The kids and I went blueberry picking with some friends today. I enjoy it, its almost like a meditation, the picking of berries off of the trees and filling up the bucket. I remember the first year we went, Sam was not yet two and by the time we got to the car, he had nearly whole blueberries in his poopie diaper!!! I had to laugh that berries could go through him that fast...
I looked at an old video of the kids recently and am always so touched by how little they were, or things I forgot. Time goes by so fast, but I am also reminded of how many things we have all done together over the years. (The photo is Savannah's 4th bday, several years ago...such an intense look in her eyes, wonder, curiosity; such little hands. Kids are so precious). Sam got out his baby book today and I totally cracked up reading what I wrote on foods he liked: "Bananas, oranges, spaghetti, grapes, venison, salmon, catfish. OK, let's face it - anything! Even non-food (or particularly non-food - dog food, pine cones, dog poop - LOL! paper, ugh!) This boy puts everything and anything in his mouth and swallows! Oh yes, and the excitement of getting one of his chewable vitamins! Oh! It's hysterical! He can barely control himself." Above all my darling Sam has joie de vivre! I had completely forgotten about all those things... I love that I wrote things down because memories can be so sporadic.
Looking at the photos of the whole family together, our drive to Alaska, our kayak trips, trips to Mississippi, so many things we did together. I miss the unity of the family. That is the hardest part of divorce I think. I am really grateful that I am friends with my ex still. He always has good advice for me, and I know he genuinely cares about me and that is nice. So people ask why did I leave but that is a complicated question. I think I will go to the grave not knowing if I did the right thing or not. Probably in some ways it was wrong and in some ways right. There were some selfish motives and some unselfish ones. And ultimately we both were involved in the dissolution.
I always related to hippies growing up because of my dad. He got me this coffee table book "Hippie" and looking at all the photos and text, I realized there are only parts of the hippie generation I relate to. I've outgrown my wild party days of youth, I am not into the whole free love thing, and I can't honestly say that I am a pacifist (C.S. Lewis' writing reflect my opinions on this), but what I relate to are the messages in the music, and the unorganized but real power of a generation believing in something other than the pursuit of their own selfish dreams (motivated by economic gain). They sought education, opposed the Vietnam war and demonstrated for peace, fought the establishment, sought women's rights, black rights, gay rights, established Earth Day, became entranced by music, wore flowers in their hair, pursued joy and love. Today people seem mostly apathetic. There is no unified movement of people seeking to improve the world or better themselves. There is nothing or no movement to feel that I am a part of it, or that I'd be willing to feel connected with or motivated by. Even the Christian community in my opinion falls way short of what it could be. In my time of direst need (my divorce and the depression afterwards) nobody reached out to me from the church, really only Matt (my ex!) and my mom and dad and a couple of friends were there for me. In the end we all have to walk our own road, but it would be nice to be a part of something bigger, something true and right and blessed. Sometimes though it takes hell to bring people together, like Sept 11. Its so easy for people to take the wrong road, and that is pursuing selfish desires, not considering others, putting economic gain over doing the right thing ("the love of money is the root of all evil" Timothy 6:10).
I guess the thing I seek in life more than anything is connection. Its a rare gift and requires becoming vulnerable and to risk being disappointed.
Emergency relief for Gaza and Lebanon
1 week ago
No comments:
Post a Comment