ElizabethEsther.com

faithful couple

 

Three years ago we toured a valley of giant sequoia trees, some of which had been standing for hundreds of years. One tree was over 1500 years old. I felt a kind of reverential awe for the majesty of these towering trees standing in silent vigil through the march of centuries.

But there was one tree in particular that captured my interest. It was, in fact, two trees merged together. They've been dubbed " The Faithful Couple" (as pictured above).

The audio guide told us that this tree is an exceptional rarity since what usually happens is that a larger, stronger tree takes over a smaller one or simply kills off the smaller tree by blocking its sunlight and sucking up its water supply. 

But in the case of "Faithful Couple," two trees of equal strength pushed against each other. And as they pushed, they grew into one another. However, this was no hostile takeover. It wasn't one tree defeating and/or swallowing up the other.

Each tree retained its individual "treeness."  After forming their solid union--a fortress-like base--they continued upwards, growing stronger and taller. Finally, after many years of almost indistinguishable oneness, the two trees separated--just ever so slightly. They are still one, but they are also beautifully distinct.

This tree gives me hope. It represents what I hope my marriage can be.

I say this because I know I'm not an easy person to live with. I'm strong-willed and defiant. I question everything. I'm extremely emotionally sensitive. And I have, um, baggage. I'm quite a catch, yes? Heh.

Well, I'm probably a terrifying catch to someone who is not equally strong, someone who enjoys a challenge. 

This is why I adore my husband. He is a worthy opponent--but not in a hostile, takeover way. More in an "iron sharpens iron" kind of way. He is, quite simply, a man I can respect. 

Yes, we have hurt each other many times over the years. We've had our huge ups and our huge downs. Our love is nothing if not imperfect. But through all these years--15 already!--he has always won my unflagging admiration. 

I don't write about the love of my life very often. My words seem foolish and inadequate in the face of this monumental force that has shaped the topography of my life. Whenever I start to write about him, I sound like a wildly clanging cymbal. Nothing I can say speaks to the mystery and sense of reverential awe I feel toward this man.

I also don't write about him very often because it seems unpopular to say that I don't know myself apart from him. But it's true. I have grown into and out of him, lost myself and found myself with him. We are one, but we are also beautifully distinct.

He gives me my space. He's protective without being controlling. He's masculine without being macho. He is my most trusted advisor, confidant and dearest friend. And I am his. 

Bonus? I also think he's super hot! I just love everything about him. The way he talks, the way he smells, the way he sings off-tune.

I even love that he never smiles for the camera! He just squints into it like a little old man. Eeek! The sexiness!

OK, me and my exclamation points will cease and desist now.

Happy Father's Day, beloved old man. Thank you for growing up and growing old with me. xo.

Summer Plans!

As you may know, I'm a contributing blogger for OCFamily.com. I love chatting and meeting up with these fantastic mommy bloggers. We have so much fun together here in The OC. Anyway, our lead blogger--the lovely Suzanne Broughton--put together a vloggersation featuring several of us. I thought you might enjoy watching me chat about my summer plans with these fun ladies...

OC Family Vloggersation: Summer from Suzanne Broughton on Vimeo.

Finding joy in the ordinary days

I'm writing this after a 14 1/2 hour shift. I didn't get paid for the work I did today. I just barely got a couple of potty breaks. I sweated. I supervised. And now, I stink.

Today, there was blood. I bandaged a smashed toe, a tweaked toe-nail. I wiped her tears, rocked her at my breast. I comforted, I cooked, I cried. I prayed for strength.

There was poop. Then again, there is always poop, rain or shine. But today it was sunny. On sunny days, they like to run naked like wild banshees. And I let them.

I lifted, carried, stacked, organized, cleaned. We ate. 

I argued with my husband about the proper tending of a tweaked toe-nail. He said Neosporin and Band-aid. I said antibacterial spray and a Band-aid.

We compromised. Except the Band-aid kept coming off, so. Maybe he was right.

We forgave each other and he made me laugh. I kissed him at least five times today.

I had a serious conversation with a child. Being honest means not exploiting loop-holes, son. He said he wants to be a lawyer. Figures. Still. Honesty. I'm serious, son. There will be serious consequences if I catch you lying again.

"Is inflating facts lying?" 

"Nice phrasing," I say. 

"Yes," says Dad, stepping in. "Be clear on your facts or else they're not facts."

Excellent job, Daddy!

"Gotcha," says son.

There was also a Choking Incident today. She popped a lid in her mouth. Started choking, chubby hands flying up to her mouth. Daddy scooped it out.

Another disaster averted.

But the school science project almost got ruined. It was melting to death on the front porch. I saved it.

Later, we tried to watch a movie together as a family. But it did not pass muster. I turned it off. Sorry, guys. Inappropriate content. Who rented this? DADDY.

"What?" he says. "I watched this movie when I was a kid!"

"My point exactly," I say.

"That's true," he grins. "Sorry, kids! Bedtime!"

Kisses, prayers and just one more drink of water?

And now, now I'm exhausted. It was a hard, long shift.

But it was a good day. A very good day, indeed.

[Many heartfelt thanks to our American veterans for their service. Their sacrifice provides the freedom and safety that allows me to have such beautifully ordinary days like today. Happy Memorial Day.]

Vignettes of happiness

Men. And their Grills.

We sold a few things on Craigs List in order to buy an outdoor grill. After picking it up from Costco, Matt brought it home to assemble it. Lesson 1: never buy a grill you have to assemble yourself. Turns out the thing had a huge dent on the side of it--a flaw Matt discovered after having spent an hour trying to put it together. 

He schlepped it back to the store, stood in the returns line, explained the problem, got his money back and this time, bought a pre-assembled grill. After this estimated one hour project had turned into a half-day marathon, the marinated steak was finally sizzling on the hot grill and Matt was smiling,

"Grilling makes me feel like a man," he sighed contentedly.

Seeing him so happy made me happy, too.

Hoarder v. Purger

It's not that I'm trying to be a pack-rat, it's just that I can foresee all kinds of possible future uses for that battered, old, half-broken infant car-seat. Also, it has sentimental value.

I'm the hoarder, he's the purger. I make piles (and I know exactly what's in each pile!) and he obliterates my piles. I say it's a loose organizational system. He says it's clutter.

Last weekend, Matt decided it was time to clear out the garage again. "It's reached a saturation point," he said. I knew what that meant. PURGE-TIME. I couldn't watch so I went inside and baked cookies.

By the time he was done, most of the baby twin gear was ready to be donated or sold. My uterus started having a panic attack. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? I WAS GOING TO USE THAT STUFF!

I almost started gnawing on my clenched knuckles. 

But a day later, when I went into the garage I was like: Oh, this is nice. I can actually walk through here without risking my life.

I had to admit that a spiffy, tidy garage does make a body feel happy.

So, I text'd him. Garage looks nice. Thanks for cleaning it out.

My Little Humanitarian.

"Mom, I want to give a speech about sponsoring a child through Compassion," Jewel informed me this week. "Can you help me write it?"

I was sorta stunned. And thrilled. As part of the leadership team at her school, Jewel explained that she wanted to inspire other kids by sharing our family's experience with sponsoring a child from El Salvador.

Last November we sponsored a child in El Salvador. We chose a 12 year old boy because we heard that older boys often don't get sponsors. We've received several letters from our boy and all my kids love it.

So, I helped Jewel work out some salient points for her speech. Seeing her excitement and commitment to this endeavor made me so happy.

She wants to make this world a better place and that makes this Mama feel happy. And hopeful.

[reminder: please join me this Saturday for THE SATURDAY EVENING BLOG POST! we'll be featuring our favorite posts from March and April. it's a great way to meet new blog-friends!]

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in the meantime, consider subscribing to my blog? it would make me happy! :)  

Good news. Again, I'm just fat.

All breast lumps are just...more fat globs. Best news I've heard all year. Many thanks for all prayers and kind thoughts--I truly had complete peace today. I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend--I'm definitely going to enjoy mine! xoxo. EE.

A Moment of Silence

In honor of Holy Week, I'm consecrating my time to family and prayer. This also means I will not be hosting The Saturday Evening Blog Post this weekend. May you have a joyous and meaningful Easter! 

Understanding is the reward given by faith.
Do not try to understand in order to believe,
but believe in order to understand.
--St. Augustine

Thirty-three

I'm not doing a giveaway this year.

Or throwing myself a party.

I'm just sorta taking it all in. Relishing it. Savoring it.

I love getting older. To be honest, I've never been happier than I am right now.

The prevailing feeling I have today is gratitude. I'm immensely grateful for this life I've been given, for my precious family, for friends, for everything I've experienced. I'm thankful for the ability to write about it. 

I'd also like to thank you for taking the time to read here. I appreciate you--even when you disagree with me. I learn from you. Maybe you learn a little from me, too.

So, from the bottom of my heart: thank you.

I'd love to hear from you today. Wish me Happy Birthday from where you are? That'd make my day.

Cheers!

The big picture

We took a spontaneous trip to San Diego on Valentine's Day.

My favorite part was driving over the Coronado Bridge. It's a spectacularly high bridge that connects the mainland to Coronado Island. For me, it's terrifying but also, strangely exhilarating.

There's something inexplicably satisfying about gazing out over an expansive view. The view from way up high looks so breathtakingly beautiful. 

It made me sort of wistful. Sometimes I focus too much on the "street view": the cracked pavement, dirt, man-holes, litter. It's easy to forget that a bigger picture exists.

Maybe that's why taking a spontaneous trip is important. Sometimes we need to get outside our "street-view" lives and see the big picture--if only to remind ourselves that it's really there. I know that I need to allow myself to bask in the joy of life more often.

It's easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of a busy, hardworking life and forget to create space for fun and enjoyment.

Marriage and a big family is hard, difficult work. But then there are moments when I catch a brief, fleeting glimpse of pristine beauty. And it takes my breath away.

Love is my only resolution

We landed in Chicago the day after Christmas. It was snowing. Hard. As a Southern California girl, I have an abstract relationship with winter. In theory, winter exists where I live. In reality, I have no idea what cold feels like. 

I found out pretty quickly. We exited the airport and the cold hit me like a slap in the face. It jolted me out of the long daze of hunkered-down survival that I'd been living in since the twins were born. I found myself shivering in the very present moment.

This was the first time in almost 5 years that my husband and I have been alone for more than two days. I didn't quite know what to do with such an amazing stretch of uninterrupted hours.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked my husband as we rode a cab into the city.

"There is no plan," he answered. "The only plan is love."

I admit to thinking: That's a stupid plan.

I like concrete answers, detailed maps, priorities, charts, Plan A followed by a fail-safe Plan B. For better or worse, I take a sort of piggy pleasure in checking off to-do lists. Getting things done.

But sometimes, you have to throw away the plan. Even if that seems like the scariest thing you could ever do.

Ditching the plan and escaping from our lives was like being catapulted into a different universe, plunked down in the middle of a snowy, cold otherworld and given one instruction: LOVE EACH OTHER.

I wish I could say that we fell straight into romantic embraces--but the truth is that it took a full 36 hours for us to unwind. We'd just survived the hardest two years of our lives. We were battle-weary, exhausted, stretched to the very limit. We were overdue for rest. 

But finding our way to that place of rest meant first dealing with what Matt called a "backlog of arguments." We talked and talked, hashing through years' worth of problems and issues.

And then we prayed. Somehow--and I don't think I'll ever really understand it--but praying together heals us.

After that, it was the trip of our dreams. We spent hours meandering through the Art Institute, talking about life and faith, how far we've come, where we're going, laughing, joking, walking hand-in-hand through the falling snow.

That's when I understood what he meant: There is no plan. The only plan is love.

It's why I'm not making any formal resolutions this year. This year I'm not making any rigid plans. Yeah, I have a few goals and a handful of dreams. But above all else, I'm following Matt's advice.

The only plan is love. Love is my only resolution.

 

A chance at redemption

I made a list of all the hurtful things that had been said and done. I built my case. And then I made a decision. I chose silence. 

I chose excommunication.

Except, it's really difficult to excommunicate your own family. For one thing, stuff happens. People die, people get married, babies are born. Eventually, your carefully cultivated vow of silence is broken by something as mundane as:

"Hey, you left some socks at my house."

Or sometimes: "So, are you coming to the funeral?"

And Christmas especially has an uncanny ability to break down the barriers. It's the one time each year when everyone universally agrees to a truce--or at least, a temporary, pretend truce. 

There comes a time when all the fights have been had, all the words have been exchanged and you realize: you can't get rid of your family and you can't change them, either.

Might as well accept them. Might as well slice the ham and please pass the gravy.

I'm not saying we have to like each other. But I guess I just don't see the good of excommunicating. I've tried that route and what really kills me are all the unintended consequences. The things I can't control. The "principled action" I think I'm taking vs. the things that are actually happening.

I guess what I'm saying is that I'm willing to get messy again. For awhile, I wasn't. And that was OK. 

I had to withdraw, reassess, redraw boundaries. I spoke out and asserted myself. I used silence. My silence said: "This far and no further."

There are certain family members with whom I have no contact whatsoever. We are completely estranged. And rightly so. Evil should not be tolerated.

But there are other family members who are just sorta broken--like me. We've got our baggage, our issues, our problems. There are layers of expectations, history, roles we've played. But in spite of it all, we find a way to make peace.

Even if it's only once a year.

[Thanks to everyone who left a Christmas greeting! Our entire family loved seeing the greetings from all over the world! It totally made my day. From now on I expect 100+ comments on every post! :) ]