begun to lay down the tracks for everyone.

Creating By Hand:  Kristin made another Geranium Dress in my [nicely cleaned and organized] sewing room yesterday. I watched her. Go me.

Encouraging learning in: Philosophy. One of Mary Beth’s classes this semester is an introductory philosophy class. As we ordered books and noted how it was very heavy on C. S. Lewis, I decided that Stephen would take this class, too. Of course, he won’t get college credit and her professor won’t see his work, but we’re going to keep up with the assignment schedule. I’ll do the reading, too, and the three of us can discuss. The pace is brisk and it will challenge him (and me), but I think we’re all going to learn a lot.

Booklist, if you’re interested:

How Do We Know?: an Introduction to Epistemology 

Prelude to Philosophy 

Complete Signature Classics of C. S. Lewis

Also, this really worthwhile article about math phobia, courtesy of Mary Beth, who has had to read it for two college math classes now. 

Keeping house: Last weekend, we were given an incredible Montessori gift. A whole lot of brand new materials became ours! Mary Beth and Katie cleaned out our sunroom and then prepared it so that when Lucy comes, she can work right alongside Sarah and Kari. The room is beautiful and it’s inspired me to similarly “prepare” the rest of the house. It’s a slow process, but we are tackling some de-cluttering and repurposing of spaces. It’s pretty cathartic; I’m purging the ugly guts of the summer.

Crafting in the kitchen: Let's talk about dinner. 

As I've reflected on the-summer-from-hell, I've naturally inclined towards thinking about what's working in my life and the life of my family and what needs to be tweaked. I often feel like my little kids are growing up in an entirely different family than my big kids did. And they are. The hope is that their parents are wiser, more patient, and more mature. And they probably are. They're also more tired, more stressed (yes--I'm sticking with that story: this stage of motherhood is far more stressful for me than having a whole bunch of kids under 13), and going in more directions. One place where I've really felt like my Philosophy of Family has take a hit is family dinners. I've long, long been a proponent of family dinners as the norm every night. But we've seriously fallen short of the mark recently. As I turn over every parenting decision I've ever made in my mind and decide whether I like them or not, I simply cannot find one thing wrong with family dinners. They are all good. They are still super important. And my six-still-at-home deserve them.

The logistics are tricky; no doubt about it.

I re-read Dinner: A Love Story last week and I read the fairly new Dinner: A Playbook: A 30-Day plan for Mastering the Art of the Family Meal. I admit that when I first read  Dinner: A Love Story I thought it was sort of ridiculous that people needed such a lot of support getting dinner on the table. Now, I see nothing but beauty in the book. I mean, really, even the title brings tears to my eyes. Dinner has a been a love story in my life. We bought our first dog when we weren't even engaged, but we found ourselves outside a grocery store shopping for ingredients to cook together and we go distracted by a puppy.  We announced our intention to get married to Mike's mother over dinner. We have announced the coming of babies over dinner. Once, my two youngest boys planted a whoopee cushion at the dinner seat of Michael's girlfriend. They still consider it their finest hour. They're also the first to tell you that they're happy that girlfriend became his wife and is a regular at our table now. And we have always, always prayed together as a family before meals. Dinner is a big deal, as it should be. 

So, even though so many things confuse me about this stage of life, dinner is simple. I'm starting with dinner. I'm going to take a page out of the Playbook and make something new for 30 days in a row, starting September 1st. I want you to hold me accountable. So, I'm going to use the new low-stress video app Periscope and invite you into my kitchen around 4:00 every day. These will be short scopes with Karoline and me (and anyone else who's hanging around). We'll show you what's for dinner and chat a little about the sort of things we talk about around my kitchen island. Occasionally, I can follow up here with notes or links to recipes. I'm planning to pull almost all the recipes from  Dinner: A Love Story, Dinner: A Playbook: A 30-Day plan for Mastering the Art of the Family Meal, or the Dinner: A Love Story blog. You can follow me on Periscope @elizabethfoss. Each day's video will be live for 24 hours. 

To be fit and happy: Tomorrow. Going to run tomorrow. Promise.

Giving thanks: Gosh. The little things are such big things these days:

• the first really good night's sleep in forever
• cooler evenings (which is partly why the above was possible)
• antibiotics (same)
• big talks with my teens
• little girls who spell sweetness with their letters
• Lucy and the magic sparkle she brings into a room...

Loving the moments: when a text pops up and the news is good. Exhale.

Living the Liturgy: Tomorrow is the feast of St. Monica. Friday is the Feast of St. Augustine. We’ve been chatting a lot lately--St. Monica, St. Augustine, and me.  That saint who was once a brilliant, philosophical boy who was so restless until his soul rested in God and his mother who was tireless in prayer. 

Here's the Augustine-inspired prayer I wrote that chimes into my phone regularly every day.. Feel free to replace the pronouns with your own Augustine.

“Dear Jesus,

Please chase after him. Bring him close to you. Breathe your spirit into him. Grant him the grace of knowing your wisdom, knowing your truth, knowing your life-changing love. Please Lord, reach him and become his best friend. Strengthen him and show him how to turn from sin and towards all the good you will for him. I beg your mercy for him: give him health in mind and body. Let him shine in your image, Lord, and please, God, let him learn from your unconditional love. Let him see the miracle that is you. Grant him the grace and strength to hear and answer your call. Amen.

”

Planning for the week ahead: Tomorrow and Saturday, from 1:00-3:00 Katie is performing at Amercian Girl Place in Tyson’s to celebrate the introduction of Mary Ellen, the new historical girl from the 50’s. We’re pretty excited to be a part of it! The "little" boys play in Richmond on Saturday and Fredericksburg on Sunday, with a stop in Charlottesville Saturday evening to watch UVa launch the defense of its National Championship.