Outpouring

I mentioned this in yesterday's post and I have a little free time today so I thought I would go ahead and post about my "day o' love."

Probably half of you that read this blog will remember this day because you were there throughout my pregnancy. But for those of you that weren't, let me set the stage. February 2008, I was living in Nashville with Larry and Linda Bridgesmith--God's angels on earth--and 8 months pregnant. The Bridgesmith's invited me into their home to live knowing nothing about me other than what Kim Reed, a professor of mine, had told them: I was pregnant and needed a home. I was working part-time at the California Pizza Kitchen in Nashville and had just put a deposit down on an apartment. 

I had nothing for this apartment. NOTHING. My parents had said that they would buy me a bed and if they bought a new kitchen table, I could have the old one, but that was it. And Linda knew this and I had talked with her about it, feeling lucky to have a place to live, to call home when my baby arrived, but I didn't even have a microwave to warm up bottles. So there was a lot of anxiety there. On top of all the anxiety about becoming a mother and providing for this little person. But I had read that maternal anxiety causes stress in the baby so I was doing my best to just take it one day at a time and be grateful for what I had. 

My co-workers had graciously offered to throw me a baby shower at work and Janie, the momma hen in our restaurant, had already told me they were buying my stroller and carseat and had let me pick it out. Thankful already. They were my people. I met them when I was already pregnant so they had never known me otherwise and it was such a comfort to have people that couldn't compare me to my college self or high school self and be disappointed. The day of the shower rolls around and Linda had asked me that morning to have dinner with her afterwards. I arrive at the restaurant nervous, I was pretty sure I would cry. They had such a spread laid out. Yummy CPK appetizers, a beautiful cake, delicious treats made by my friends and people gathered to shower me with love. I felt so unworthy. So grateful but still so unworthy. 

We play funny baby shower games, they wrapped toilet paper around my stomach and embarrassed me, we ate and laughed. And then they presented the gifts. The adorable stroller and carseat and a few other precious baby clothes and gifts...and a card. The card contained a Visa Gift card for $300. They'd been collecting money since Christmas without my knowledge and gifted it straight to me. Tears rolled down my face as I looked around and saw love flowing over from them. And I'm sure they saw the gratitude and love I had for them in return. 

My cup was already running over as I drove home to join Linda for dinner. She took me to the Yellow Porch Cafe on Thompson Lane (if any of you nashville people haven't been there, go.) And I told her about how overwhelmed I was by my co-workers generosity and we talked of other things; her family, my family, other things going on in our lives. Afterwards she asked if I would mind if we stopped by her church for a moment. Of course I didn't mind, it was just down the road. 

We pulled into the parking lot and she said I should come in with her. I didn't realize what was going on so I said I'd be fine waiting in the car. She insisted so I got out and as soon as I stepped around the car, I saw ladies going into the building...with gift bags in their hands. 

I began to weep. 

The moment I realized what she had done for me, I stood there in the Woodmont Hills parking lot and wept. I actually refused to go inside. 

"I can't, Linda. I can't go in there. It's too much. I don't deserve it."

And Linda took me in her arms and said, "Abby, you can do it. They love you." And she led me by the hand with tears still streaming down my face into a room filled with women and gifts. 

I don't know what kind of impression I made on those women, two I knew very well but most of whom I'd never met before, but I know that their love was special because it was poured out on a stranger. They only knew that Linda and Larry had taken me in and I was in need. So God led them to provide. Because their gifts were not baby clothes or diapers; their gifts were pots and pans, and towels, and a shower curtain, and a vacuum, and everything an empty apartment could possibly need. It was even color coordinated. Linda and her sister had set up a registry at Target and those women had bought it all. There was even a red electric tea kettle and a can opener shaped like a Toucan.

I cried the entire way through opening those gifts. I had to pause a few times to keep myself from totally breaking down but the magnitude of what had happened that day was too much for me. I was the least verbal I've ever been; all I could say was, "Thank you" and look at them and pray that they could see my appreciation better than I could express it. 

It took two cars to get all those presents back to Linda and Larry's house and three trips for me to move it to my apartment. And within days of that special night, I was gifted with a sofa and loveseat and a TV and dresser and a  crib--again, all from people I'd never met before. My empty apartment had been transformed into a home, a warm, welcoming place where I could cuddle my baby and know that our needs were provided for. 

Wanted

A lot of things have led me towards this post, but I'm not sure where the post will go so bear with me today.

Yesterday, my sister and I took Eva to see Dreamworks' How to Train Your Dragon for the third or fourth time. She loves the dragons and the epic peril or whatever it is that gives it the PG rating. And I love re-watching kids' movies because there is always such a simple, yet profound, lesson lurking beneath their surfaces. 

The outcast-saves-society plot line is well-worn but well-loved. Hiccup, the tiniest Viking in history and son of the village Chief, can't kill any of the dragons that attack his people. He's small, clumsy, and accident-prone.  So he befriends a dragon, learns its ways and tames it. So at the end, after he's saved his village and proved his worth, his father turns to him and announces to the village that they were just in need of more of "this," and Hiccup says, 

"You just gestured to all of me."

That line echoes earlier lines when his father and a friend were trying to encourage him to be more Viking-like, but man, how powerful is that? When a father looks at his son and affirms that everything about him is worthwhile and meaningful. How often does that happen? Don't we normally look at people and say, "yeah, you're good at ____ but you really could be better at ______." We pick people apart. Acceptance is conditional. And yes, we're human and we're flawed but I'm not sure that is a good excuse.

I've also been listening to some CD's that a friend from work gave me. They're from sessions at a conference called New Wine in Charleston, SC. And one of them is this Scottish guy talking about the calling of the Church and he said something so true, I've been thinking about it for days: everyone needs to feel wanted.

Isn't that obvious? But when you stop and think about it, how often do we live like we know it's true? I know I'm not nice to everyone. I'm quite a snob--I know it--even though I'm conscious of it, I'm still prey to those bad habits.  Our own insecurities play themselves out in our interactions with others. I'm deeply afraid of being found unattractive. I spent my formative years as a chubby kid and the world and those in it (middle school age boys, in particular) are not kind to overweight girls. And yet I am constantly criticizing and critiquing the appearance of others. I do to them what I do to myself every time I look in the mirror. Isn't that strange? I desperately crave acceptance in that area and yet I offer no sympathy to others in the same boat. It is an epic flaw. One that seriously affects my karma, I'm sure of it. And the things that I do to garner the acceptance I long for, to be found attractive and desirable... those have certainly affected my karma as well.

What do you do to find acceptance? To feel wanted? Some people drive themselves to succeed in their careers. Others get married. Or have kids. Or become wealthy. But even the best of those will eventually disappoint. A spouse will have an off day. A child will become a teenager and eventually an adult with less and less need for a parent. (My two-year old is currently previewing this for me.) The rate of diminishing returns will hold true and adding more zeros to your portfolio will be less and less satisfying. I doubt there is a single thing on earth that will never disappoint. Or do you look for acceptance where you will not be disappointed?

We went to a new church this morning. I have never felt more welcomed in my entire life. EVERYONE introduced themselves to us. And even with my sister and my boyfriend at my side, it is still very difficult for me to walk into church with my daughter because I still carry shame for being a single mother. Should I? No. But I do. Chalk it up to being a good Southerner. But those people were open and accepting. I'm not saying within church walls is the unfailing place to find acceptance; I've been to a lot of churches where I felt judged and unloved. But these people clearly loved each other and were ready to love some new people too. So where did their warmth and love come from? From the Father that loves to gesture to all of us and say, "I made that." From the Father that can whisper in our ear and say, "I am here."

I'm not an expert on God. I do not pretend to know Him as well as I should after 25 years in church buildings and a "Christian" university experience. But I do know that He wants me. There was a day in February before Eva was born when love was poured over me in an abundance that still brings me to tears just thinking about it. I'll tell you about it sometime. But after that day, it was impossible for me to ignore His insistent plea to trust in his provision. Am I perfect, have I been able to let Him guide my every step and erase every worry and doubt from my mind? No, far from it. But I do know that when I can manage to put my fears in His hands, it's with good reason. I am wanted.

Work to Live?

"What is so important about work? We work to live. We work so that we can enjoy our free time. You all live to work. It's work this, work that. All you ever do is work! Where is the life in that?"

I don't know if my subconscious planted this in my waking mind or if I heard/read it somewhere; I just know it has been plaguing me this week. The speaker is European, the listener is American. I remember the first time I found out that all of France goes on vacation for the entire month of August. Jealousy! And utter disbelief that the world doesn't fall apart when they all stop working. How indoctrinated am I? Why is work the pillar of stability and consistency in our culture? Because we have made it so. The world would not end if we stopped working, the sky would not fall in, and a chicken would not run around screaming about it. So why is it so difficult for us to leave our travail at the office (or restaurant as the case may be) and go home to LIVE? To breathe, to relax, to soak up the glory of a beautiful day, or indulge in the joy of good company. Do you do that? I don't. Work comes home with me every day. I worry about my servers. I obsess over our corporate assessments, customer satisfaction, and the endless to do list I am constantly updating in my mind. Why? Does it make me better at my job? No, actually it doesn't. It makes me stressed which probably makes me worse at my job. Which I sad because I really like my job. But that's all it is. It should not be the definitive part of my life and yet it is. I see my co-workers more than I see my daughter, boyfriend, and parents combined. That strikes me as wrong. I know I only work 10 or so more hours a week than a typically employed person does, but those are 10 hours that I wish I had with my family. In fact, all 50 of those hours I wish I had with them. 

I'm sure some of you think that being a stay-at-home mom is an obsolete concept. That with the way our society functions and inflicts costs on a family, there is no way I could ever stay home to just be a mom. I don't want that. I still want employment, I definitely need the mental stimulation--let me tell you, maternity leave is not all it's cracked up to be--I just want both. Call me greedy but I want both. And this post is so that I hold myself accountable to that dream so that it can be an achievable goal and not just an intangible tease of an idea. 

I have been blessed beyond measure with joy I never imagined. Being a mother, and in the near future a wife, are blessings I didn't ask for but needed more than I thought possible. So this blessing I am asking for. Because there are people that deserve my best and I want to give it to them.

An Empty Room

My family moved to Pinehurst, NC when I was in kindergarten. Providence and grace kept us there only 8 months but I have a very vivid memory of our house before the move. There was nothing special about this house. Ranch-style, two bedrooms on one side and the master bedroom on the other. Living room, dining room, kitchen and a yard full of ant hills. But when we first walked in, it was empty. No furniture, just walls and windows. As we entered the biggest room in the house, I remember thinking, "This is it; this is the best house ever," and running around in circles. I was absolutely delighted by this empty room. And then the realtor or my mom, I can't remember which, said, "You won't be able to do that when there's furniture in the room." And I'm sure it was just an off the cuff remark probably intended to get me to stand still, but I was crushed. Why couldn't it stay empty? I thought it was much better the way it was. And ever since then one of my heart's deepest desires is to have an empty room. 

An empty room with plenty of windows, afternoon light streaming in, filling the room in the way furniture and stuff can't. I'm sure some of you are thinking, "yeah, an empty room where she'd be wearing a straitjacket..." Maybe. But this empty room would always be full of possibilities. Our eyes are constantly accosted by stuff: advertisements, cars shinier than ours, clothes more expensive than ours, people prettier than us. Isn't that why many people seek out peaceful places? At the beach you can close your eyes and hear two things: the ocean and seagulls. What a relief for the senses after everything we hear on a normal day! In my mind, I can see my empty room and I relax. I would be so grateful for that space to breathe and think without being influenced by any outside sources. Maybe do a little yoga. A little meditation. A little prayer.  

If I ever buy a house (cross my fingers), there will be an empty room. 

The Fall

I took Eva to see Toy Story 3 yesterday. And like quite a few twentysomethings that saw the first one while we were still children, I found myself in tears by the end. Now we could chalk that up to my emotional personality, to the themes of growing up and moving on, to the sheer beauty of finality, or a myriad of other things but I choose to believe I was crying because I was revisiting Innocence. Not my innocence, but the Innocence that the world seems devoid of now. Yes, I connect with that movie on a lot of levels--it literally took me til the third movie to realize Andy's mother is a single mom--but there is a special archetype present here that no one can ignore.

Whether you believe in God or not, the story of the Fall reaches in to the deepest part our psyches. To live in a pure state of being, to experience Light, to never wonder what is wrong with you or the world around you and then to have that taken away is, I think, the most powerful plotline of all. I could even argue it is present in every person's life and nearly every story ever told--definitely every tragedy. If we can recognize this theme in reality and in fiction, should we not acknowledge it as the reason why we cherish children and childhood? Children--and I literally tear up as I think about Eva--are incredible. Children have no concept of death or destruction and yet their scope of reality is infinitely larger than adults'. Listen to their stories. Listen to their play and you will see a world larger than the one you think you inhabit. Eva can make a toy come alive just by imagining it to be true. Children are Light.

So as I was confronted with the idea of Buzz and Woody and Jessie reaching The End, I cried. I cried for the love of my daughter, for the wonder of imagination, and for the deeply heartwrenching thought of somehow not being whole because another symbol of Innocence is gone. Mingled in was the joy that Art allows us to revisit Innocence--or how we lost it--whenever we need it. How lucky am I that I have Eva to remind me that my need for it is constant, unchanging, and ever-present.

An Exercise in Perspective

Thanks to a healthy dose of narcissism (ahem) and the promise of readership from a few dear friends, I started a blog. Pre-writing jitters aside, I'm really excited to have this opportunity to get my head back in the game, so to speak. If you know me, you know I feel the loss of certain important brain cells deeply; childbirth and restaurant work have sapped my reserves. Nonetheless, I promise to attempt substance and depth on an infrequent basis and we shall see where it goes from there.

I conceived the idea for this blog one day during the Arizona immigration law controversy. I merely wanted to point out that everyone in America has an ancestor that was once an immigrant, just to provide a little perspective for the jingoist anti-immigration camp, and did my Facebook wall ever blow up. Did I want people to agree with me? Of course. Did I want to sway people to my side? Sure, what good liberal doesn't? But what I really wanted was the discussion. For both sides to have an equal share of the conversation. For there to be understanding and the beautiful exchange of information and ideas that makes having different opinions worthwhile. I did get the last word on that particular day so maybe it's easier for me to say that now, but seriously. I spent my entire college career examining different perspectives and hunting for the Truth in fiction; it's only fitting that I continue. This time I'll be hunting for the Truth in adulthood and I am certain that will be an equally challenging task.