Dear friend: why I didn't pick words for 2023, breakfast burritoes & the struggle to show up.

All the things I'd tell you if we were drinking tea together today. ☕

Dear friend,

I’m writing to you, imagining us cozied up on my couch, mugs in hand. I’ve been savoring Earl Grey with a splash of milk and honey lately. My family asked for our Christmas tree to stick around as long as possible, so the glow from the lights is still bringing warmth as I lean in to share my heart with you.

Friend, this fall and the first half of winter has felt disorienting in all sorts of ways for me. I’ve already shared some of that, but doing some reflection on the past year helped me realize just how much.

This time last year, I was homeschooling both of my kids, and now both of my kids attend our local elementary school. This has been such a good shift for our family, even as it has been a big adjustment. I’ve struggled to find a rhythm between adjusting to kindergarten pick-up and sickness interrupting our days so frequently. I’ve found myself with space to care for myself in the morning after years of that space being found in the afternoons during children’s naps and rest time. I tried several things that didn’t end up working the way I hoped, even if I’m grateful to see gifts that came out of those times. I’ve found myself feeling a bit lost while also trying to catch my breath. Perhaps you find yourself feeling a bit lost or trying to catch your breath too.

Photo by cleo stracuzza on Unsplash

I didn’t find new words or goals for the new year this time around. Part of that is probably because we were sick as we said hello to a new year, holding mugs of tea in our hands and cough drops in our pockets. As you probably know, there’s little space for reflection in survival mode.

But I also was listening to the way I didn’t feel done with my words from last year, or perhaps they’re not done with me yet. This didn’t feel like the right time to add anything, except, perhaps more space to listen. I want to listen to what is true about my life right now, and not pressure myself or force something to fit. I want to listen to what this Alison needs and wants, being willing to be disappointed or surprised by what might be true today.

I love these words from Larry Crabb, “We have a God who meets us where we are, not where we pretend to be” and am holding onto them for myself as I’m being honest about what is true today. I’m so grateful for the ways I’m being met in these weeks of winter, even as only last week I was buying cough medicine and rubbing Vicks on chests. I’d love to share a few of those with you.

Photo by Alex Lvrs on Unsplash

Listening to the gospels. I’ve been so grateful for the practice of Lectio divina, helping me to slow down with a verse or two and have space to connect with the Lord. In the last few years, this practice has been a lifeline during full days with small children and a much needed heart shift in my posture. Summer Gross has offered some of my favorite ones, helping create space for me to show up, and I’d invite you to try one if you’d like to start this practice for yourself. You can find her offerings on video or on the Slow Word Movement podcast where she’s beginning a special offering for walking through John for February.

But if lectio divina is the practice of slowing down and zooming in, it has also been a gift to “zoom out” this month and listen to Annie F. Downs read the gospels as I get ready in the morning. I’ve appreciated the simplicity of the podcast, and how helpful it has felt to see more of the bigger picture as I listen to a few chapters from the gospels each day. I’ve been able to make it through all of Luke, John and most of Matthew at this point, and I find myself thinking about what I’ve heard as I continue into my day.

Breakfast burritoes. It has been such a win to include breakfast foods as part of our weekly dinner line-up. I often make some kind of an egg dish and smoothies, but sometimes there’s hashbrowns and sausage or bacon. I recently made us these breakfast burritoes and they were a tremendous hit that I couldn’t wait a week before making them again. The recipe calls for pesto but I ended up leaving it out, as these felt flavorful enough without it for us.

photo courtesy of Half Baked Harvest

The Book of Common Courage. It was a gift to be on the launch team for K. J. Ramsey’s newest book, and spend time with these prayers and poems over the last few weeks. From the gold detailing on the cover to the images paired with the prayers and poems in the pages, this is truly a beautiful book. But the beauty isn't just in what you see. The beauty extends to these words that offer gentleness and kindness to tender places. Each page feels like an invitation to slow down, to receive a gentle gift and notice what comes up in your soul with the Lord. So many emotions are represented and welcome in these pages, offering an invitation to come to the Lord with whatever might be coming up for you. I'm so grateful for another offering by one of my favorite authors to be nourished and nurtured by.

Noticing & naming what my barriers are. I’m trying to pay attention to the goals I have and what is keeping me from meeting them. A recent one for me was noticing that a barrier to my desire to do yoga is that my floors are dirtier than I’d like them to be if I’m putting my face near the floor. I asked my husband (an Ennegram Five with a wonderful propensity for researching) if he’d be willing to find me a good yoga mat. He gladly did, and it has made such a difference in having good intentions and actually moving my body.

Yoga. By the time I’ve waved goodbye to my children as they drive away on the school bus, I’m typically pretty depleted. My tank gets emptied quickly between making breakfasts, lunches, and helping get multiple people out the door as a highly sensitive person. I often struggle to make decisions by the time I have the house to myself, as I’m usually overstimulated and still needing to care for my own needs.

It has been so helpful to realize I needed an embodied practice that I could decide ahead of time for this window. It has been grounding to show up and do this over the past few weeks. I won’t romanticize this though. I’d say that about half the time I don’t want to do it. This has often meant permission for a shorter practice or gentle sick yoga if I’m struggling to show up.

I’m always glad I did it by the end, but beginning is regularly difficult. I’ve been preaching to myself what I often encourage my coaching clients with, “I’m aiming for sustainability. This isn't a race. There is no rush, even as I feel eager for things to be better as soon as possible. The goal is sustainability and true change for myself, and that takes time. Showing up with what I have is enough.”

Out of that struggle to show up came a poem, and I’d love to share that with you.

Photo by Junseong Lee on Unsplash

​"I don't want to do this"

my weary heart declares.

I'm hurting and

numbing promises dissociation,

distraction and forgetting

even if just for a moment.

.

I'd rather scroll than sit

in the discomfort

in the aches and grief

in the disappointment.

.

Yet I remember the parable

of the two sons

as I unroll the yoga mat.

.

What counted was not

the groaning

the words of unwillingness

the lack of wanting.

.

What counted was not

the good intentions

the warm response

the desire to do what was good.

.

What matters most is

showing up.

Showing up

despite the resistance

in my heart.

Showing up

to be seen.

.

Pretty words hold

no weight compared to

feet on the mat,

hands at heart center,

deep breath in and out,

being present here.

.

My small offering

isn't two coins,

a lunch of loaves and fish,

or a desperate grasp of a hem

but instead my limits

laid bare.

Shaking limbs

and tears surfacing,

this is my offering.

.

This place of showing up,

trembling and aching

is holy ground.

I breathe deeply

of my limits

and the grace

that finds me.

.

Grace leads me home

to the breath in my body,

to comfort the pain in my heart

to hold me here

as I do this holy work

of showing up

with what I have.

Dear friend, thank you for being here with me. It means so much that you want to read this letter. As always, I'd love to hear from you! Feel free to just hit "reply" to this email. Whether you want to share a prayer request, tell me what grace is finding you these winter days, or if my words brought up anything for you, I’d be so glad to know.

Warmly,

Alison