I'm Too Flexible

I wish I were talking about my physical ability to stretch my body into amazing unduplicatable forms - but... I'm not. 

I'm refering to my laxity with life.  It seems where ever I go, the idea of being more flexible is being promoted.  More flexible with our spouses, more flexible with our expectations, more flexible with our schedules and agendas.  And so in that respect I'm grateful that I am predominantly easy going and don't easily get my feathers ruffled.  

I wasn't always this way.  In fact, I believe it has been an incredibly challenging road to get to this point.  I used to be quite tense when I was late to an event, or the house was messy and the doorbell rang, or even when someone wanted to spontaneously go do something that hadn't been planned out weeks in advance (actually, I still struggle with this one at times, but not always).  I used to get quite flustered when there wasn't enough money to stretch for all the needs, or equipment would break down (as if there is a convenient time), or not everything got a checkmark on my to-do list.  I've come a long way. 

Through a series of undesirable events, I've learned to be flexible.  Hope for the best but roll with the punches if something else happens instead.  It's amazing what going without food, without money, without control, without time, or without energy can do to change a person. You think you might not emotionally make it, but somehow or other you survive and then the next time a trial comes along - it's not so traumatic as it was the first time.  The result = flexibility, laxity, easy going, even calmness in the storm.  Yes, I can see how this is a very good thing. 

However, as all things need moderation, I feel I may have taken my relaxed coping skills a little too far to the other end of the spectrum. 

My house and yard are a constant reminder that I no longer care how it looks to the neighbors - I'm not keeping up false appearances.  I'm doing the best I can and that's just gonna have to be good enough, right. 

My children are also a consistent reminder that I've gotten too lax with my parental training, as they demonstrate that obedience to mom is optional. 

Even my character is called into question as I willingly take on responsibilities and then casually carry them out - or if it doesn't happen, that's ok too. 

These effects of a life being beaten by the hardships don't really bring me happiness either. 

There must be a happy medium - a way to find the balance between self-respect and calmness for trivial concerns.  To care enough to make things happen but not so much that I'm bound up tighter than I can handle.  Its challenging to begin picking up the pieces where you have already surrendered.  To attempt to take charge, to fight, to be fiery where your spirit has been broken, and you've become submissive and accepting.   

For a long time, my husband has been  associated with Mr. Incredible.  I'm not sure exactly how this began.  Maybe it's his super suit rising above his belly as he stretches.  Maybe it is his stocky build and amazing strength.  Or maybe it is because he is a super who is living his secret identity, waiting for the opportunity to relive the glory days of his pre-existent greatness.  I don't really know, but I find it ironic that Mr. Incredible is married to Elastigirl. 

Maybe flexibility has to be linked with incredibleness.  I know in my life its absolutely essential.  I don't believe our marriage would have lasted if I didn't learn to just let some things go. But now I'm learning to be very careful with what I surrender.  My pride, my will, my selfish power struggles - yes.  My self-respect, my character, my stewardship - a great big NO.

This reminds me of the message from Thomas Jefferson. To paraphrase:
                                            In matters of principle, be as a rock. 
                                            But in matters of style, just go with the flow. 

'The Quilt Maker's Gift"

I don’t know what it is about quilting story books that catch my eye, but I knew when I saw ‘The Quilt Makers Gift’ on the library shelf that it would be a quality read.  I think I got even more than I bargained for.  This charming story whose pages are filled with color, patterns, and lovely illustrations, which tell a story in addition to the written text, is captivating to the eye as well as the heart.  I began reading to my daughter as she snuggled me on the couch.  Soon, my son climbs up on my lap also.  Before I got to the fifth page, all six of my children were crouched around me, intently listening and studying the pictures.  

                The premise of the story is about an older woman who lives alone in the mountains, making beautiful quilts to give to those who are less fortunate.  She is so devoted to her purpose that she refuses to sell or make quilts for anyone who could afford to pay for it.  As soon as she finished a quilt, she would carry it around from town to town until she found someone who was homeless or chilled in the night air.  She would gently wrap the quilt around them and then return to the mountain to make another one.  The news of her quilt’s quality had reached a very powerful and greedy king who insisted on having one made for him.  As she refused, the king became more insistent on getting his way.  He felt that her quilt would be able to finally make him happy.  After some consideration, she said that she would make him a quilt if he would give away all that he owned.  It took the king some time to agree but eventually he gave away a few items.  As the recipients were thrilled with their gifts, he began to enjoy giving others pleasure.  For years, he traveled the world, giving away everything he had to those in need.  Eventually, he had nothing left to give and he was truly poor and needy himself.  It was then that the quilt maker gave him the promised quilt.  He then refused to acknowledge that he was poor, even though he owned nothing.  With his heart full to bursting with joy in giving, he received all the riches he could ever want. 

Of course, this summary loses a lot of the charm in the translation, but I was impressed with integrity of the quilt maker.  She had clearly defined her purpose - she knew what gave her joy.  She was not distracted by riches, or authority, or any other possible fake pursuits of happiness.  She knew she had a service to render to the world and consistently, patiently fulfilled her work.  I want to be so dedicated and non-distractable in what truely matters in my own life.  

Inspiration Lost

It’s gone.  I’ve lost my inspiration.  For awhile, it seemed that everywhere I turned, I had power thoughts, and couldn’t wait to make time in my busy little life to write about it.  Now the thoughts don’t seem as powerful and certainly not enough to write a paper.  I guess there are a number of possible reasons for this drought. 

1)      I’ve shifted gears in my routine.  With the ineffective spring break and the upset of the Shakespeare production, I put homeschool, home maintenance, and even being at the crossroads for my children on hold, so that I could turn the house upside down and rearrange, dejunk, and organize some much neglected rooms and systems.  You’d think with such dedicated focus that I’d have been more successful than I have been and could get back to a regular routine.  Alas, I’m going to have to put the dream of order on the back burner…. again because my undirected and neglected children are requiring their mother back.

2)      My energy has been drained.  For the past year, I’ve been taking the wrong dosage of thyroid.  And with the interim between the blood work and the adjusted dosage, I’ve been tired…a lot.  It may be psychological because just knowing my dosage was not enough, I suddenly felt the fatigue and drainage of energy.  I’m napping for a couple hours every single day.  Not a good combination for creation.

3)      I attended a ‘How to Mentor’ class on writing power papers.  It was both inspiring and discouraging.  I haven’t put my finger on why it was discouraging other than the amount of work that is involved in the writing/revising/editing process.  There’s no question that the pains of the process produce much better quality work, but the amount of time and energy necessary put a damper on my enthusiasm for writing. 

4)      And probably the biggest reason for my discouragement is the loss of a friend.  I’d recently been in conversations with an old friend.  Several, actually, through facebook.  It was rejuvenating to my soul and I longed to come alive again like I had been in my teen years.  But for some reason, the communications just stopped after a particularly vulnerable disclosure.  I can only assume that they weren’t impressed with what I’ve become and chose to not associate any further.  I feel dejected, hurt, and saddened that our relationship has no depth.  My continual frustration of ‘not being any fun’ has created another war wound.  I know I will rally again, but it cut a little deeper than I had hoped. 

Even with all these reasons for not writing power papers, I have longed to just write - like a journal.  I know the purpose of this blog is to inspire my children to write, but I want to be selfish and write my personal thoughts.  I haven’t decided if I will attempt another personal blog or just continue to work with this one.  I’m hoping with time, patience, and writing practice, I’ll again feel inspired to write something worth reading.