Posts tagged orange county

He Sees You.

I was at a Christmas school performance today, standing in the very back behind iPhones, cameras, video recorders, mothers waving and dads holding toddlers on their shoulders.

Toddlers can really block a view when they are up that high.

And, of course, I was watching the only person in the world at that performance that mattered to me.  Her hair was mussed in that after recess sort of way and she had on her christmas school performance scarf.  The boys blue, the girls pink.  I like pink. 

And then I noticed her.  She was on the top left row of the choir bleachers and while the rest of the children were singing about Rudolph and his need to get a less shiny nose, this little girl was searching the crowd.  I think she was looking for her mom.  Or maybe her dad.  Or perhaps her grandparents were coming the way my Mom and Pop used to and she knew they would be there just the way I knew mine would.

But you know when a child scans the crowd mid-performance and then finally finds their parent?  That never happened.  She continued song after song to not sing and rather search.  Search for someone to have their eye on her.

She deserves that.  Everyone child deserves that.

While the other kids performing were jumping she stood still.  And when they switched to another language the only language coming out of this little girl’s heart was a cry.  “Do you see me because I don’t see you?”  She continued to search. 

Isn’t it like that with God?  We scan and scan the crowd hoping He’s somewhere out there, hoping He showed up even though everywhere we look, He doesn’t appear to be.  Hoping in the midst of our trial that He hasn’t gone ‘on holiday’.  And all the while, He’s standing in the very back, smiling and trying to catch your attention.

“I see you.  You don’t see me, Little One, but I see you.  I have you locked right in my gaze.  See?  That’s me waving.  I see you.”

He says that to us, you know?  Maybe not in that language but He says that to you.  Stay on the bleachers, pick back up with the song, jump and shout about Rudolph and rest from scanning the crowd. 

Because He sees you.

Lessons in Rest

Brought to you by the bed at Hyatt Regency plus four pillows, maybe five.

It was Friday night and Friday day wore me out.  No, it was more than Friday day.  It was the week before, a big event week.  It was not taking a day off after a big event week.  It was executive meetings and 1:1’s and ‘make sure everything is set and ready to go’ type things.

I was tired.

And I got to Friday night and felt as if I was driving in circles.  I mean, I did go in a circle but I’m sort of talking about the mental ones.  The emotional ones.  The ones that you don’t want anyone to see.  I sat in the car, near tears but not quiet there and dialed Hyatt’s reservation line.  I keep them in my contacts for just these occasions.

“Do you have a room?  A really quiet room I could check into, like, ummm..now?”

Room 419 (Don’t bother stopping by.  I checked out.) was perfect.  And the bed looked amazing and the pillows were plentiful and not only plentiful but gushy.  You know, the type that fold up under your head and then around your body and the more you stack them around you the safer you start to feel?

I ordered room service, “Please just send up a plate of fries with ketchup as quickly as you can.”  We’re not looking for gourmet here, folks.  This is comfort and rest and things verging on Southern.

I ate the fries.  I put on the television shaking my head at all the imagery so foreign to me since I don’t have television at home and the rowdiest thing crossing my brain is usually The Godfather II.  I tucked myself into the bed and under the covers and pushed all those pillows back around me.

And fell asleep.

And when the morning came, it suddenly dawned (though it was 11am) on me that all I needed was a really good rest.  I write about things like that in Pre Middle Age: Forty Lessons in Growing the Hell Up.  There’s a whole chapter on naps and another one on blankets.  I get it.  Sometimes I forget though.

I’ve been feeling rather overwhelmed with giving lately and not receiving.  It feels unbalanced.  Thinking back to my mom who first placed in giving, I sat up in bed and realized she did that well but she didn’t take care of herself.  That’s where things were off.  Was everyone else cared for?  Sure.  But did she ever sneak off to a hotel in the middle of nowhere to sleep with a bunch of pillows tucked all around her?  Never.

I, we, you need rest.  And sometimes we can catch the need before it becomes a need when it’s simply an almost need.  Other times, the brain is so far gone in busyness and to do’s and to don’ts that you can’t even think through to what you need.  And that is the time when you make a call to a lovely hotel or a super five star one or even put the “closed for business” sign on your bedroom door for 24 solid hours and rest.

You will not succeed at saving the world one scraped knee, one hospital visit, one packed lunch, one ‘pick up the dry cleaning cause I forgot to’ at a time if all you do is give and not get.

Much love to you as you give and occasionally, just occasionally….receive.

Cole

39 Year Old Comes with Splinter

Brought to you by Pete at Pep Boys for making my car the absolute last one off the lift tonight.

For sale!  One 39 year old with a splinter.  Not only a splinter but a week long one and not just a week long one but one that crunches that crunchy glass sound every time I step down.  I can hear it in my teeth.

That sort of splinter.  And no, the splinter isn’t 39 years old but I am.  Did you know when you’re 39 you are the Splinter Taker Outer not the Get Splinter Taken Out Person?  *DeepTweezeredSigh*

Sitting at home tonight working out a splinter that kept working in I cried, “Jesus!  I’m the person.  I’m not the kid and I need your help even with this.  Where are you cause it won’t come out?!”

I get it.  I get this age.  This adult age that says you are the one that cares for people not necessarily the one cared for.  Damn, babies and old people have it made.

I had, not one, but two flat tires tonight after a lovely dinner.  It didn’t bother me too much.  I made it to the gas station before they completely gave up the ghost, put enough air in to make it to Pep Boys.  Everything was okay.  But then I sat in the waiting room with three other women.  Around my age women.  Women that work their asses off to spend the evening getting tires repaired.  Women that needed new batteries because they probably ran into work early in the morning leaving the lights on. I left the waiting room, drenched in the smell of grease and new timing belts, and walked outside to the garage, “Please!  Could you JUST put the tires back on my car?  Just two?  Not four.”

I paced and paced and was entirely unreasonable and stayed far enough away to not make the mechanic think I was checking his work but close enough so he knew not to make me the last customer.

I was the last customer out.  I deserved it.

I get it.  I get flat tires.  I get splinters.  I know bigger things happen and just around the corner could be absolute ectasy or tradegy.  For now, for just this one little moment….

I don’t want to be at Pep Boys.  And I don’t want to be the Splinter Taker Outer.

Somebody hand me a needle and a match,

Cole

Lessons in Calm

Brought to you by the voice screaming in my head Sunday night.

It happened.  I think I almost officially went to Crazy Land.  I’m not knocking it.  I think most creatives dip their toe in that pool once in awhile.  If the water isn’t cold and I ease in, I’m good for a visit.

It didn’t happen that way last night.  I was driving back to set up for another event.  A fun event.  An event that was relaxing and calming and should have been a breeze to organize.  All of a sudden, driving over the hill I heard a scream inside my head.  It’s simply been too much of late.  Too much media.  Too much time checking Huffington Post, Facebook, CNN, Twitter and more.  Too much time trying to find ‘pretty’ sites to visit about things like fashion and design to rest my brain rather than going offline and, uh, resting.

My brain is hyper-active.  I long for the days when it was sluggish.  *DeepOld-FashionedBlackAndWhiteTelevisionSigh*

So, for now, I’m making some small changes.  Mini changes.  Changes of the small and not the big kind:

1. I started buying books again.  I’m not talking about digital versions but real live paper books that get soaked and swollen in the bathtub.  Those kind.  I’m reading one book a week, focusing on memoir for now since that’s where my passion rests.

2. I’ve restructured my time.  No more watching Netflix as a means of falling safely to sleep.  Old episodes of The City can really screw a girl up.

3. I removed all interactive apps from my phone.  Well, except for the pizza delivery one.  I mean, let’s not get out of control here.  FB and Twitter and Netflix are no more. 

Might that change tomorrow?  It could.  I’m a woman and therefore inherently fickle.  For now, for today life is just a bit quieter.

Have to go.  Going to walk outside and star watch.  And I don’t mean the magazine kind.

Much love to you as you rest and quiet the loud places,

*whispering* Cole

I’m not and I am.

I’m not…

A wellness coach. I think a twinkie helps every now and then. Sometimes then. Sometimes now.

A motivational speaker. “Get your ass out of bed and get a job” wouldn’t make such a long speech.

A fitness instructor. I just threw my shoulder out carrying a book bag.

A Democrat or Republican. I’m a Who is Rational and Right -acan.

I am…

loved.

Lessons in Nevers

Brought to you by Mandy Thompson, cause she asked for a blog and one quick like.

I’ve lived a life full of nevers. 

I’m never leaving Irvine.  (I can’t wait to leave and explore and go see new places and some old places and then come back to this safe place.)

I’m not having babies.  I’m too old for that. (I met someone that makes me want to have babies.  I’m doing all those ‘getting ready to have baby’ things like downing Folic Acid and smiling at strollers.  He asked me if I realized I’d have to get up earlier than 10am if we had them.  I’m, gulp, learning that, too.)

I’m never going to love again. (The thing is, the thing to know is.  Even when the heart is breaking into so many pieces they are so small you can’t sweep them up, it repairs.  God recovers you.  He heals you.  It takes time and you get better and then love peeks back around the corner and says hi in that way it does where it takes your breath away and all the nevers turn into maybes and possiblies and then resounding yeses!)

I’m never doing that ‘church stuff’.  Ever again.  Like, with an extra never. (But, I am.  See, it’s not the church as in the building I adore.  It’s the church as in the people I love.  And no, I don’t love the ones all prettied up and perfected.  They are fine and lovely, too.  I love the ones with a little dirt on them.  I love the ones sitting on the side of the road.  I’m drawn to the ones that have a scowl at God from years of disappointment and always and nevers that left them with indents in their brow.  That’s the church I can’t say never to anymore because it’s you and it’s me and it’s that person down the street that needs to know someone gives a damn about them.)

I’m never cooking again. (I did.  Shh.  Don’t tell anyone that one yet!  I’m still not sure if I’m going to keep that never or not cause cooking isn’t my favorite thing.  It came with judgment and rules and disappointment when I was a young wife many years ago.  Now, I’m quietly cooking in the still of my home and trying things out with the judgment of only me and hoping one day to share a meal full of love with only…you, well, and you, too.)

I’m never going to be okay.  (I am.  And so are you.  And there are those moments.  You know, THOSE MOMENTS, when it feels as if the last bit of the earth has finally caved in on you.  The moments when every foot is on your neck and you cannot imagine lifting your head again from the weight of every boot and every shoe saying, “You won’t make it, you.  No, you won’t.”  That’s a lie.  You will.  And you will be okay.  And you are okay even if your darkest moment.  In fact, your darkest moment is really the lightest because that is when God walks in full of love and mercy and takes all your nevers and covers them with promise and hope and expectation.

Rabinna Kabir.  (He is a Big God.)

Much love to you sitting in a coffee shop looking out at cars passing and not stopping.  Hoping you stop and remember your nevers and squash them when the time is absolutely right and not a moment sooner and not a moment later,

Cole

What’s Your View?

Cole’s Christmas Card (say that three times fast)

What I Wanted to Say.