Trick or Treat



I eat up Halloween. The colors. The time of year.  All that comes with it brings me childlike joy.  I get to dress up and be someone or something else for a few hours.  Carmel apple gets in my teeth and it’s a holiday that doesn’t come with a forced family gathering or guilt.

 

My eight year old loves the candy but isn’t big on the dressing up and changes her mind on a costume like the weather shifts in Seattle.  Minute by minute.  My six year old is completely and totally FREAKED OUT by the holiday.  Sometimes I wonder how they came out of my womb.

 

So instead of being disappointed by their lack of equal enthusiasm I will once again learn from my children.  Not everyone likes to bring attention to themselves with big hair and crazy makeup and that just shows my daughter has so much confidence in who she is as herself not someone in a wig or hiding behind a mask.  From my sweet, big hearted son I am learning that scary doesn’t make everyone laugh and nightmares are part of his reality right now.

 

I will get out the Aqua Net to make my hair big and crazy, then enjoy the candy stuck in my teeth and not judge or be annoyed if my children don’t get as thrilled as I do when the first trick or treater rings the bell.

 

by J.G. McGlothern

 

A Dozen

12 signifies the number of ancient tribes in Israel, the disciples who followed Jesus, the number of signs in the zodiac, the hours on a clock, and it is the number often used as a sales unit in trade.

12 is the number on my husband’s soccer jersey.  He’s been that number since youth.  During my short lived time on the soccer field, I too wore that same number.

I met my husband in the 12^th month of the year and we kissed for the first time just before midnight.

We have lived in this house for 12 years. And 12 years ago today we said “I do.” 

12 is just a number – a marker of time – a number on a jersey.  The laughs we have shared out number 12.  More than likely we have fought more than 12 times but again, it’s just a number and I know we have laughed more than the number of arguments.  The way I feel about myself, about my husband, our children and about our life together when I look into his eyes erases time.  The number of years disappears and I am left standing in more love than I imagined those 12 years ago at the altar.

12 years later our marriage isn’t totally what I imagined it would be – it’s been real.  Full of ups and downs.  Sure he pisses me off like no other.  You bet he drives me nuts with his ways of leaving little piles of his stuff all around the house and yes he takes forever to get some things done, like building the raised garden.  But it’s just stuff and its only time.  And I’m no angel with my over stuffed drawers and messy closets and obsessive way of multi-tasking.

Absolutely, I‘ve thought about throwing in the towel.  No doubt I’ve thought about what it would be like, if only.  But the love I feel for him brings me back to reality.  When I shove my ego out of the way, I see this man, who gets me like no other.  He knows how I feel before I know I’m feeling it.  He supports my dreams, holds my hand and makes me laugh like no one else.  I married my best friend and yes occasionally he frustrates me, challenges me – but every day he inspires me, moves me, loves me when I’m unlovable, makes me want to keep striving to be the best version of myself.

Oh, yes there’s the raised garden bed I have asked him about 12 times to build me in our backyard, but it’s just a number and at the end of the day our marriage is the garden that matters.  And after 12 years it’s still blossoming and producing fruit, with the occasional reality check of a good pruning.

So now I will go fill the coffee pot to 12 and crack open a dozen eggs and share a meal with my little family, the one who brings far more blessings than I ever imagined.

by J.G. McGlothern

Running Shoes or Barefeet?

For today’s blog, please visit my website, www.mamaneedsarefill.com

http://www.mamaneedsarefill.com/2010/10/running-shoes-or-barefeet/

The Art of Random Conversation

At a birthday party for my nephew yesterday I knew I wouldn’t know the other adults.  My sister and her family live out in the burbs – we travel in different circles.  And that aspect of the situation, not knowing others, either excites me or causes me to throw a book in my purse.

I left the book at home.

At the Jumpy Place I noticed all the parents were dropping off their kids, as I would do if I lived closer and the party wasn’t for a member of my family. The only adult besides my sister and brother-in-law, who were busy hosting, was a grandfather of one of the party guests.  He sat off in the corner of the warehouse away from all of the blow up jumpy thing-a-ma-jigs, with a book on his lap. Face down. Not him, the book. 

I sat in the chair next to him, Reading something interesting? 

I’m on the first chapter, and so far yes, he told me.  The Art of Racing in The Rain, by Garth Stein.

I have that very book on my night stand, middle of my book pile, I told this friendly stranger.

The author is local, the narrator is a dog and it comes highly recommended.  I can’t wait to get to it.

From there our conversation took off at lightning speed. This retired 72 year old man and I had lots in common, many topics to connect on and discuss. I knew the chance of seeing him again was slim so I savored the random meaningful, precious conversation.

When I engage in conversation with a stranger beyond sports and weather and meet someone willing to try out this conversation thing beyond the usual topics of kids and school, school and kids, I am delighted.  Engaged in food for thought.  Giddy about the little things in life, like books and movies, travel and recipes. We traveled the globe of conversation in a short duration, circling back to books, where our conversation started.

I won’t meet this man for coffee, join his book club nor will he join us on our next family vacation, but we shared an hour of conversation that was enjoyable, entertaining, engaging and beyond the regular party chat with an unknown individual.

When I get to the book in the middle of my stack on my night stand, the one told from a dog’s perspective, I will think of Larry, the grandpa I met at a birthday party back in October.

 by J.G. McGlothern

Third Time Around

Reading Harry Potter to my children the other day I came across the most wonderful phrase. Heart hammering.  Harry was super excited, emotions buzzing on his way to Hogwarts for the first time.

This is the third time I have tried to read this ever popular book. This time it’s sticking.  This time I have made it on the train and my kids are with me for the ride.  I know it’s not my very bad British accent I am using this time round either, they rather wish I would stop trying to come up with voices for the characters, but I’m sorry, someone with the name Hermione or Hagrid deserves an accent.  My accents may not be British Brilliant, but our hearts are hammering as we read on and the adventure unfolds.

I don’t know why I didn’t care for the book the other times I tried to read it.  I don’t know why this time I care about what happens to Harry.  I am not one to keep on reading a book if it’s not grabbing my attention and hammering my heart. I am also not one to jump on the bandwagon and stay there just because everyone else is on board.  It has to feel right.  And the whole Harry Potter thing bored me until now. It’s all about timing I suppose.  Where my head is when I read something, where my heart is when I am reading another’s words.

What other things in my life deserve another chance? Hmmm, I’ll have to ponder that one.  What other things are my heart ready for now?

by J.G. McGlothern

Waiting

There has been a writing project bouncing around in my brain for a couple of years now and I have been waiting for the right time to start it.  Believing other things needed to be in place first, waiting for that perfect time to begin, I have been holding back, delaying my dreams.

This past Saturday as my girlfriends slept in, I chose to seize the opportunity and begin this project. We drove four hours out of the city, leaving children, husbands, dogs and guilt all at home.  We drove away from responsibilities to others, traffic, distractions and those things we let get in the way of finding our own quiet spot within and listening deeply.

K says her cabin’s front yard often attracts a family of deer.  So as I sat and wrote, eating my banana in the quiet, I also waited for the visitors.

At home I often wait for things to be just so, all in order before I do what feeds me, nurtures my soul and gives my life greater purpose.

There is good waiting, like the anticipation of a kiss or Christmas morning, but then there’s destructive, useless waiting. The kind where you put your dreams on hold for the sake of others, laziness, fear, and just plain stubbornness.

As the sunlight filled the cabin, bringing the day to a brighter place, I filled my notebook with my dream, seeing where the pen would take me.  I still looked out the window for the deer, but my purpose was not about waiting for their appearance it was about being in the moment without expectation, void of fear and charging ahead. 

What are you waiting for as you miss what is right there in front of you, ready for the plucking?

I could get all morbid on you and risk bad writing all for the purpose of tying in the deer theme by telling you the only other deer we saw this past weekend were dead ones on the roofs of cars, hunting season has begun.  All for the purpose of warning you about what can happen to our dreams when we wait for them to happen.  Or I could tell you about the three live deer we saw later in the day on a drive to town, far off in a field, only I couldn’t see them very well because I didn’t have my glasses on, all to represent that when we least expect it, what we are waiting for can appear.

Instead I will leave you with this, is there ever a perfect time to begin living out your dreams?  Is everything ever perfectly in place?  Don’t wait until the kids are grown and out of the house, show them right now, you not only encourage them to live out their dreams, you have some of your own.  And they are damn good ones.

by J.G. McGlothern

Tell A Friend

For today’s blog, http://www.mamaneedsarefill.com/2010/10/tell-a-friend/ please visit my other website… www.mamaneedsarefill.com.

Alive and Well

This evening I spent an hour waiting to meet a friend at a neighborhood bar. She in the meantime, waited at another neighborhood bar.  Exhausting the blank pages of my journal and before I finished my pint of cider I walked back home.  My husband was just pulling up into the drive way. My friend came running down our stairs, she thought I was dead in an alley and sent my husband to look for me.

I thought she just fell asleep putting kids to bed and will not let me forget that she spent an hour thinking I was dead.

To make up for lost time we visited a third establishment and swapped stories. The live music sucked.   Didn’t know it was possible to mess up the 80’s, such a great decade of music. At least in my memory. The cider was warm and not as good as the one I drank alone earlier.  But the conversation was far better than any beverage.

How great to have friends you can stay up late with on a school night and how really great to have friends, at least I know of one, who will spend an hour imagining your death and funeral and feel really crappy about it.

by J.G. McGlothern

Yoga Hell

Apparently the peace I feel in the 105 degree room I practice yoga in every week is a demonic practice that will lead me to Hell and away from the God I love dearly.  Funny, I thought I was connecting with God in those quiet moments, not turning from Him.

A Southern Baptist Theologian and a local Mars Hill Pastor have made recent news headlines with their fear based accusations. A couple of friends and my mother-in- law informed me about the articles and that I am going to Hell with all my yoga ways. Thank God they read the news, otherwise I would have been totally surprised when it was time for me to leave this earth.  And to think, I thought I was going to a beautiful place in the next life.

These news stories make me think of Dana Carvey’s Church Lady character on SNL some years back.  I’ve had a chuckle over the articles, listened to their opinions and now it is my turn to speak before I head off to the yoga studio.  If I’m going to Hell like some of these ministers believe, I might as well be at a place of peace, fully de-toxed, united in body, mind and spirit and grounded in God’s Divine love before I go, huh?

I am a practicing Catholic, Bikram yoga practicioner, lover of peanut butter, online chess addict, wife, mother, Visa Card Holder, blah, blah, blah – labels.  Labels destroy us, separate us, define us, yet tell us nothing about what matters most, only getting in the way and giving people something to bitch about. 

The pope might have a heart attack knowing I recite a psalm and the Lord’s prayer quietly to myself after my ninety minute yoga class. Combining the two practices works for me and brings me in deeper relationship with God. And it is my practice. Not yours, not hers, not the Southern Baptist Theologian’s.  For that is how it should work. God is too big to fit into a small box.  And if some people find God in yoga class then how cool is that? For if they aren’t finding him in a stuffy church or crowded meeting hall at least they find God in community with others committed to creating peace both within themselves and on this planet. They are not calling yoga God.  They are opening their hearts, closing their mouths and breathing in the beauty of God that can often only be found in the silence.  The space where egos don’t exist and love shines brightly.

I go to yoga for my health and well-being. It feeds me in many ways; spiritually, physically, mentally and emotionally.  It doesn’t replace my other experiences of God I find around the dinner table, in the pew, on a mountain, in community, sitting in silence.  Nor do these experiences replace my yoga practice.

I have to totally disagree with R. Albert Mohler Jr., president of Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky when he says, “Christians are not called to empty the mind or to see the human body as a means of connecting to and coming to know the divine. Believers are called to meditate upon the Word of God.”  What if Christians and the rest of the world who want to know God don’t find God in the Word?  What if they find God on a mountain or reaching out to another human being? It is often in the emptying of the mind of stress and busy thought that we can be aware of God’s presence.  And if yoga brings them to a place where they can hear God then who are they to judge? For it is in the quiet stillness where I find we can discover and know God.  God is always there but when we cloud it with other voices and expectations we can’t hear God’s Divine wisdom or feel God’s Divine Love.

Religion is often mistaken for being God. Religion is one way, just one way to express your faith and beliefs in God. It is not the only road – thank the Good Lord by the way for all the many different ways and opportunities we have to experience God and (side note as I am writing this: my daughter is teaching her little brother how to do jumping jacks and I am delighted as I know God is in watching this exchange of love and laughter) be in relationship with the Divine. See God can be found in jumping jacks too.  God is where love is and if people can love one another more deeply and go deeper into relationship with God through a little exercise, I say rock on.

If yoga opens up my heart to live more compassionately, de-stress me so I don’t have to take anti-depressants any more, ground me into being a nicer mother and bring me to a deeper awareness of my relationship with God and all that is going to bring me to Hell then I say, I’ll at least be ready.  I’ll be open to love, aware of God’s presence and able to crush Lucifer with my yoga-toned thighs.

Oh, people – life is meant to be lived not feared.

Pointing fingers, running from possibility and hiding behind labels is a much bigger Hell than the one these Reverends speak of in their rants against yoga.

I give thanks for all the different ways we can experience God, discover God, and live as Jesus wants us to, full of love and possibility. Not narrowness and fear.

Plus in all the dipictions and portrayals of Jesus he had killer abs, toned arms, clearly a yoga man, as there were no gym memberships back in his day.

by J.G. McGlothern

You Can’t Always Get What You Want

When I was in grade school I wanted to be either be an actress or a teacher.  In high school my aspirations moved away from actress and more toward being a nun or mother of eight children.

I am neither nun or mother of eight…thank the good Lord.  But I do teach now and then and that feels right. And every day I put on some show or another for my two children and that feels right too.

When You Can’t Always Get What You Want by the Stones comes on the car radio I cease all chatter both in my head and amongst my children.  I crank the dial so high my eight year old daughter shouts from the back seat, Mama, turn it down please. 

Oh, if she only knew how lucky she was, my mom blared John Denver and swears he got her through her divorce from my father.  At the time I was embarrassed that John Denver’s music filled our car and home.  Now of course I think how cool it is that this artist helped my mom get through a rough time.  A time she didn’t want, but needed. 

Now the Rolling Stones aren’t seeing my way through a rough time, but a time of change and transition, self awareness and discovery.

So when I hear Mick sing those words, You Can’t Always Get What You Want, but rather we get what we need, I am at peace.

Yes, I am so aware of the popular language these days and the power of positive imagery to get what we want.  But is that what it is all about?  Isn’t it really more about what I need?  Which yes, my needs stem from the deep desires of my heart but we can muck it all up with listening to outside expectations instead of the true center within where it matters most.  For what we need in the end, I do believe is indeed what we want, we just don’t always know it at the time.

In wanting to be an actress I wanted to be seen.  In wanting to be a teacher I wanted to make a difference.  Through the brief mind lapse of wanting to be a nun or mother of eight, I was seeking connection, both with God, community and myself.

So if you find you aren’t getting what you want, sing to the top of your lungs with the car radio and you just might find…you’ll get what you need.

by J.G. McGlothern