Stillness

BE Still

even in the most full days of life 

                            and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the smallest joys of everyday 

                            and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still 

even in the places between difficult and impossible

                             and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the most gut wrenching anguish

                             and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the loneliest places that no friend can fill

                             and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still 

even in the chaos of change and uncertainty 

                             and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the tiniest glimpse of curious wonder

                              and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the sight of breathtaking beauty

                               and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the presence of those who have lost your trust

                              and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the funeral that doesn't feel fair

                               and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in and among the flowers that mark the grave

                                and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the reality that looks very different from the plan

                                and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still 

even in the routines that become most mundane

                                 and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the rare moments of rest and reprieve

                                  and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the loss of another, of one who loved you well

                                   and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the flooding of memories that are all you have left

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the rain that won't relent

                                   and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still 

even in the pain in the present

                                   and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the shortness of your own breath

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still 

even in the burning heat of anger with nowhere to go

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the experience of injustice and delusion

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the heavy silence that no words can fill

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the yearning ache of longings unfulfilled

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the miracle of new life emerging from within

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the faintest glimmer of hope

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the embrace of the one who loves you intimately

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the worries and fears that can consume your being 

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the nights of restless tossing and turning

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the elusive places of peace

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still
even in the pursuit of growth, healing, and change
                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

BE Still

even in the waiting of promises yet to be fulfilled

                                    and KNOW that I AM GOD

Be still and know that I am God.

Psalms 46:10

This Shared Life. Year Two.

It's been two years since our lives merged with the lives of two women who have complex developmental disabilities. 

We began this journey with little experience with adults who have developmental disabilities; but with open hearts, willing hands, and a commitment to share life for at least two years. 

Two years ago we didn't know what was going to happen when we put five people with different backgrounds, ages, abilities, and personalities together in the same house. 

It's been an adventure.

In these two short years, both Sarah and Jodi have impacted us in ways that we still don't have words for, but will forever remember. 

  

These two ladies are truly remarkable people. 

They are people who live with resilience, grit, and joy in the midst of daily challenges and struggles. 

Their resilience has become an inspiration for Jesse and I in the face of our own challenges.  We have collectively come to depend on the routines and structured life we have built together.

 

In one sentence, I would sum up these two years of sharing life with Sarah and Jodi as "an amazing learning opportunity full of unexpected life lessons." 

Lessons in both giving and receiving patience, grace, and love to each other and from each other. None of the five of us will ever be the same. Lives change when they are shared with people who are different from yourself. 

Pictures are worth a thousand words, but there are always a thousand unspoken words behind the pictures. Although full of lessons and growth, these two years have by no means been easy. We weren't expecting easy. Honestly, we didn't know what to expect. Our time with Sarah and Jodi has been a strange mixture of joys and challenges, laughter and frustration, routines and flexibility. The first year was really unique. Full of new discoveries, new joys, and new growth. 

Hearts full. Hands full. 

This second year has been more defined by struggle. The novelty has worn off. Routines have set in. Grieving of losses in our personal lives. The development of dementia's rapid digression. 

Hearts heavy, and hands heavy.

Dementia is no joke. Two years ago, it was apparent, but not incredibly severe for Jodi. She still had her job at the recycling center, and she still had a lot of independent skills for daily living. But dementia is an unpredictable and progressive disease with a mind of its own. 

  

 

This has been a really tough year for Jodi.  Her story is worth telling. 

As a younger woman with Down Syndrome, she used to enjoy a lot of independence. She used to take public metro buses all over King County. She relished having this freedom and endless amounts of soda. She's always had a strong work ethic and has taken a lot of pride in having a job. One of her more prestigious jobs included working for King County Council delivering mail, but her all-time favorite was handing out programs at the Mariners games. Like most adults, she's always enjoyed seeing her bi-weekly paycheck with her name on it. Being a contributing member of society has given her a lot of strength and dignity as a person. 

In recent years, she has been diagnosed with early onset dementia, and has seen a rapid decline in her ability to make wise decisions, be safe, and care for herself. This was recently accelerated by losing her job earlier this year at a recycling center where she had been employed for the past eleven years. Jodi doesn't like change, doesn't like being unemployed, and she does not like receiving care from others. Her dementia has continued to digress rapidly and she has become increasingly challenging to care for, especially in this past year.

Dementia is becoming a  prevalent issue for the aging population of people with Down Syndrome. According to the National Alzheimers Organization this is what some of the early symptoms of dementia with down syndrome can look like:

In people with Down syndrome, changes in overall function, personality and behavior may be more common early signs of Alzheimer's than memory loss and forgetfulness. 

Early Symptoms may include:

• Reduced interest in being sociable, conversing or expressing thoughts

• Decreased enthusiasm for usual activities

• Decline in ability to pay attention

• Sadness, fearfulness or anxiety 

• Irritability, uncooperativeness or aggression

• Restlessness or sleep disturbances

• Seizures that begin in adulthood

• Changes in coordination and walking

• Increased noisiness or excitability

• (other sources also include increased anger and depression)

With the exception of seizures, and the addition of many other challenging symptoms not listed, this is what life with Jodi has come to look like this year. Her increasing need for attention and care and the challenges that come with providing her care, have been intense. Especially intense when her increasing needs are so evident to those who live with her, and yet the computerized assessment that determines her eligibility for services recognizes no need to increase her personal care hours. 

People with disabilities need a small army of strong advocates in order to receive the appropriate level of care and services. Their own voices are not well heard or understood. Even with her incredible and involved step-mom, and a team of influential people advocating on Jodi's behalf for well over a year, the necessary increases to compensate for her increasing care needs were not approved. The current DSHS system in the state of Washington is grossly inadequate for the aging population of people with disabilities. For example, according to Jodi's most recent assessment, she is approved for receiving only three and a half hours of paid care per day. If you know anyone with dementia you know this is ridiculous. If you know anyone with both Down Syndrome and Dementia - you know this is absurd. 

This is a big issue for our generation to be aware of. To know and consider the needs of our fellow human beings who are most often overlooked in our society. 

State operated mental health institutions are thankfully becoming increasingly scarce, but what isn't as commonly known is that good housing and care alternatives are equally as scarce. Funding ongoing services for adults with disabilities is a struggle. Parents need good options for their adult kids who have disabilities, and frankly in 2015 the options are few. Adults with disabilities want to - and have equal rights to - live independently in our communities. Independence gives their lives added meaning, value, and worth. More caregivers and advocates are needed in addition to changes in legislation if real change is going to be seen in our lifetime. 

I want to see this change happen. My passion is partially born out of love for my three nieces and nephews who have developmental disabilities. I want to see a different future with better options for them as they grow up. I haven't stood passively by the side-lines as Jodi has struggled this year. I've written pages of appeals, I've documented in very specific spreadsheets the amount of actual hands-on care that Jodi requires --which is three times greater than the amount she is currently approved for. I've spoken with case-mangers, supervisors, psychologists, and anyone who will listen or offer guidance. But the results always return the same: on paper she looks "healthy" and you can't change the assessment. The assessment is the tool used to define the need for services. End of story.

Sadly, this has become the end of the story for Jodi in the context of our Shared Living Home.

 

The weight of Jodi's complex dementia and the ongoing struggle against her assessment has become to much for us to bear in the setting of 24/7 live-in care with five people to think about. We are completing our two-year commitment with Jodi this month, and then she is moving on to hopefully find housing in a different setting with rotating caregivers. 

The rest of us are staying for at least one more year. A third year with Jesse, Ruth, Caden, Sarah and a new housemate who will be joining us in December.  Stay tuned for more adventures yet to come. 

Plans and open hands.

Awhile ago, Jesse and I decided that we needed a five-year plan.

We spent the first five years of our life together in blissful daydreams while pursuing education that we hoped would launch us towards achieving "world-changers" status. That season was awesome. We were super poor, living paycheck to paycheck in the great city of Chicago, riding our bicycles everywhere. We both went to school full-time and worked full-time. It was exhilarating in the way that running in place is. We had a lot of ideas of who we wanted to be, where we wanted to go, and what we wanted to do, and the busyness of that season was exhausting in an endorphin-releasing-good-way. But the reality was that we were grounded by sitting in hours of lectures, followed by hours of writing papers and preparing presentations, squished by hours of working retail and service jobs.

We longed for the next season. Where we could fly into the future and transform our surroundings.

And then we graduated. We did it! We were ready to fly!

But wings did not come attached to our graduation gown.

We floundered. We searched for different opportunities. We reached for our dreams. And doors were repeatedly closed on our eager faces. We felt stuck. We were discouraged. We had no plan. We realized we only had dreams. Those dreams made us feel like we were grasping at the wind. And the wind blew us across the country to the other side of the mountains.

The need for a plan was born in the same moment that our first born child took his first breath. Becoming parents profoundly impacted us with the necessity of becoming people who not only dream big dreams but who also commit to doing hard things in order for those dreams to emerge out of the embryonic stage of idealism. Viable dreams grow and change the person who bears them. Only after they change the person who conceived them can they be birthed and change the environment around them. 

So we stopped grasping for wind and sat down to make a five year plan. We wanted to see our dreams  come to life. In order for that to happen, we needed to face our dreams in their most basic form and develop some action steps. 

When we sat down together to write out our glorious plan to become dream achievers, there was so much that we could not have anticipated.  We only heard the happy buzz at the coffee shop where our pens scribbled on separate papers and articulated the essential elements of our individual dreams. Followed by the delightful rush of caffeine fully incorporated in our bloodstream while we combined our dreams into a five year timeline of shared dream making. At that time we were oblivious to the possibility of future struggle.

In that moment it felt as if we had found the key to success and happiness. The powerful combination of dreams and plans.  And the blur of voices around us seemed to confirm that all you need to do is have a plan and then do it. From great vacations, to having children, to excelling in a career - all you need is a plan. Well, buckle your seatbelt,  hold on tight, here we go! Or so we thought.

It didn't take long before the manifesto we had developed began to crumble and crack. In all of our eagerness to plan and take control of our lives - we had failed to leave space for negotiations with the sun, the rain, the wind --and the Maker of it all.  

This second year in our five year plan has been full of bumps and bruises and face-plants. Things aren't going according to plan. Little did we know that the essence of pursuing dreams is recognizing how little power we have. To hold all plans in open hands. To let go of perfection. To receive dreams as the precious gifts that they are.

We didn't plan on funerals, miscarriage, grief, and sorrow. We didn't plan on setbacks, delays, and changes. We didn't plan on uncertainty, discouragement, and upheaval. Within, around, and day to day - life is unpredictable. Even with a plan.

This visual is worth a thousand words:

So here we are. We're learning how to let go. And how to keep moving.

We've moved from spinning in circles and grasping at the wind to holding our hands in open surrender to the wind while taking one laborious and intentional step at a time. Trusting that there will continue to be enough grace for each day regardless of the circumstances.

Plans are good and essential. Without them we certainly won't go anywhere. We want plans because we want to go somewhere. But the plans aren't the destination. Plans serve only one purpose and that is movement. 

Dreams give us hope, and plans give us courage to keep walking. And joy is the bizarre gift that springs up whenever we stop to acknowledge the grace that has brought us safe thus far.

One step at a time. 

Thoughts From a Shared Table

The most formational experiences of my life have come from sitting at a table and sharing a meal with people who are different from myself.

When you stop to think about it, its really a magical experience to find deep connections with people who have very different life experiences. Its especially magical when the connection is forged over the visceral desire of hunger. I think of hunger as vulnerability at its most basic form. It is a daily, universal experience of neediness that all humanity shares.  In places where I haven't understood the people around me, I've been especially grateful for the way that hunger connects us. 

Hunger is one of the most basic human longings. Right along with the desire for love and safety - hunger is something that we all share in common.  We love it and hate it. Food carries with it both the power to make us whole or destroy us.  Abundance and scarcity, obsession and disgust, diets and binges, culture and home, processed and organic, allergies and sensations. Hunger draws out all of our senses, along with a lot of emotions, opinions, pains, memories, and longings from deep places within us. 

Ultimately, I believe that hunger brings us to the table in need of something more than just food.

We're all hungry for human connection. When I eat lunch by myself, I have to resist the urge to also check Facebook. Because sometimes, I need to connect with my own self. Words and activity aren't  necessary for deep connection, and neither are perfect place settings, decor, or gourmet food. The food itself does matter - a little love and thoughtfulness mixed into the preparations goes a long way - but I've discovered that even a shared box of Mac N' Cheese can be filled with love. Intentions are the only determining factor for connection with both my self and others. 

Sitting at tables with people who are different from me is where I have learned the most about myself and others. 

The big table in my parent's house which was always covered with homeschool books, bills, and fresh produce from my mom's garden. Racing to get seconds before my brothers ate it all. Seven kids, and frequent guests. Somehow, there was always enough to eat.

The terrifying and overwhelming school cafeterias, with unknown rules governing where you can sit and eat. Looking for a smile, a welcoming face, an invitation to be part of a group. Insecurities raged, appetites lost, new hungers emerged.  

The warm and fragrant homes of hospitable new friends recently relocated from Ukraine and Ethiopia. From deeply filling Borsch to full bodied spices infusing a hearty lamb stew accompanied with tangy fresh injera. Plates being refilled as soon as they were empty. Generous, endless, gifts of food and exchange of cultures.

The feasts prepared in Ghana, Africa. Prayers of gratitude for food on the table and freedom that is not taken for granted. We ate and were watched closely; our delight in their food was their greatest joy. Lip smacking, finger licking, clapping, laughing, story telling, and sitting at the table for hours. Fullness in stomach and heart. 

The tables in the cafeteria at the homeless shelter in Milwaukee. The choice to eat with the guests, or by myself. Thoughts about my own comfortable table to return to when I clocked out of my 8 hour shift. Hamhocks, meatloaf, baked beans, and cooked greens. The food of a non-profit budget subject to that week's donations.  Food that often tasted even worse than it looked.  The discovery that it's possible to leave a table feeling more hungry than when we arrived. 

The first table we called "ours" in our first apartment in Chicago. It was a small and perfect square with room for four. We wanted to learn to be generous and practice hospitality. We regularly invited and welcomed our co-workers, our neighbors, our classmates, and two teenagers that we grew to love. Regardless of ethnicity, orientation, or beliefs. We invited them to share meals with us at our small square pub table in our little apartment on Thorndale. What we didn’t initially realize is the extent that we would be sharing life with the people who came to our table. Big, beautiful, messy life. Full of diversity and complexity.  We soon realized that we needed a bigger table. Our perfect square was just too small for sharing life with others. So we exchanged our square on craigslist for a bigger one. A wooden rectangle that has been seasoned with impatient forks, hot dishes, and yet stands strong after 50 years of Thanksgivings. Imperfect, but handmade in Michigan in 1960.  

And now we share a table that isn't ours, every day, with people different from ourselves. Sharing life with Sarah and Jodi revolves around the table. We all get hungry, and we sit down together to eat. Breakfast and Dinner.  Pizza every Friday night. Tacos on Tuesday. And out for lunch on Sundays. The rest of the time we eat lots of broccoli, kale, carrots, salads, fresh meat, and legumes. We daydream about the juicy burgers and bubbly soda at Red Robin --the special occasion treat of choice. Dessert is a powerful potion containing motivational magic. So we have it every day: apples, strawberries, pineapple and occasionally cookies, ice cream, or chocolate. Sarah and Caden pray a simple prayer of "GANKS GOD" for a constantly changing variety of wonderful things. Jodi begrudgingly holds hands, and keeps one eye on her food. The "AMEN" is punctuated with a cacophony of burps, belches, grunts, toots, snorts, lip smacking, and reminders to wipe your face. Our table is messy and noisy.  But there's always enough to eat, and there's always room for a few more. 

Living Dreams

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams."

- Eleanor Roosevelt -

 

Dreams: can you imagine life without them?

One of my favorite mantra's is "dream big -- live big." If you knew the epic proportions of my dreamiest dreams you might just laugh at my idealistic thinking super powers. Call it grandiosity or call it visionary strength; whether truth or fiction; distraction or motivation --I consider my dreams my greatest treasure. A gift received from God.

Like any treasure, the freedom to dream big and live big is something not to be taken for granted but rather a gift to be received with gratitude.

Not to be taken for granted because it is a complex gift to be able to dream about a better world, a more cohesive community, an authentic personal life, and then set those dreams into motion. For a lot of people, living out their dreams is like searching for buried treasure. For a lot of us, our dreams get buried or distorted when we are too young to know the difference, and when we are old enough to know the difference we don't know if the treasure is even worth finding. Buried dreams and deep longings exist in all of us. They are the shared beauty in all humanity.  A connection to the world outside of our individual realities. A gift that we all possess but one that we do not all have direct access too. I dream about living fully. But I'm also still digging for buried treasure.

Young adulthood has been a tumultuous transition for me. The world outside of the tiny box that I was raised in is big and mysterious and wonderful. Like an ocean raging, it has moved me, rocked me, beaten me, held me, and ultimately transformed me. And through the process, I have somehow been guided back to where I started: my dreams. A gift from God. Received with gratitude.

I was raised in a community with a lot of fear and few resources. Fear of others and the unknown. Boxes were believed to be better than freedom. Roles and rules over relationships. Gender determined EVERYTHING. Dreams were buried. Dreams were lost. It has been with a lot of trepidation and echoing voices of criticism and shame that I gathered the courage seven years ago to dip my naked feminine toes in the ocean, and allowed myself to breathe in the fresh aroma of freedom. It started with a supportive husband and a certificate and license in massage therapy.  Which  showed me my capabilities and led to the desire for more education, more experience, and the completion of a bachelors degree. Step by step. Freedom is gradually becoming a full mind-body-spirit experience for me. I'm learning how to swim and surf and ride the waves.  It's tumultuous.  It's terrifying. It's transformational.

To dream freely.
To dream my own dreams.
To believe that they are beautiful.

These are gifts that I do not take for granted.

 Dreams of graduate school. Dreams of a future career as an Occupational Therapist. Dreams of using my intelligence, strength, and gifts in a way that contributes positively to society. Dreams of working with people in under-resourced corners. Dreams of bringing hope to those who don't have access to freedom. Dreams of seeing the world and experiencing diverse cultures.  Dreams of being an extension of the loving and healing hands and feet of Christ.
Dreams. Dreams. Dreams.

But dreams cannot live in isolation - dreams demand to be shared. And heard. Dreams provide a shared space in healthy relationships for hope and trust and freedom. There are a handful of people in my life that I fondly think of as my "dream keepers" and my dreams live on because they consistently honor the privilege of hearing and sharing my dreams.

I think of people like Eleanor Roosevelt who was one of the earliest advocates for comprehensive care of persons with disabilities, who passionately advocated for the basic rights of all people.  A person who did not just actively pursue her own dreams - but breathed life into the dreams of others.

Dreams of quality care in the context of normal community for people with disabilities. Dreams of changes in legislation to provide funding for alternative living arrangements for people with disabilities. Dreams of destructive and offensive labels being eradicated for people with disabilities. Dreams of finding more humane ways of treatment and retiring the use of restraint. Dreams of  education for all abilities. Dreams of employment for all abilities. Dreams of transportation for all abilities. Dreams of olympics for all abilities. Dreams that the worth of a human life won't be equated with abilities and accomplishments.
Dreams. Dreams. Dreams. 

Shared Living is about Sharing Dreams.

Not to be taken for granted because it is a complex gift to be able to dream about a better world, a more cohesive community, an authentic personal life, and then set those dreams into motion. Until two decades ago, housing options like Shared Living have only been a dream for people with disabilities. Jodi and Sarah are now living the dream that so many people have been dreaming about for decades. They are living the dream of being seen, heard, and validated as humans worthy of life and love.

Dreams tie us together. Sarah, Jodi, and I are different people from different backgrounds but what we share in common are dreams for freedom and a life worth living.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Shared Living is not epic or extraordinary - it is most often mundane and monotonous. And yet it is a living dream. A dream in action. Perhaps dreaming about big dreams is always going to be more epic than living them?  But what good are dreams unless they are lived and shared? There is something about seeing this shared life as a real-life living dream that helps me rest in its imperfect tension.

May you also rest in the belief that your dreams are beautiful. The next step to believing is sharing your dreams with others. Who are the dream keepers in your life? What dreams can you share with others?

POSTSCRIPT:  2015 marks the 25 year anniversary (since 1990) that the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) has been signed into law. It's only been 25 years.  This act has provided the legal protections necessary for people with disabilities to live satisfying and safe lives in the context of integrated and supportive communities. But the real work has only just begun. The opportunities for sharing the dream to improve the quality of life for people with disabilities are ongoing and endless. 

Right here. Right now.

This lent was a season for me to focus on learning how to be still and not so distracted. Giving up social media for 40 days served this purpose well. Allowing me to be more present with my presence. Leaning me towards life in the right here and the right now.

The right here and now is intense and challenging and not at all dreamy.

But I want to write about it so that I remember. So that I can truthfully acknowledge the challenges in my days. So that I can be realistic in my writings and not merely idealistic.

The here and now finds my alarm buzzing at 5:00am. Snooze. Snooze. Wake up. Shower, hair, make-up. Enjoy a hot breakfast made with love by Jesse and a few minutes of coffee flavored quiet time together. We just sit and eat in silence, grateful for these moments until we hear...

"I NEED BRAKFAST!" - and out comes the wee little man with his adorable scruffy morning voice under his adorable scruffy morning hair. And our time together has passed. The two-year old is now awake, in need of cuddles and attention and care before the flurry of prepping meds, prepping breakfast, and prepping lunches begins. 

With everything prepped for everyone else - I head out the door. Anatomy + Physiology class begins at 7:30am sharp. The quiet car ride through the morning fog. The occasional glimpse of orangish red through the towering PNW firs to the east. The privilege to pursue my dreams, to take notes, to learn. Pre-requisites for grad school. 

While I'm in class four mornings a week, Jesse helps Sarah and Jodi with showers, breakfast, teeth brushing and getting on the bus. He takes Caden to preschool. He drives through the mid-morning haze towards the mountains, towards the rising sun to his other full-time work.  

After class I study as much as I can. Amid menu planning and buying groceries. Scheduling appointments. Attending meetings,  planning meetings. Grabbing coffee with a friend.  I pick up Caden from pre-school. 

Lunch time. The day has only just begun. Sit down. I made a commitment this year to sit down and enjoy my lunch. No more washing dishes while eating lunch. No more email responding while eating lunch. No more chasing the two-year old while eating lunch. Sit down. Breathe. Relax. Taste. Enjoy. Just eat lunch. Everything else can wait.

Nap time. Finally.  I claim the couch for a coveted 15-30 minutes. Rest. Recharge. Renew. Read. Be still. Find inspiration. Another 15-30 minutes. Ready to go again. Right here. Right now.

Emails. Phone calls. Meetings. Paperwork. Calendars. Researching ideas. Problem solving. Cleaning. Laundry. Organizing. 

Ding-dong. The bus is here. The ladies are home. Needing guidance. Needing support. Needing life to be shared.

The little one will wake fully re-charged soon, so dinner prep must be underway. Chop, cut, shred,  sauté, steam, blend. Cooking brings me calm. Rhythm in the mundane. Control in the chaos. Joy in the moment. Right here. Right now.

"MY CLOCK IS GREEN!" he yells: and the nap is done. The door slams. Here he comes racing, running, ripping, roaring. Post-nap hugs and drooly kisses. Dreamy stories about lions and giraffes. Time for a snack. Time for a game. Time for a book. Time to help mom cook. 

Sometimes I don't have much left to give when I give it all to dinner. After dinner I just want to clock out and let another clock in. But the other has also worked for 8 hours and is now on his way to class. Driving through the drizzly rain. To Seattle University. To learn. To grow. To change. 

So I take a deep breath and I get ready to push to the end. You can't give up now. The day is not yet done. You can do this. Showers and baths. Patience running thin. Dishes and clean up. Save a plate for Jesse. Medications and dessert. Raising my voice harshly. Sigh. I try again. Band practice, puzzles, and story time.  Tired, I get frustrated easily. Can I really do this? I try again. Big breath. Pajamas. Big sighs. C'mon we're almost there. Teeth brushing. We made it. I apologize for my cranky attitude. Thankful for grace. There was enough for today. Goodnight hugs. 

Wherever you are be all there. Be all there. Be all here. Right here. Right now.

The door opens, he's home again at last. Tired. Happy. Exhausted. Excited. Hungry. Saved a plate for Jesse. Sitting at the table in quiet once more. Sharing stories about the day. Prepping for tomorrow. Discussing weekend plans. Studying on the couch until our eyelids become too heavy. Sleep puts us to bed and tucks us in. Reminding us of our dreams, and that this is just a season.

This is a season. We're here for a reason. Right here. Right now.