I am tempted to say exhausting and, maybe, terrifying. December is a miracle in that it is brief. It is a reminder to live with hope for the coming year, to sink into the joy extended by my families of blood and choice, and to commit to seeking peace within myself. With December behind me and my organizer opened, I do not want to lose sight of these reminders amidst the lists I make for myself. I want to keep hope alive by seeking sensations and experiences which bring smiles and offer encouragement. I want to hold fast to joy by reaching out my hand and heart to my chosen family without exhausting my own resources. I want to seek peace by speaking to myself and others with my truth, graciousness, and love. Perhaps you want to join me and keep the messages God sends you in December alive? After all, we see our guiding lights best when it is dark. The blinding, irritating distractions which take us from hope, joy, and peace dim in the dark. Winter is not frightening if you can find even one star in the sky or one spark to warm you. How beautiful is a candle wavering in the dark! How soothing is the glowing fire! When the dark weighs heavily on you in the coming months, I encourage you to seek out sparks and lights. Pray or meditate by the light of a single candle or turn off the lights and wrap yourself in a warm blanket by the fire. Let the fire tell you a story full of energy and movement. Don’t turn winter into a season of withdrawal but use it to kindle your passions. Feed the fire of your soul and move with it. Run with joy toward experiences that keep you as happy as Christmas carols, as hopeful as a star in the sky, and as peaceful as a silent night. Feel free to keep in touch with me on Instagram at @breathedeep212 or at my website www.drtheresasnell.weebly.com -Dr. Theresa Snell
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Thank you everyone for your conversation and your support at this year’s Fall Festival. Indie authors rely on your interest and your word of mouth. This title, “Thank God There Is Christmas” has been a collaborative effort with local illustrator Christin Jaynes. Please take a moment and find her on Instagram. She does commission work as well. This family read aloud asks us to remember that the silly and serious symbols of the season serve a purpose. Let us remember to be joyful, to wonder, and to believe in more. Let us be thankful for each other and carry forward goodwill through the darkest nights and into the new year. Other Titles For Your Stocking Topics Addressed: Grief, Worry, Frustration, Frustration (English and Spanish combined version), Mindfulness/positive outlook, Joy, Focus
My take on a Halloween story...
The balance struck long before our turn on this path between the living and the dead has been upset by this dark season. In the wood the baying beast devours his prey and the lake boils and burns. On the cusp of winter the living are granted a boon- a chance to see their departed dead. But the price? The price is dear. For the scales must remain balanced and the dark too must be granted a boon-one night to leave the otherworld. One night to stalk and hunt; to terrorize and destroy. Would you risk oh so terrible a temptation to see your loved one again? Avoid the road the cart of the dead travels or risk falling onto the path to the otherworld bound to the fae’s wild hunt. Beware the smiling face who bears a ball of thread or silver apple. Not all hunters seek to kill. Some seek to steal your life; to take you from those you love and tempt you with food and drink too sweet to sustain you. They meet you in the moonlight and dance with you until you forget the smile on your lover’s face, the touch of your mother’s hand, and the embrace of your own child. On one such night a man and woman met and what should have been theft became something quite different. She offered him a silver branch decorated with apple blossoms from the garden of of her queen and led him into a secret glen where they alone danced. She offered him no food save the taste of her lips. She played no music to confuse his senses and, as dawn broke, she led him back to where this trembling new feeling had taken root within her. As the veil lifted again between them, she stared into it, willing his face to appear once more. She did not take from him his memories of home but left him with memories too sweet to set aside. She did not know then that he too stared into the mist and wished. Had she realized how his heart broke for her she might have torn through that veil by sheer need. Instead, the man stared and the woman stared, rooted in place until summoned back to their duties. Neither knew then that on that most fearsome night while beasts hunted and families warded their homes against cruel spirits, a man and woman met and loved. When the moon next rose both returned. And so they met again every turning of the moon thereafter until, once wed, she came to live with him in his modest home. Their love held a warmth that sustained them both for a time until her eternal youth and beauty faded beneath the harsh golden orb. She was, after all, a creature of moonlight. Her health began to wane. Food could not tempt her and sleep denied her rest. At night, held tenderly in her man’s arms, she would wail in agony as if her very bones were breaking. During the day he would carry her outdoors and lie her in the shade of the woods atop soft blankets. He would sing to her until his voice broke from weariness and stroke her long hair reverently with trembling fingers. As her eyes grew more shadowed she would curl her pain-wrecked body into his warm chest and smile into his eyes. Desperate to save his love, the man risked speaking with the Sidhe people. He offered them the very breath in his body if they would only take her home and heal her. “Take the heart that beats in my chest; run me like a fox in the wild hunt. No curse could be too cruel if it saves my love.” The deal was struck. “Your heart is truly a prize,” the voice agreed. As the moon rose one year to the day fae and man had met, as the hounds bayed and the sidhe played their tricks, the man carried his wife to the western sea where a small boat of rosewood rocked gently. He set his wife within it and they gave on last tearful kiss before the water took her away. As she drifted farther, he would see the luster return to her hair and the blossom bloom again in her cheeks. For the first time since the months of her illness, he felt peace settle within him. “Do your worst,” he whispered into the night. “I accept my fate.” Return here in three months time, whispered the wind off the water. Well, he was a man of his word and returned to that same shore on the appointed night. A small, ghoulish creature waited for him, arms curled around a small burden. “Foolish mortal to make such thoughtless deals. The fae have bargained since before your kind had stories to tell,” mocked a cruel voice. He passed the burden to the man. “We will have what was promised.” As the man felt the weight of the burden in his arms, his heart swelled. Here was his darling wife made over again in the face of this tiny babe! She smiled at him in the beautiful way only the newly born can smile and curled deeply into his chest. He had an instant, a breath to love her. “She is mine?” “Indeed,” crooned the voice. “And now your bargain is met. I take from you your promised heart, arrogant mortal. I leave you the spawn of your mixed union. Never will she know her father’s love. I bind you to her, to raise her with cruelty; never showing kindness or affection. She will suffer for your audacity to love one such as our lady. With that promise, a gnarled, arthritic hand reached into his chest and pulled out his screaming heart. He felt the cold burning of every talon ripping through bone and tissue. “No! My...My..AAH!” The man cried. So loud was his pain that he never heard the shrill wail of the babe in his arms but he felt her. He felt her small finger grip his sleeve tightly. Separated from the man, the heart wept for his mistake and for the daughter he had cursed. It felt the yawning emptiness in the man’s chest fill with darkness. The heart beat furiously, as if the appendage could will the man to fight and to feel. But it was no use. The man was beyond him now and beyond the girl in his arms. His hands tightened and the wail was cut off abruptly. “What am I to do with this brat?” He spat. “What you will,” said the voice. “But keep her you must until her sixteenth year.” “I don’t want it.” “You will keep the child,” the creature warned. “You will raise neither fist, foot, or weapon against her. She will live in your home and sleep beneath your roof. Should you cause pain or allow pain know that the pain will be returned to you threefold.” Man and child stared at one another. In her eyes he saw what once was and he hated her for it. He hated that her eyes matched those of the wife who had abandoned him to this...cold emptiness. He hated the small shadow of dark hair already thick upon her head. He hated that she did not look away. She sensed the predator holding her now and knew, instinctively to be wary. CHECK BACK FOR MORE! Easy link: We are created unique for a reason. My talents do not diminish yours just as your skills do not diminish mine. We spend a regrettable amount of time comparing our talents, our image, our choices against the talents, images, and choices of the stranger across the room or the confident soul seated beside us. We are meant to use our differences to enrich one another. So the next time the demon of discontentment presses you into a corner, pull out your weapon of truth and defend yourself. You have the right to defend yourself.
I envy the ease with which some people can pick up a pen and draw exactly what is in their head. I can become engrossed in time lapsed videos of artists painting, and watch in amazement as someone runs deft hands over fabric and transforms it into clothes. These are not my talents. I can draw a passible picture and sew a passible skirt, but I will never create with these hands what these people intuitively express. I can, however, choose to be enriched by them, to celebrate them, and to saturate my world in their color. I imagine there is a person out there in the vast ether whom you admire. I might, humbly, suggest that it is some element of their personality you admire rather than one quantifiable skill. Are they gracious? Are they confident? Are they bold? Are they even aware of how amazing you find them? You might never possess the talent you admire in them but you can certainly bolster your own confidence, make an effort to show more grace, or take the brave breath into boldness. You can be brave enough to compliment them. It might be what they need to see themselves as you see them. Talents are not always translatable into a monetary value. Who cares? We will never have enough money for it to be enough and living for that moment is chasing windmills. Instead, can you imagine what a blessing it is to have someone give you their full attention? Attending is an astounding gift of self and, if you are ever blessed with it, you better value the moment. If you have the talent, I consider you amazing. The child that comes to his or her mother with the 100th tale of some imagined or virtual accomplishment basks in the light of an attending parent. A father who sits, uninterrupted, with his child when he comes home is sharing a talent for attending which models good fatherhood. Take a few moments today to attend to your own talents without comparison or criticism. Don’t judge yourself for wasting any talents or not investing in them. Just give them attention. Consider how they enrich your life and the lives you touch. Honor who you are right now on this step. We are called to be unique and to enrich each other. We are not called to diminish. …on that note, I call anyone who has a talent to write or draw: Calling on creative writers: Looking for uplifting submissions for a fundraising project called, “A Few Rows Back: Thoughts That Found Me In Church Today.” If I get enough donated submissions (poetry, essays, short stories…) I will donate all proceeds to a local VA charity that we will vote on November 10th. The deadline for submissions is November 9th. This is a Christmas fundraising opportunity which might only take you as long as it takes to open your church notes. I WILL TAKE NO MONEY FOR PERSONAL PROFIT. Please share this. Limit yourself to 5 submissions. Send all submissions to [email protected] with the heading “A Few Rows Back” and attach .docx or .pdf as LastNameFirstInitialAFRB.docx or.pdf Any local artists that would like to submit cover art should email me at [email protected] with the heading “Cover Art” and attach .jpeg, .jpg, or .pdf as LastNameFirstInitialAFRB.jpeg, .jpg, or .pdf Want an easy link to share? https://breathedeepbooks212.wordpress.com/2019/06/05/mothers-helper/
How did you speak to yourself today? I pray it was with kindness and an abundance of grace. If not, I pray that tomorrow’s conversations offer more goodwill. Today is a good day. In fact, it is a great day. It is the kind of day that sends a hyperactive brain like mine into cartwheels of dizzying delight. I took a step today for myself that I kept saying I did not need. I’ve got it. No, it’s okay. Sound familiar? What about this? Yeah, it’s been crazy. I am exhausted. Today, I confronted the assumption that being capable means being able to do it all. I hired a mother’s helper for the summer. I homeschool year round and my darling children are always underfoot. They are intelligent, joyful, and NORMAL children who sometimes drive me bonkers. I am supported by a loving, if often baffled, husband and a bevy of friends who are truly a tribe. I know I am lucky. Today, I feel even luckier. What is a mother’s helper? A second set of hands and eyes would be my first answer. Here is the first link I found when I googled: Http://www.verywellfamily.com/what-is-a-mothers-helper-617066 For me? It is the freedom to hide at my desk without guilt and without having to leave my home and camp out at the library. I love the library but, truthfully, I love my pajamas more. It is the privilege to get done what needs to be done while my youngest has a ball. Accepting help is not admitting to failure but honoring where you are in whatever journey you are taking today. It is an arm slung around you when you cannot take another step. It is an opportunity to learn so that you might know more and understand better. It is someone pulling you from the company of your own circling thoughts or sitting beside you honoring those feelings. It is the affirmation the you ARE enough and have NOTHING to prove by doing it all. Help is a not a commitment of a lifetime but the blessing of the day. It blesses others by allowing them to help; to give of themselves. Our people WANT to help us but don’t always know how. What is the first question you are asked in times of pain or difficulty? How can I help? Let me know if there is something we can do, okay?. Don’t dismiss that offer by assuming that you must always be able to juggle every ball. Don’t model isolation to your children (google John Donne’s “No Man is an Island. It is a fave.). Model community. My girl is plenty happy to have the attention of a big kid. The girl upstairs playing with mine sounds plenty happy. My son is plenty happy not to be a “baby” who needs to be watched but to be considered a trusted young man. I have a whole household of happy and I am so grateful. “Will you stand?”
One of my characters asked that tonight. They did not ask if the other character would make promises or if they would try. They asked something that, at first, I did not think too much about. They asked the hero to show up and to act. We have to be more that our words. I can promise to be a good mother, a supportive partner, and a loyal friend but until I show up and prove those things than all I have offered are my words and the potential of action. If you have ever been disappointed by another’s promises then maybe you can see the difference I initially missed. We must be more than our potential and more than words typed on a screen, scrawled on paper, or spoken into air. If I want to be a good mother than I do not need to say, “I want to be a good mother.” The affirmation may help bolster my flagging spirits or indicate my commitment to the future but it does not change anything without the actions to follow. You need both. I need to stand by setting my intentions and then showing up and doing the work. Those are the parents I most admire and hope to emulate. They just do and it is astounding. One thing which has always stuck with me about the Lenten time is that you are not supposed to bemoan your period of fasting or advertise it for some stranger’s accolades. You do not think about fasting but complete the action, “I fast.” In doing so while comporting yourself with dignity, you stand for your beliefs and demonstrate your humility. We cannot healthily live for the number of likes on our facebook page or self-flagellate because of our failures. If you did well yesterday then you have acted in accordance with your values. Well done. Keep going. If you messed up yesterday, then make the amends today, accept your consequences, and do right moving forward. Stand and do. Right now. What do you stand for? Who do you stand for? If you stand for integrity, how does that show in your life? Are we honest when it is inconvenient or uncomfortable or only when it does not require effort on our part? Do I act with integrity when it might cause strife with a loved one or heartache for myself? If I want to raise a child with integrity, then I must model the action and not simply utter the words. I must show that my principles are important enough for me to struggle with in the moment, for me to apologize when it is warranted, and for me to act in a way which supports my standards. If I say I stand for family, then how should I act when a family member I value does not uphold the values I place dear? In Act I, scene 3 of Hamlet, Polonius cautions his son, Laertes to hold tight to those friends who have proven themselves through their actions. He advises that, in being true to himself through his actions, he will live as a good man. I was asked to memorize this speech in middle school by a very wise teacher and I am often grateful for its reminders. I hope that when the time comes, my actions will have proven me to be a trusted source and example for my son and daughter. You cannot offer only words to the person waiting on you. This hurts. You cannot apologize without the actions that demonstrate your remorse and the commitment to do better by...something. This erodes trust. I would not accept a quick apology from my child for wrongdoing because I would not believe in their intention to demonstrate better behavior. I need the acknowledgement of wrongdoing, the assurance that something will change, and the agreement that a failure to change will have consequences. I want to see the actions which support their words because I want them to be good and not just seem good. So let’s try it: I stand for my family by... doing for my family and holding them accountable for their actions. I stand for respect by... showing it even when it is not given to me in return. I stand for wellness by... prioritizing my well-being and modeling wellness to those I stand for. I stand for honesty by..... I stand for trustworthiness by... I stand for my partner by... I stand for hard work by... “Will you stand?” Sometimes the best thing I can do as a mother is get out of my kids’ way. By occasionally removing myself from their dynamic I am rewarded by a riot of creativity, color, and collaborative play. Unplugged from our electronics and obligations my children wander through their trinkets as though seeing them anew. Long forgotten games are unearthed and wild, raucous laughter spills out of their rooms.
I have seen friends who are wonderful at this but it is still a deliberate act for me. Sometimes I will stop in the middle of the day without saying a word. I will pick up one of many dozens of projects and, giddy as only a parent can be, wait for it. Suspiciously my children look at me as if waiting for the chore or assignment they know they are supposed to be completing. Stealthily they ease out of my line of sight. Then, proud of their cleverness, they begin to play within their stolen moment. Whispered giggles erupt and I smother my smile. I swear they have more fun in those stolen moments than if I told them the whole day was theirs. There are no demands for tv or tablets and their mutual need not to attract Mom’s attention minimizes the fighting. I emphasize minimizes and not eliminates. This method has brought forth plays, artwork, forts, and recently a war against the gremlins featured in Hotel Transylvania 3. They have fought devastating wars against snow monsters and been aided in battle by snow fairies and even Santa’s elves. Today, I watch one child seek movement and another stillness. In their respective corners I see their characters emerge. From the youngest I hear Christmas carols and the creak of a wildly rocking arm chair. I smell the slightly noxious odor or acrylic paint and as she describes, to herself, how the helper elves built a rainbow snowman beneath the Christmas lights while the head elf watches. Wishing briefly for a refill on my coffee cup I content myself with waiting. Movement on my part will only draw her attention. The boy child works quietly and diligently on a project. He is so often driven by some internal voice toward perfection and whatever he is working on will not be abandoned until it meets his standards. I can only hope that the voice is kind today. The dog lays in a pitiful heap beside him so it must be pleasant. She tends to become agitated when he does and is often a good barometer for his mood. As I am a collector of hobbies I am also a collector of obligations. I have recently committed to making less commitments and it has been a personal struggle. I had chosen “good” things to do; things we enjoyed. Yet these things stole moments from us and kept us running from activity to activity. By sitting still I am learning to value the stillness. One small breath at a time. I hope I am allowing them to find ways to fill their time with things that call to their souls. I hope I am also teaching them to survive boredom without breaking beneath it. In boredom we find where our interests really lie. The girl child has found me and has already jabbered away about a wild dream about meeting reindeer and our elf on the shelf doing yoga so the interlude is over. The boy has poked his head out to ask about the “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” editorial response in the New York Sun we read last night. He doesn’t understand why children give up on believing on what is unseen. So, in getting out of their way, I have learned more about these people and they have come back to me to share pieces of themselves. I wonder what you might find. I love that my children are different. Neither plays with the same toy in the same manner and neither learns the same way. Punishments cannot be set the same-the younger laughs at any attempt to make her feel guilty for her actions. She needs to experience or imagine how an action similar to hers makes her feel. The elder feels every emotion to the nth degree and has a highly critical inner voice that demands perfection. Let me be clear. I DO NOT.
Demanding perfection of oneself can cause panic. A missed spelling word can degrade into an opportunity to insult one’s overall intelligence. A mess or mistake can lead to debilitating freezing. Case in point...a glass of spilled milk seconds after me scrubbed and conditioned our wood table went from a minor problem on top of a clear plastic tablecloth (they display school work underneath) to a massive problem of ruined notes and writing prompts because he could not move past “Uh oh” into “Let’s grab a towel.” The younger child gets practice breathing through her frustration and vocalizing her feelings kindly. The elder gets structure to give him the tools to be prepared for any circumstance. He has lists and loves them. Lists for getting up. Chore Lists. School Lists. Get Out the Door Lists. Go to Bed Lists. Some are written and some are memorized. Not everything can be planned for in life, however. While I was occupied elsewhere, our foxhound chose to vomit all over the carpet. Mom was not there with a list of what to do and Dad’s answer was apparently, “What do you mean you don’t know what to do? You better figure it out!” The whole situation ended up collapsing with the boy vomiting because he had to clean up vomit and the Dad almost vomiting because of his vomiting. This left the three year old and I on cleaning duty for everything. And she was a champ!! I am so proud of her. But the best part? My girl telling her big brother, “Don’t panic.” She helped without complaint and did nothing to make him feel less for his worry over what is definitely HIS dog. She stayed with him until Mommy could calm everything down and then jumped in to help. That night, when she fussed about going to bed and not wanting to be alone, her big brother quietly climbed in bed with her. Together my babies make the best team. She saw his need and he saw hers. May the Punishment Suit the Crime
Ooh goodness. Punishments. which way do you lean-positive reinforcement? Spankings? Time Outs? Sticker charts? Denial? Well, in my house, the consequences must be a direct response to the particular offense. My son was unkind today. He insulted a friend and her choice of games, was disrespectful to another mom (though she kindly demurred and said it wasn’t that bad). He insisted on his “right” to play more video games rather than venturing outside to play. He responded physically and intentionally to an accidental hit. Wow. And mind you, this was all in the space of the two hours I was away for an appointment. I have a good son and this incident is very out of character. However, he has been processing the grief of losing his uncle, my brother, whom he adored. And, he is a seven year old boy who can sometimes be a real pain. So what to do? I felt a little gleeful in my plotting. I informed my son that when we returned home I wanted him to meet me at the kitchen table and I wanted him to be ready to discuss his behavior and his perspective. Sitting across from my suddenly sullen little boy with his pitiful expression, I pulled out a mom face-eyebrows raised; head tilted to the right; lips slightly pursed. He cracked within seconds which assured me my mom face was dead on. A list of crimes spewed forth from his mouth and I listened until he was done. I pulled out a piece of paper and pencil and I can feel the dread welling within him. My son can read at a fifth grade level but fears any assignment that requires him to write actual complete sentences. Paragraphs? Torture! I begin to calmly repeat back and write what he had told me. You were unkind. You made a friend feel badly about herself. You were disrespectful to a mom and about our family rules about video game time. You used your hands not to protect but to hurt. Me: Now, son, tell me what the consequences should be for being unkind? Kiddo: Show kindness and make amends. Me: Excellent. You will write one kind letter to each your friend and her mother thanking them for inviting you to their home and apologizing for your words and behavior. And, not to quote Daniel Tiger (a show he loathes now as much as he used to love), but that is the first step. You will make amends to each by allowing your friend to pick the games the entire time you are together next and accepting a consequence from the mother with whom you argued. Kiddo: Ok. Me: Now, tell me what the consequence is for ignoring our family’s rules about video game time? Kiddo: No video games. Me: And the consequence for hitting? Kiddo: uh... not hitting? This part took a bit more thinking and discussion with my husband and partner in our benevolent dictatorship. Kiddo was unkind in his actions-which in our house means to now show kindness and make amends. Check. But do we focus on the hitting or the impulse control? Is the problem the inability to show self-control in the moment? If I am hit, my impulse is most certainly to strike back. Heck, if someone scares me my impulse is to strike out in a blind panic against whatever monster I imagine is about to assault me. We choose our moods but choosing to control our impulses takes as much practice. So let us not react. If someone lashes out at us emotionally or physically we can choose our reaction. When emotions run high we can stop, breathe, and see things for what they really are. Try this as a daily meditation for your impulsive child this week and let me know. Meditation: Take a moment and look at your hands. What are their purpose? How do you use them? Are they scarred and calloused from the work you do or smooth without even a nick? Are your hands large? Are they strong? Are your nails bitten off and chewed or well manicured? Do scratch and pick at the cuticles or rubbed anxiously at the sides of your thumbs? Close your eyes. Imagine those hands reaching out to hold something precious. Cup it gently; enfold it with your fingers and create a nest for it in your palms. It is smooth and cool with no edges. It is so light and so beautiful. Imagine yourself lifting it higher so you can stare more deeply at it colors. They swirl and dance within the light and you find your lips smiling at how playful it seems. Dancing colors in an orb of light. Cradled safely in your hands. The orb begins to warm. Gently, ever so gently, bring it to your heart and allow its warmth to seep inside you. Feel its comforting weight sink into your skin and its warmth begin to spread through your chest, down your shoulders and arms. That precious something with its beautiful colors are now inside you and your breath deeply in gratitude. You feel the muscles in your shoulders and arms relax. Breathe. The warmth spreads further into your hands. They warm and you turn your palms so they are face up. How beautiful they are. They carry those colors inside of them now and you know their purpose is never to harm but to heal, to hold, and to cherish. Open your eyes and look at your hands. How strong they are in this moment. How beautiful. Remember their purpose. Healing. Holding. Cherishing. Remember.
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What I writeI believe in the power of intuition. I believe in trusting my own instinct, my own heart, and my tribe. I write about what I have learned to look for and what I hope might help others. Please, feel free to comment at any point about a blog you have read. Genuine discourse furthers our growth. I guess I believe that too :) |