Stepping Into A Dream

"YOU ARE SO LUCKY MOM! YOU GET TO START SCHOOL BEFORE ME!" - Said my four-year old with a sigh as I tucked him in for bed last night. 

With a kiss on his cheek and warmth in my heart, I wished him sweet dreams, and prayed for restful sleep. 

This morning I stepped into my dream. Not just somebody else's dream, or somebody else's dream for my life, or somebody else's idea for my own dream. I've been doing all those kinds of dreams for the last two decades. Today --I stepped into MY own dream. 

And it felt so good. 

Simon Sinek says, "success is when reality looks like what's in our imagination."

Today I began my graduate studies at St. Catherine University's Occupational Therapy program. The pursuit of a fulfilling career, and doing something meaningful with my life has been a lifelong dream of mine. And it has been a wild journey.

A few of you know my whole story,  some of you know a few bits and pieces, and most of you know only what social media reveals. The same goes for me in regards to most of you who are reading these words. We all make so many assumptions about each other based on a few strands of context. And that is why I am writing now, because I want to remember the context of where I am, how I got here, and the immense privilege that it is to be sitting in the plush purple chairs of St. Catherine University. 

I still don't feel comfortable discussing the painful implications of my fundamental upbringing on this open platform, but I can say that wrestling with my pain and slowly finding peace with my past has brought me to this place of purple chairs and cheery professors. Simon Sinek succinctly states, "Fulfillment is not born of the dream. Fulfillment is born of the journey."

Ah! The journey! Yes. It really is all about the journey. 

I was nearly giddy with excitement and joy today - and half the time teetering on the verge of tears. I literally had to pinch myself. To know that I am HERE and this is ME - here - fully present - TODAY - with MY DREAM. Together at last. 

"First the pain, then the rising." (Thank you for those wise words, Glennon Doyle-Melton, they have become a cherished mantra.)

Today felt like the beginning of my rising. Some of my classmates felt like it was the beginning of their three years of expensive, self-imposed tyranny, and tutelage --we were all a bit overwhelmed with the reality of it all-- but to me, it felt like the beginning of something very beautiful and precious, like the conception of one of my babies.

I am excited because I am here - but more importantly, I am fulfilled because of the struggle that it took to get here. I may look like your average OT student: white, middle class, female, late twenties -- but that does not make me average.  This is just the beginning, and I am so very grateful to have a beginning. 

"A vision is like a dream --it will disappear unless we do something with it. Do something big or do something small. But stop wondering and go on an adventure." Simon Sinek

Falling Forward

WE DID IT 

Three years of dedication, focus, sacrifice, and perseverance. 

We are so grateful. 

I am primarily sharing pictures from this momentous day, because I currently have no words to describe what this journey has been, and what this day means to us. 

So instead of my own narrative, I want to share the words of Denzel Washington from his commencement address to Penn University in 2011. His words ring true to both our struggles and successes over these past three years, and inspire us to keep on persevering as we prepare to move to Minnesota so that we can begin the next phase of graduate school with myself as the scholar. 

Enjoy and be inspired!

____________________________________

Excerpts from Denzel Washington's commencement speech:

"I’ve found that nothing in life is worthwhile unless you take risks.

Nothing.

Nelson Mandela said:

“There is no passion to be found playing small—in settling for a life that’s less than the one you’re capable of living.” 

I’m sure in your experiences—in school… in applying to college… in picking your major… in deciding what you want to do with life—people have told you to make sure you have something to “fall back on.” 

But I’ve never understood that concept, having something to fall back on. 

If I’m going to fall, I don’t want to fall back on anything, except my faith. I want to fall… forward.  

At least I figure that way I’ll see what I’m about to hit.

Fall forward.

First… you will fail at some point in your life. Accept it. You will lose.  You will embarrass yourself. You will suck at something. There is no doubt about it.

That’s probably not a traditional message for a graduation ceremony.  But, hey, I’m telling you—embrace it. 

Because it’s inevitable. 

If you don’t fail… you’re not even trying.

My wife told me this expression: “To get something you never had, you have to do something you never did.”

(The result of asking a kind stranger to take our family picture.)

Les Brown, a motivational speaker, made an analogy about this. 

Imagine you’re on your deathbed—and standing around your bed are the ghosts representing your unfilled potential.

The ghosts of the ideas you never acted on. The ghosts of the talents you didn’t use. 

And they’re standing around your bed. Angry. Disappointed. Upset. 

“We came to you because you could have brought us to life,” they say.  “And now we go to the grave together.”

So I ask you today: How many ghosts are going to be around your bed when your time comes? 

Whatever it is… what are you going to do with what you have?

Now here’s my last point about failure: 

Sometimes it’s the best way to figure out where you’re going. 

Your life will never be a straight path.

 

Because taking a risk is not just about going for a job.  

It’s also about knowing what you know and what you don’t know. It’s about being open to people and ideas.

 I can’t think of a better message as we send you off today.

To not only take risks, but to be open to life.

To accept new views and to be open to new opinions.

To be willing to speak at commencement at one of the country’s best universities… even though you’re scared stiff.

While it may be frightening, it will also be rewarding.

Because the chances you take… the people you meet… the people you love...the faith that you have—that’s what’s going to define your life."

(you can find the full transcript of Denzel Washington's speech here  and a video of it here. )

Congratulations Jesse! 

WE DID IT!

The Satisfaction of a Job Well Done

I just finished my job.

And I breathe a breath of fresh confusion.

I'm feeling relieved and grateful, but also exhausted. I'm feeling accomplished and satisfied, while simultaneously sensing that I didn't do enough. I'm feeling eager and excited to move towards the pursuit of my dreams and start graduate school, and yet there's also a keen sense of loss of the identity that I have formed around my work over the past four years. Is this the push-pull of the elusive work-life identity struggle?

For four years I have been a caregiver in some all-encompassing capacity. First for my own child, and then adding two women with developmental disabilities with whom we shared a lovely home and all the complexities of life. And then I slowly started collecting caregivers who needed support and encouragement. And then another child. And for one wild, brief, chaotic, moment --I tried to be a super-hero caregiver for my clients, my children, and a couple of other caregivers. I discovered I wasn't Wonder Woman. Without having any notable support or space for myself, I found myself drowning in the bottomless ocean of giving care.

So I drafted a proposal to develop a caregiver support program (because I needed support).

It was approved!

I took a couple of steps back before I began moving forward again. The heat of burnout was hot in my face, and I desperately had to start saying no. In order to do that I needed to implement boundaries. Not as a way to keep others distant - but as a way to authentically care for myself. In order to care for myself, I had to know what I wanted and needed.

So, after my daughter was born, we moved out of Shared Living. I set my own work hours, goals, and limits, and I respected them. I asked for help, and hired a part-time nanny. I did the very best that I could, and then told myself that it was enough. I showed up to meetings with my whole self, and brought all my ideas and passion. I dreamed up a vision of what a community of healthy caregivers could look like and committed to developing and modeling those practices in my own life. I listened and learned and initiated collaborations. I soon began attracting incredible people with amazing capacity to contribute to a vibrant new culture. But what has been most surprising of all is: I set out to change the caregiver culture in our organization, but ended up primarily succeeding in changing myself.

This is the type of work without intrinsic camaraderie or accolades and the culture is not easily changed. Everyone has their own agendas. There is a web of interdependent and discombobulated checks and balances. There isn't ever enough of anything or anyone. It's similar to the culture that can be found in; parenting, teaching, education, public service, non-profits, care-giving, ministry, social work ---all the black hole arenas of giving that offer little in return.  It's the work that is mundane, chaotic, and never ending. The work that is based on survival and fueled by crisis. The "work" that will eat you alive and spit you out if you let it. The giving isn't ever enough, the crises are a constant, gratitude is scarce, and you are rarely given the satisfaction of finishing well.

So yes, today, all of that is still true as I hit "send" on my final email. The broader work culture didn't change. But I did.

My job is now done, my program has been handed off, my goodbyes and thank you's have been spoken and written. And here I am. I didn't drown this time. I pinch myself to make sure. I find that I have learned how to float with a full heart and great confidence in my spirit. Buoyed by boundaries, and leveling my limits. This ending actually feels really good. I did what I could, when I could and preserved some space for the places that really matter to me.

Of course it's my hope to have sparked a lasting difference, but that is beyond my control. Even if my program is redeveloped or thrown out the window, or proven to be insufficient - my deepest satisfaction is not in what I have or have not done - but in who I am becoming through this whole process.

For those lessons of becoming more of my true self: I am grateful.

Another deep breath, and slowly letting go.

This time full of satisfaction.

The Land of the Free

The first time we sat at a table together, I admit -- it was painfully awkward. They were so tall and so very black. From my perspective, it looked like their heads could hit the top of our door frames if they weren't careful.  Their faces had strange scars in distinct patterns and it took all of my precocious twelve-year-old-self to keep from blurting out; "WHAT ARE THOSE FROM?" while my fingers were itching to see if they felt anything like my prepubescent zits.

My sister had invited her class of English Learner students over for a dinner and game night at our parents house in rural South Dakota. I was homeschooled and accustomed to only seeing people who matched my parents beliefs. This household invasion of Africans was entirely new and foreign and exciting! I didn't know what to do or say at first. But then I remembered: I had read somewhere that the game of mancala originated in Africa, so I asked them if they knew how to play. Turns out - I was the one playing it wrong! They taught me the right way to play their native game and it was a far more complex and interesting version than the boring one printed on the white paper with instructions in english only.

I was twelve. My memories with these guests are only ones of playing games, laughing a lot, feeling awkward, and learning that the capital city in their country is Darfur and a few Sudanese words they taught me. I quickly forgot about the scars adorning their faces, and the fact that we were so different. I remember thinking that my sister had the coolest students ever. At the time, I knew nothing about the Darfur Genocide that they survived.

My sister introduced me to many more of her students over the next several years...incredible people from places I didn't know anything about: Sudan, Kenya, Ethiopia, Ukraine, Russia, Uzbekistan --to name a few that I distinctly recollect.

Fast forward ten years to my life in Chicago. My brother worked with World Relief in assimilating new refugees. One day, he brought one of his clients to my apartment because they both needed hair-cuts and since his client had a job interview,  my brother thought I could help. So I said, "okay" and gave them both hair cuts.  I learned that this young man who looked no older than me --had a wife and a young son with severe disabilities. They had fled the genocide in Burma. They left behind all their family members. And his wife was now pregnant again and scared. He was learning English, his wife spoke only a few words. He was so grateful for the haircut that I gave him in my living room, that he invited me and my brother over for dinner. We went. We sat on the floor of their teeny-tiny one bedroom apartment off the Argyle stop on the redline. They served us a rice dish on a paper plate with "other stuff." I didn't ask about the contents in the "other stuff." There were large cock-roaches running across the floor in daylight. They were so happy to host us in their home. They were so grateful to be living in freedom. They offered me seconds to fill the empty spots on my plate. They made me tea. I invited them to our home for dinner the next week. I made spaghetti and meatballs. We became friends. At the time I knew nothing about the ongoing Genocide in Burma that they survived.

The stories of the women have inspired me most of all. I have shared meals with two different women who have survived similar horrors in their respective countries of Somalia and Rwanda. I have learned that to be a woman in the midst of a genocide is a curse in itself. Their stories of survival, assimilation, and resilience in Chicago and Seattle have influenced me deeply. They lost their husbands, their sons, and risked their own lives - but never lost their internal dignity or purpose. They both now work as caregivers for the elderly and developmentally disabled. And they fully embody what it means to give care. They are unglorified saints. They work the long shifts and the late nights - primarily with joy. They genuinely love their clients. They are grateful. They are free. Until recent years, I knew nothing about the genocides they survived in Somalia and Rwanda.

I cannot imagine the realities that any of these brave people I have mentioned continue to face with the traumatic history they have survived and the resources they continue to lack. My worst nightmares have been their realities.  When I have faced brief seasons of hardship and grief in my own life,  their resilience has inspired me to keep going and to keep perspective. They are my real life Hebrews 11 heroes, and they shape my faith in God because their very lives are miracles.  I have always been grateful and proud of the fact that they are a welcome part of our nations fabric.

Until this week.

This week: I am not proud to be an American. It is my personal opinion that we as a nation are no longer the "land of the free". We are now the land of "America First" as our new leader has so brazenly declared.

To Be First - or - To Be Free? Those two just don't go together. They are mutually exclusive agendas. History keeps the score.  To be first, somebody else has to be last, and in that economy there is not room for "liberty and justice for all."

My thoughts this week have been consumed - NOT WITH HYSTERIA - but with real relationships and stories of the incredible people who have sought refuge here.   I  don't know what else I can do, so I sit here and write. I write and call my local legislators and I write this blog.  I feel compelled because I have the PRIVILEGE of white skin, immigrant blood, and a voice on this little blog that gets read by several hundred people.

The vulnerable and the oppressed are not heard in a society that values an "America First " agenda. And so I write while I have this freedom. It's not the preservation or power of my voice I'm concerned about here. You are welcome to disagree with my personal opinions, those are minor.

But the people who I mentioned here are not minor. And neither are the lives of millions of refugees worldwide. I plead with you to please hear the voices of those who are different from yourself. Just listen to their stories and open your heart to their perspective. It's greater than America can ever be.

Please hear their voices.

The resilient survivors who have so much to teach us about values and priorities.

Please hear their voices.

A Double-Dipping of Grace

She double fisted the communion loaf again today. And when she turned around, her contagious smile couldn't have been more full of joy.

I watched her like I have nearly every Sunday for the past three years, while the words of my pastor echo in my heart, "Come empty handed and receive the body and blood of Christ."

And so she filled her two empty hands with the body of Christ. And her face was full of joy.

Some weeks she takes half of the communion loaf in one bulging grasp.

My pastor says, "This table is for you. In a world that tells you that you are not enough - this table is a tangible reminder that God is enough. Come as you are and take what you need."

And so she comes as she is and she takes half of the communion loaf. And her face is full of joy.

Once or twice I have even seen her double-dip her ginormous chunk of communion bread in both the chalice of wine and the chalice of juice.

My pastor boldly declares that everything we truly need to live a transformed life can be found right here at the communion table.  It's a reminder to receive the gifts of unconditional love and salvation that are available every moment of every day through God's amazing grace.

And so she soaks her huge hunk of communion in both the wine and the juice. And her face is full of joy.

My turn comes. I pinch off a small corner of bread from the communion loaf and dip it daintly in the wine. It's less than I need, but to take more would feel shameful or wasteful or selfish. My hands were already full. I take just enough. Nothing more. And I head back to my seat.

But then I pass her. She's already sitting in her pew, with her legs crossed, and looking up at the right hand corner of the ceiling with a huge smile, thoroughly enjoying her huge chunk of communion.

Her joy is so beautiful, so pure, and so compelling.

The reality is: She takes SO much. More than anybody else in our congregation. But not in a greedy or exploitive way. She takes what she needs. She is hungry. And she is honest. More honest than me and my dainty little pinch of neediness.

The reality is: She receives SO much. She receives the gifts that are available to her with open and outstretched hands. And she is satisfied. She doesn't have an agenda of personal advancement or arrogance holding her back. She receives communion with gratitude and doesn't hold back her joy.

She comes empty handed and walks away so full. I come with full hands and leave about the same.

Her joy and gratitude are so transparent and on display, while mine is often buried somewhere much deeper.

Her joy inspires me to be a receiver of gifts - not just a giver.

Because you know what? In all honesty: I need a double fisting and a double dipping of grace every day too.

 ** I've known my lovely friend Sarah for a little over three years. First as her full time caregiver for 2.5 years, and now as her friend and fellow parishioner at Grace Church in Seattle, WA. It's hard to capture her joy in a picture, but not in person. If you were there, you'd be smiling too.

Growing Pains

There is so much to say since I last updated this blog. 

So much life has been lived, shared, and enjoyed in the past 6 months that I have scarcely had time to think about it - much less write about it. Living one day at a time has been my all consuming purpose. The weight of additional responsibilities and challenges this year has kept me grounded and focused.

But today I'm intentionally stopping in the midst of the chaos swirling around me to acknowledge this season for what it is. 

It's been a season defined by growing pains. Inward, outward, and environmental growing pains.

I cling to the belief that the best kind of growth comes through pain. And therefore "pain" becomes not a negative concept to be avoided at all costs, but rather a gift to be embraced. Ask any wise person in your life where they learned their wisdom, and you will likely find the answer to have the same source: Pain. Hardship. Difficulty. 

Why this is - I don't yet know. All I know is that I'm growing - and its painful.

This year, I've purposed to face some of the inward realities of my past through counseling and have been learning to focus on who I am in the present. I'm leaning into who I am created to be, who God really is, and am slowly finding my way from endless striving to please others --towards finding rest and comfort in the sacred space within. It's been painful. Turns out there's a lot of accumulated shit in the spaces that were originally created sacred. And letting go of that shit is --well, a strangely freeing yet difficult thing to do. And so worth it. 

Outwardly, I've also experienced quite the growing pains this year. The growth of a beautiful new soul to share life with and the physical transformation associated with her arrival is perhaps the most beautiful analogy of growth through pain. Pregnancy, birth, sleep deprivation, and so many emotions. So much pain and joy and chaotic upheaval. And so worth it. 

Our shared living environment has also experienced growing pains.  

At this time, we are preparing to move out of our Shared Living home. The home we have shared with two women with developmental disabilities for the past two years and eight months. It's a bittersweet transition. We have no regrets from our time spent sharing life with Sarah, Jodi, and Acacia. It's been a deeply grounding and enlightening experience for us as a family and we will forever cherish these years, "the ladies", and all the memories we have formed together. It's been an even ratio of experiences ranging from challenging to joyous, mundane to exciting, and frustrating to hilarious. And so worth it. 

We are grateful to be leaving Sarah and Acacia in the loving hands of our good friends, Michelle and Chris Jones. They will be replacing us as caregivers starting August 1st. We are moving at the end of July into our own space in the nearby town of Issaquah. We are excited for this new season for all of us.  

Looking ahead, I am primarily excited about spending more time focusing on my two amazing children. I will continue to work with Community Homes on a part time basis as the coordinator of our five shared living homes in King County. I'm eager to stay involved with this housing model and help develop it further. Recruiting, training, and supporting caregivers will be my primary responsibilities - so if you know of any good candidates please send them my way! 

Meanwhile, Jesse has one year left in his graduate MBA program at Seattle University, and is thriving in his work at a local marketing firm. In his spare time he likes to write business plans for his dreams. As a family, we are looking forward to many more camping trips, soccer matches, and Pacific North West adventures in the days to come. In the next few months I will also be submitting my applications to graduate schools for fall of 2017. Stay tuned...the growth has only just begun! 

Caregiving as a Lifestyle

It's been a full two years since my little family of three adapted our lifestyle to make room for sharing life 24/7 with adults who have developmental disabilities.

Two years ago we had no concept how this process would change all of us. We were aware of the obvious challenges and restrictions that becoming 24/7 live-in caregivers would likely bring. We were aware of how little we knew about people with disabilities. We were aware of our fears and the likelihood of being stretched beyond our limitations. We were expecting that this lifestyle would stretch us, grow us, and change us. We were expecting to give a lot.

But one thing that we were not expecting was how much we ourselves would receive and gain through this process.

Recognizing everything we have received has been the greatest surprise over the past two years.  In previous posts, I've written about some of the struggles and challenges of Shared Living. But right now --at the beginning of year three, I want to take some time to reflect on what we have gained as a caregiving family who provide 24/7, live-in care for adults with developmental disabilities.

Part of our original motivation for signing up for this lifestyle job was to stabilize our finances. In 2012, we moved across the country, our first child was born, and we made the painful adjustment to one income and a higher cost of living --needless to say, all of this was brutal on our bank account. Savings quickly drained. It seemed impossible to make ends meet with one paycheck. I was desperately searching for a job that would pay enough to cover the outrageous cost of childcare for an infant. Jesse felt stuck in a dead-end job full of empty promises and poor compensation. We quickly realized that we both needed and desired more education in order to reach for our dreams and provide for our family.  

But how do you go back to school when you are barely able to pay bills at the end of each month?

We first needed to reduce our expenses, pay off our debts, and stabilize our income. So when a woman at our church told us about her three year experience of providing live-in care for adults with developmental disabilities through Community Homes, we thought that this could be a possible solution for our immediate needs. We asked her to connect us and everything quickly came together from there. 

Financially, this job has been a huge blessing. Although it doesn't pay much considering that we technically work seven days a week; it does offer free housing in a desirable neighborhood, free health insurance, no need for childcare, paid time off, and enough paycheck to cover the rest of our needs. With Jesse also working full-time, we have been able to live comfortably off one income, pay off all of our debts, and save the rest. I don't know many other young families who have this privilege. We are grateful to be on both the giving and receiving end of benefits for sharing life. Our lives enable Sarah and Acacia to experience integrated and vibrant lives in the context of community, and their lives enable us to experience financial stability, a simple lifestyle, and meaningful work while pursuing our dreams. 

Don't get me wrong - it hasn't been a cake walk. Getting to this point has taken a lot of discipline, grit, and hard work. Shared Living is no multi-level-marketing gimmick nor fast-track to big bucks. It is a simple, all-consuming lifestyle that has immensely helped us prioritize what is really important in life and forget about competing with everything else. 

Our housemates are inspiring in this area. They don't need a lot to be happy. They need to know that they are safe, they need to know what's for dinner, and they need to know that they are loved and cared for unconditionally. And sometimes an occasional soda. Everything else is pure joy. The simplicity of their lives and their routines have been oddly refreshing to live with. Odd, because simplicity is counter-intuitive to my busy and distracted nature, but refreshing in the way that only the simple things are. Contentment comes from the acceptance of who we are and what we have. Believing that we are enough and that we have enough. Everything else is pure joy. 

The evidence of pure joy can be seen in the shared life of our three year old son. Caden learned how to talk and walk in this home, and I believe that our years with the ladies are having a profound impact on his young life. Although my eyes might be mom-biased, I see a depth to his precious soul that I don't think he'd have without the influence of sharing life with people who are different than him. While he is a completely normal three year old with melt-downs, moods, and misbehaviors, he also has an amazing capacity for empathy, understanding, and concern for others. He lives a primarily joyful life with lots of freedom to imagine beautiful things. It's every parents desire to give their child the absolute best that they can, and its been a beautiful surprise to see that this lifestyle has been a really good thing for everyone in this home. 

Shared living is a beautiful, new model of care that gives me hope for future options for people with disabilities. And beyond that, it has given me hope for my own future and my family's future! Caregiving as a lifestyle has been one of my families best choices. It has taught us that life is best lived as an equal exchange - all giving with no receiving is a recipe for co-dependent disaster. We as caregivers cannot do all the giving while the ladies do all the living. Our household thrives on shared living and shared giving. It is a mutually beneficial dynamic.

I'm grateful to be supported in my caregiving efforts by Community Homes, an organization who cares about my personal thriving as well as the residents in their homes. This year, they have a big dream which is to see the number of their Shared Living homes triple --from four to twelve! As they are expanding this housing model, I am stepping into a new part-time role as the coordinator for their new Shared Living homes. As a coordinator, part of my expanded responsibilities include recruiting, training, and supporting new caregivers. 

The need for housing and care options for adults with disabilities in Washington State is immense. The reality is that there are are very few options. And there are literally thousands of people on waiting lists. The greatest need in this gradual movement away from institutionalized care is YOU. We need more awareness of the need, we need more financial partners, and most of all we need more amazing people for the hands-on work of respite and live-in caregiving. We aren't looking for mediocre, half-hearted, laissez faire people who kind of care. We want people who are passionate, eager to give and receive, ready to teach and learn. We want people who desire to make a difference and be part of something that is greater than themselves. Consider this an open invitation to explore the possibilities of beginning a journey towards the simple, rewarding lifestyle of caregiving. 

It might just change your life in ways you don't expect. 

We need your help to reach our goal of 12 Shared Living Homes in 2016! Here are some simple ways that you can be involved:

* Share this information with anybody who you think could help us achieve our dream of opening 8 new homes in 2016

* Watch this 4 minute video about the story of Community Homes

* Email me directly with any questions or to schedule a meeting: ruth@community-homes.org