nothing i asked for, more than i wanted

These thoughts have been percolating in my head for months now, but I've been too nervous to put them out there. The message feels pretty counter-cultural, though that could just be me, renegotiating what I thought I knew. My words aren't perfect (they never are), and they didn't come easily. As always, I'm still figuring it out, and this is what I've found true, for now.

Recently I started reading Birth Matters by Ina May Gaskin, and she touches so fiercely and deeply on what I'm trying to comprehend and convey. So at the very least, I know I'm not alone. (It also doesn't hurt that Ani DiFranco, my teenage idol, wrote the book's intro.)

Deep breath. Onward.

When I was around four years old, I put together an elaborate Christmas wish list for Santa. I don't remember specifics (though the hard copy may very well be lurking in a box somewhere in my parents' basement), but I do know I didn't receive a single thing on it. "Santa" had already obtained all our presents that year, and none of them matched up with what my preschool heart desired.

Turns out, it didn't matter. On Christmas morning I woke up to a sea of beautiful dress up clothes surrounding the fireplace. They were "nothing I asked for, and everything I wanted!" 

Direct quote right there, via my mom's retelling: "I got nothing I asked for, and everything I wanted!" 

Motherhood, for me, has been a lot like that. Minus the fancy outfits.

I had no idea I could be so deeply satisfied as a wife and mom, that it was possible to find a soul-level calling in motherhood. 

I still feel like I'm not supposed to admit this. I'm not supposed to say that the thing that has taught me most about what it means to be a woman has been becoming a mom. Or that the most empowering experience I've ever had was giving birth, and I'm actually looking forward to doing it again.

I've never been very athletic or physically-inclined. My brand of feminism growing up mostly had to do with wanting to be seen and appreciated for my mind, whereas my body was best ignored entirely. Sure, I picked myself apart with the best of them (feet too big, boobs too big, thighs too big, etc.), but damn anyone else who dared objectify me. Down with the man!

In labor and delivery, though, I finally understood what I was made for, made to do and to be. For the first time, I saw my body as an incredible, powerful gift. My body was capable of successfully growing, birthing, and feeding a brand new human being, and one that I instantly loved like none other. 

Predictably, this threw my sense of self into flux. Not because I was suddenly a mom--that part actually felt unbelievably natural; but because it was utterly counterintuitive to consider my body sacred when I'd lived my whole life half-heartedly trying to accept that I had a body at all.   

It's a lesson I'm still learning: That my body and mind must work in tandem, and neither is better or more necessary than the other in this all-too-human experience. In this way, my feminism is much more rooted in an understanding of the feminine--what it means to be female, body, mind, and soul. The experience of motherhood, of mothering, is an innate part of that.

On a larger scale, I believe our society is craving a similar kind of balance. Pursuing "equality" within a patriarchal structure, where we essentially advocate for women to be treated more like men, does nothing to address or elevate the inherent gifts we bring to the table simply by being female. 

As Edith Stein said, "The world doesn't need what women have, it needs what women are."

I wholeheartedly agree.

on kim davis

LOVE, people. Love love love love love love LOVE, with a big side of forgiveness. Grace in motion.

Today I figured out where I stand on the whole Kim Davis thing. I know, you're relieved. You can rest easy tonight, America! Or at least, I can, since I was reminded that I am not, in fact, Atlas, and the weight of the entire world is not mine to bear. (False idols, anyone?)

Here's my job: To love. 

Figuring out who is right and who is wrong and who said it better? Pass. Because a lot of times it seems like the only answer is: There is no answer. And the only question worth asking is: What would love do? 

When I'm consumed by world events and the media, I do a pretty crappy job of loving my family and neighbors. I swear at traffic and frown at strangers, which is not good for unclenching the heart.

I know these things. Yet somehow over the past few weeks I grew increasingly convinced that if I only kept reading, stayed down the information rabbit hole long enough and late enough, collecting various evidence and opinions, I'd eventually find THE TRUTH in these problems that are not mine to solve.

Frankly, I don't buy the story of Kim Davis' victimhood. What I do buy, however (given that I've never met her and have been following her story peripherally at best), is that she's lost in self-righteousness. That possibly, she's just like all the rest of us: Broken, and a little bit afraid, and a whole lot human. Do you know what feels really good when you're in that void? Making other people wrong. Making yourself better than. 

It's not about gay people, or God: It's about her. Her own ego and fear and insecurities and pesky human nature.

Kim Davis may want to feel better than. Maybe she just wants to feel good enough. If that's the case, then we have more in common than I thought. 

If she shows up at my church next April wanting her feet washed (doubtful, but roll with me for a second), I'm washing 'em. Same goes for any gay/transgendered/divorced/post-abortive/addicted/homeless/fill-in-the-blank person, and for Donald Trump. Also millionaires and dads who wear socks with sandals. I'm not saying we should all necessarily hang out and be friends (or that the Donald's feet wouldn't gross me out); but every single one of us is still invited to the table. I'd like to see less political rallying and more rallying around each other. It doesn't matter if I have all the answers in the world if I'm failing to love the ones in front of me. 

The other day I was listening to an old On Being interview with astrophysicist Mario Livio. He was talking about mathematics, and he said that, as with anything, we like the answers to be black or white. Most people can even live with grey. What's dang near impossible for us to accept is that something can be both black and white. This is also where he finds truth.

Both/and. The hardest and truest place to dwell. In math, and in life.

But WE CAN DO HARD THINGS, right? Is that not the rallying cry I've heard over and over again through certain places on the internet? And as Mama T (and, yes, Momastery) reminds us, we belong to each other. 

Even Kim Davis.

. . .

"Do nothing out of contentiousness or out of egotism, but with humility consider others superior to you, as you look out not only for your own interests, but also for the interests of others. Keep this mental attitude in you that was also in Christ Jesus." 

Philippians 2:3-5

"In the end, dear friend, it is always between us and God, not between us and them." 

Mother Teresa

Image via

desert days (lent, i'm ready for you)

"But Jesus would withdraw to deserted places to pray."

Luke 5:16 

. . .

Lent is coming, and I have been dreading it. I've been diving into the questions so often and so deeply these days that I forget to come up for air. For the past few weeks I've just felt tired -- of people, of religion, of God. Over it, angry at it, and yet still in hot pursuit of.... Well, something. 

When I first lived in Germany (over a decade ago now) I'd spend two or three hours almost every day walking in the woods near our apartment, just thinking and noticing and being. Sometimes I'd stroll into town, maybe stop by a shop or the library at the German-American Institute, or I might walk near the water. Once in a while I'd bring a pen and my journal; usually I wouldn't bring anything at all. I didn't own a cell phone, there was no such thing as Facebook, and I checked my email once a week (and on dial-up internet at that -- I'd walk the cord from the phone jack at the front of the house, down the hall, to my room at the end, and connect it to the computer).

Lately I've been finding myself not only really missing that time, but also feeling sort of, I dunno.... assaulted by all the noise online. All these thoughts and images and ideas and opinions and articles and and and and AGGHHHH! 

I need to turn it off. 

I need to get quiet, really really quiet, and listen. To the sound of silence, and hopefully, eventually, to the still small voice I know is there, just waiting. Ready.

Growing up, our family always gave up TV for Lent, and Andy and I have honored this tradition the past few years. However, since cutting cable last year, we just don't watch that much anymore, and when we do, it's usually pretty intentional (not to mention commercial-free). Yet the ruckus and racket and TOO MUCHNESS feels more overwhelming then ever, and I believe it's coming in large part from the computer. So I'm going for it, I'm doing it: I'm giving up the internet for Lent.

I mean, pretty much. 

Here's the game plan:

NO (and I mean absolutely NO)

• Facebook
• Pinterest
• Blogs (especially reading)
• Instagram

LIMITED

• Email (twice a day, morning and evening)
• Searches (one thing at a time, and only with a set intention. Think: Mapping directions or booking airfare)
• Podcasts (again, intentional is key)

I'll continue to use my online meal planner, and I may watch a show here and there. The point, for me, is to be clear about why I'm going online each time I do it, and to detox from social media and the general barrage of information that comes from mindlessly following links. I'd like to tune out other peoples' ideas for awhile and see what arises internally, in the space between each breath, in this "season of discernment." And I trust that God will meet me there.

See you on the other side. And maybe bring some water, eh? x

Images from the Liwa Desert, June 2012, taken by my friend Maria Clary. More desert reflections here, from our days in the actual desert.

songs i never thought i'd like & things i never thought i'd do

Caleb and I have started listening to this song every morning after breakfast. It's not my usual jam, but Cabey nuzzles right into my shoulder and we dance around and it. is. perfect. 

I never knew how much I wanted to be a mom until I became one. It is the very best unexpected gift I've ever been given.

In college, yoga was my saving grace. Escaping the chatter in my mind, shedding my ego-based identity, even if only for a few minutes -- it changed me. It was the closest to a cure for my depression I'd ever come across. Giving that up when I became pregnant was so hard, but between my physical state, our tight budget, and time constraints, it just wasn't as accessible. So, after years of being OK, depression came roaring back in full-force shortly after Caleb was born.

I have never been more suicidal than I was last year. I daydreamed about death regularly, and I tested out what it would be like to asphyxiate myself.

In the back of my head, though, was that still small voice I'd become so accustomed to hearing during years of yoga: This is not who you are. It will be OK. The pain will pass.

Depressed, suicidal behavior is kind of like being drunk: In the back of your mind you know you're about to do something stupid, but you can't seem to stop yourself. You are at your own mercy. The postpartum chemicals raging in my brain took hold, and it required everything I had to cling to the whispered truths of that Still Small Voice.

When depression reared it's head again a few months ago, I took more immediate action, and I found exactly the counselor I needed to help me begin reclaiming my place in the light. 
I'm hesitant to say "it's over," but I've come so stinking far in the past few months. I know how to recognize when the dominoes are starting to topple (my number one sign is not showering). I've started meal planning and created a weekly chore chart for myself. When my energy levels are high, I take steps that will help "depressed Emy" down the road -- I'll make a freezer meal or two and tackle the more labor intensive cleaning projects. Washing out the bathtub is a big one: While a shower feels dang near impossible when I'm in the downward spiral, a hot bath is one of the few things that helps relax my hurting body and mind.

I've come to realize that true marriage and motherhood are Yoga in the School of Life. They are all about surrendering the "self" in the name of Love! In Catholicism we speak of sacrificial love -- well, what exactly are you "sacrificing" but your own selfishness and ego? My EVERYDAY EXISTENCE is a yoga practice. I can take all the tidbits I learned in that incredible hot room and apply them over and over and over again right where I am.

"Live to the point of tears."

This quote, by Albert Camus, is on a magnet I've had since high school. I used to think it was about absorbing the world around you, really being "in" it, and it spoke to my overly-sensitive self. Now I see it differently though. The breathtaking beauty of surrender to a life I never thought I wanted brings me to my knees and cracks me wide open. It is an aching, overwhelming, joyous point-of-tears I never knew existed before.

I am not the same person I was before I became a mother, and you know what? Thank God. 

This is so much better.

Images top to bottom: 1 | 2 | 3

a bundle of nerves at the foot of the cross

"My dear friends, let us love one another, since love is from God and everyone who loves is a child of God and knows God. Whoever fails to love does not know God, because God is love."

John 4:7-8

. . .

I posted this on Facebook late last night and wanted to share it here as well. It, like me, is imperfect, but it is the song of my heart right now. Love and compassion, in all things, even the smallest stuff. It's not an easy way of life, and we mess it up over and over again, but I still long for a world where it doesn't take such horrific acts of violence to remind us of its necessity. Breathe. Step. Hug. Repeat.

So. Many. Thoughts. 

One week in to 2015, and here it is again: Violence, tragedy, vitriol, all mixed up with support, hope, and courage... It's a lot to take in.

Can we all please remind ourselves that religion is NOT the same thing as fundamentalism? No matter which religion we're talking about. And religion itself is not inherently evil. But it IS made up of HUMAN BEINGS. Flawed bundles of ego and nerves and free will. In this way, we're all very much the same. Evil is so good at whispering in our ears and rationalizing our choices.

Mostly I stick to a policy of one foot in front of the other, hot baths, and doing my duties as a wife and mother to the best of my ability. I am still learning forgiveness, kindness, and to remember to always always ALWAYS ask: "What would love do?" I'm starting with myself, because I'd eventually like to set aside all the navel-gazing and be a presence of mercy and light and goodness. It's hard to do that when you're full of pain and self-loathing.

I'm doing the best I can, where I'm at, with what I've got. Setting the heaviest stuff down at the foot of the cross, wrapping myself in an invisible mantle of stars, and receiving Christ through the Eucharist week after week is changing my life in mind-blowing ways. I've been too shy to actually come right out and say so, but I'm seeing the disgust for what happened in France today morph into a disgust towards religion in general, so here it is: I love my Muslim friends, and I love my Catholic faith. I love the free speech that allows me to say so without any real threat other than my own inhibition and discomfort. Truly living the teachings of the Church is the most profoundly beautiful push outside my comfort zone I've ever experienced. 

Anti-theism will not solve anything.

What would love do?

--

Art by Lucille Clerc here

welcome, new year!

This is my word for 2015. I have a strong mind and a bold heart, and this year I'd like to be brave enough to use them. To let the Holy Spirit work in me and through me, without being embarrassed to let others in on the source of that light.

. . .

"You fearful saints, fresh courage take
The clouds you so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
With blessings on your head."

William Cowper

. . .

"Be strong and stand firm. Be fearless and undaunted, for go where you may, Yahweh your God is with you."

Joshua 1:9

(i hope i'm) not done

Image here

Yesterday there was a post on Cup Of Jo about knowing when you're "done" having children. Here's the thing: I don't think it's up to me. Not even a little. What life has taught me over and over again is that the universe unfolds as it should, and you just never know.

I have never been on birth control. Ever. And in our three-and-a-half years of marriage (and decade-long relationship) we have one child to show for it. So far. Hopefully, there will be more, whether through birth, adoption, foster care, or a combination.

If there is one Catholic teaching that resonates deeply and absolutely with my heart and soul right now, it is that on family planning. Life is intricately linked to the act that creates life, and this makes sex sacred. Why is it we allow our culture to rob us of this gift, to tell us that sex is mere pleasure, and that this pleasure is our right? Life is a right in my mind, and sex is what brings forth that life. This doesn't mean sex can't also be enjoyable; but recreation is not the sole purpose or end-goal. Besides bringing forth new life, sex has a lot more to do with intimacy and connection than pure, gluttonous pleasure...

. . .

As I was busy drafting this post, our gorgeous child woke up from his nap, and since Andy took the day off today, the three of us hung out together before I left to run a few errands. This was followed by a work project, which was followed by dinner, then a bath and bedtime for Cabey, and now, finally, here I am. I spent the last two hours down the rabbit hole reading other blogs, eventually landing on this post that speaks so strongly to where I'm at right now. 

I think it's OK to say things that have already been said when you yourself are realizing them for the first time. The act of writing is more about processing and understanding, not about saying things perfectly or "better." But in this case, I'll let Blythe tell you what's on my mind. (Not so much the conversion part. I'm not completely there yet. More the sex part. Good, important stuff.)

(Also, she was clearly nervous as she wrote and posted her piece, and I have to say, I kinda can't believe I'm making all this known about myself. Please be kind, even if only in your own head! x)

what i'm doing about iraq

Peace. Budanilkantha, Nepal, 2012

The news has been so rife with viscousness and evil lately. At night I find myself reverting to the 10-year-old girl that would cry herself silly because people were dying of AIDS and gorillas were being slaughtered, and I couldn't do anything to comprehend or stop it. How do you deal with a genocide from the other side of the world? Equipped with nothing but my very own self and surroundings, here is how I've been attempting to live that question lately.

1. Cuddling my own baby closer.

The love I have for Caleb is wider and deeper than anything I have ever known. And I believe in the power of that love. 

At the start of the year, I chose a word for 2014: Present. It's easy to stay present with Caleb as he quietly snuggles into me and drifts off to sleep, while I stroke his hair and breathe in his sweet baby scent. It's a little harder when all I want to do is finish a cup of coffee before it gets cold, and he WON'T STOP SCREAMING. Even after every basic need has, as far as I can tell, been fulfilled. This week I've recommitted to practicing calm and mindfulness through it all. At any given moment we are safe and surrounded by abundance. Love and gratitude--and practice, practice, practice. I have to believe it means something.

2. Delving deeper into my faith.

It would be easy to look at the news and decide that there is no God, religion is the root of all evil, and humankind is destined to completely lose its shit, Lord of the Flies-style. Maybe that's true. But as I believe in love, I also put a lot of stock in mercy, compassion, and hope. These are guideposts as I walk the path of Catholicism. It's a call to look beyond my own pain and ego, to both look for and be one of "the helpers". It has been incredible in recent weeks to discover potential cohorts on the journey here online.

3. Working towards wholeness and healing.

As with my faith, yoga helps me cultivate detachment from my mind and ego. In the past 9 days, I've gone to Bikram 7 times. Self-care is the first thing to go when I'm spiraling into a depression. But when yoga is on the calendar, I make sure to drink plenty of water and eat well so I'll have the energy for class. I ensure I have clean clothes to wear to, from, and during class. I shower. This may seem utterly basic, but if you've ever been depressed you know how impossible just climbing out of bed can feel. 

How on earth does this help dying people across the world? Honestly, I'm not entirely sure it does. As a starting point I turn to Ghandi's famous line: "Be the change you wish to see in the world." If I want a more compassionate, loving world, then I need to be compassionate and loving. This means towards myself, too. Not in a self-involved way, but in a way that says: "I'm strong enough to take care of myself so that I have the energy and focus to do more." Which brings me to my next step:

4. Helping those struggling in my own backyard.

Whenever I read about children suffering in the world, I want to book the next flight out and DO SOMETHING. As a teacher and mother, children are my life. In fact, my desire to help children is the reason this blog was started in the first place. I absolutely love the speech Amy Poehler gave on behalf of the Worldwide Orphans Foundation at the 2013 Power of Women Event, especially these lines: "We should teach children all over the world that they are beautiful and loved and deserve the simple, basic things in life...[The goal is] that what we're doing now lives on, that life continues, and that love wins." YES.

But the crazy, ridiculous thing people often overlook (or, at least, I do)? There are children that need us RIGHT WHERE WE ARE. I would love to have a superpower that allows me magically rescue scared children in every war zone everywhere, from Iraq to Gaza to Chicago. To hold frightened and abandoned little ones and tell them how loved and wanted and necessary they are. Since I don't anticipate boarding a flight any time soon, I called up an organization here in my neighborhood that provides shelter and care for children who have been subject to neglect, abuse, and trauma. Volunteer orientation is in a few weeks. In the meantime, it's breathe, step, breathe. Repeat. It's the only way I know to keep from falling apart.

Photos top to bottom: Oman, Spring 2012; South Africa, Fall 2007; Nepal, Summer 2012

. . .

Related: My best prayers for peace, staying vulnerable, and an eleven-year-old's perspective on Rwanda.

Also: Poetry is often a coping mechanism for me when the world is too heavy. Here is the poem I shared after Newtown, and these are all the poems I've shared on the blog.

well, shit.

Rule your mind 

or it will rule you.

Buddha

. . .

The world feels so heavy right now. I don't know how to shake it, how to set it down. I'm waiting for the fog to lift, but I have a feeling the only way out is through: Can't go over it, can't go under it, we'll have to go through it.

I kind of hate that.

So I lose myself in journals and dreams and puddles of tears, clinging to a hint of possibility and relief. In public I attempt to "fake it until I feel it." I'm good at the first part, but the feelings rarely follow.

I read about a study the other day that said most people who were diagnosed with depression as children are probably actually bipolar. I was ten.

A year or so after my diagnosis, when the fog started lifting, I remember the psychologist telling me to be careful, that I'd find myself missing the depression at times. It had defined my identity and way of being for so long, and now I had to figure out who I was without that old, destructive friend.

Until now, I pretty much thought my depression was over and done and under control. It would come back and try to set up camp every now and then, but I could recognize it. After a bit of polite resistance, I'd finally tell it to pack up and leave, locking the door behind it.

(Source)

But pregnancy hormones are something new, and they seem to have left a window wide open. And it's hard, and I'm scared. I am struggling, and I'm trying to believe that this does not make me "less than" -- that having depression does not dictate who I am at my core. It doesn't mean I'm a horrible mother or teacher or person. It is separate from who and what I am. It is an ILLNESS, not an identity.

So onward, trusting that, eventually, I'll find the light again.

mama energy

"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new."

Rajneesh

. . . 

I love everything about this image, and I can't wait to experience the quote firsthand. 

Chatting with the amazing Tiffany Han a couple months back, she said, "You have this great mama energy about you in all you do," and she convinced me that it's actually kind of a badass trait to have. I'd been struggling with how to align my previous identity with the wife/mother labels, trying to figure out just what those mean, and Tiffany's guidance was unbeatable. (I believe one of her exact recommendations was to wear a button reading "I fucking rock!" but we both agreed that might not be work-appropriate.)

Image found via Pinterest // Quote via

sunday belly shots

16 weeks, 5 days

. . . 

Not that I want this space to suddenly become pregnancy- and baby-centric, but it is sort of the number one thing happening in my life right now. It's a baffling, miraculous, boundary-testing journey, something I don't think I ever really could've been fully prepared for. Some people try for years to finally have this experience; I'm still a little shocked it happened so easily and instantly for us. (Honestly, I often feel a tiny bit guilty, too. Some of those years-long "try-ers" are friends of mine. As always though, I do my best to turn that guilt into gratitude. I'd rather grow this baby full of joy, you know? I guess the plus side of the guilt, if there is such a thing, is the increased awareness of what a crazy-good blessing this is. I've never been so in love with the unseen and unknown.)

hiatus

Or rather, why I've (accidentally) been on one.

And the reason is this:

A little start-of-March surprise that has since led to this:

And, most recently, this:

Of course, that last one was after a big meal of my number one craving (veggie subs from Jimmy John's) and GALLONS of iced tea (never before in my life have I wanted anything "iced," and now I can't get enough of the stuff).

I am 14 weeks 3 days today.

What a crazy little unexpected miracle, eh? Lucky for us, it's dang near impossible to see this as anything but an all-out blessing. Even though I've been sick as a dog (HOLY HELL. No one tells you that part. Or at least, no one really told me. Or maybe they did, and I never processed just what it meant. But man, it's been hideous. Hence the radio silence around here!), I find myself thanking the universe every day, sometimes every hour. 

So, shaken, happy, and grateful (but ultimately no worse for the wear), I've finally made my way back. Here goes . . . . x

today's takeaways

Or, what I'm bringing with me as I take a deep breath, put myself out there, and attempt to avoid self-sabbotage!

. . . and a sort of secret

I have a little project unfolding over here . . .  (Cross your fingers and say a prayer, would you?) 

wednesday's wonderings

Image from Lost in Translation, via  

"I used to see a butterfly in my mind’s eye every time I heard the word transformation, but life has schooled me. Transformation isn’t a butterfly. It’s the thing before you get to be a pretty bug flying away. It’s huddling in the dark cocoon and then pushing your way out. It’s sitting there in your pajamas, pregnant with your second child, flirting on Facebook with someone you dated in high school. It’s imagining you might leave your husband for a man you’ve seen only once during the most stressful time in your adult life and thinking it will work out. It’s the messy work you have ahead of you . . . of making sense of your fortunes and misfortunes, desires and doubts, hangups and sorrows, actions and accidents, mistakes and successes, so you can go on and become the person you must next become."

Sugar (aka Cheryl Strayed)*

*Peruse all of the Dear Sugar columns here. I strongly recommend it.

photo feature

Yesterday a blog friend from Abu Dhabi featured one of my photos from Nepal as part of her "From the Hip Friday" series -- my first time ever making an appearance on someone else's blog!

Jill taught in Abu Dhabi for nearly three years but is currently exploring all that Australia has to offer. I loved reading her stories about life in the Gulf as Andy and I prepared for our move, and it's a lot of fun now watching her do what she does best: Travel! Great photos and great stories. Get yourself over there already and check it out. Thanks for having me, Jill!

And here are a few more images from Nepal, where a friend and I spent ten days living and working in an orphanage last July . . .

Man, looking at these brings back SO MUCH. Wish I could beam myself there again, if only for a little while.

Hope you're having a wonderful weekend! x

too much & nothing [connecticut]

I said nothing about Connecticut because, really, what do you say? Especially when everyone else seems to have too much to say, words that will fill Facebook and Twitter and newsreels (and all other targeted facets of human subconscious) for weeks . . . until . . .

until . . .

they don't.

Because no one seems to be saying much about any of it any more. It's slowly fading into the realm of memory for most of the nation, and with it the rawness and realness of the present that catapults so many of us into action, that makes us hunger for real change.

I don't want that to happen. The sweet faces of those children are seared on my brain. Their parents, friends, and loved ones are now the walking wounded -- if they can manage to get up and walk at all. The whole thing rests too close to my realm of experience, is too closely aligned with my worst nightmares, for me to let it go -- or to fully let it in. 

Have I been hugging my own students tighter? You bet. Do I feel my heart leap out of my chest in longing for the students I've said goodbye to throughout the years? Most definitely. I hope they know I love them, still. All of them. Always. Does that heal or help anything? I believe it does. I've said before that my students are the "best prayers I have for peace," and I hold to that now more than ever. Otherwise, what hope do we have left?

Is it selfish to relate the tragedy of others to yourself? Or simply human nature? What qualifies as empathy, and is empathy part of our truest nature, deep down?

Like so much else, I

don't

                                         know.

So I return to my own healing places and spaces. I resolve, once again, to turn to goodness.

I've shared this poem here before, but it resonated so deeply again this morning that I'm posting it a second time.

Naomi Shihab Nye

KINDNESS

Before you know what kindness really is

you must lose things,

feel the future dissolve in a moment

like salt in a weakened broth.

What you held in your hand,

what you counted and carefully saved,

all this must go so you know

how desolate the landscape can be

between the regions of kindness.

How you ride and ride

thinking the bus will never stop,

the passengers eating maize and chicken

will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,

you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho

lies dead by the side of the road.

You must see how this could be you,

how he too was someone

who journeyed through the night with plans

and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,

you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. 

You must wake up with sorrow.

You must speak to it till your voice

catches the thread of all sorrows

and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,

only kindness that ties your shoes

and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,

only kindness that raises its head

from the crowd of the world to say

it is I you have been looking for,

and then goes with you every where

like a shadow or a friend. 

x