Different is the New Normal

The movie, Different is the New Normal, is coming out on PBS this month but can already be viewed on the PBS website. Click the movie title to go to the website.

I am forever grateful that my son is growing up in a generation where people talk about their disabilities and help bring awareness to others.

As a mom of a child with Tourette Syndrome, I am so thankful for another mom who shares her story. I cried. I laughed. I smiled. I nodded. It felt so good to feel like someone else gets my life. Thank you Robin Small. Thank you. This will be a gift to so many families. 

Thank you Ariel Small for your courage. You helped me see the courage of my own son who is just beginning his journey. I am so proud to be his mom. So proud.

If you know anyone with Tourette Syndrome, please watch this movie. The following is a trailer. 

Watch Different is the New Normal on PBS. See more from THIRTEEN Specials.

One Gift at a Time

                                                                    I want to let life come

                                                           One moment at a time

                                                                       One gratitude at a time

                                                            Not a list of a 1000 gifts

     Not a quota to fulfill

Not forcing my eyes to see beauty in every passing thing,

       But open and waiting to see the gift that God reveals.

I want a life surrendered 

to whatever may come

His gifts to me this day

And maybe the same tomorrow

One moment at a time

One gift at a time

The Power of Letting Go

I am powerless over so many things -- changing another person, the weather, the stock market, Tourette Syndrome, crazy drivers, power outages, health changes, infertility, and the list goes on. Could you add to the list?

For years I equated being powerless with helpless. But my journey has helped me see that I may be powerless to change my circumstances, but I am not helpless in them. I may not like them, but I always have a choice about how I will respond. When I finally accept what I am powerless to change, only then do I see what I can change and grow spiritually.

The only thing I have the power to change is me. And maybe that is why I resist admitting I am powerless. For years, I didn't want to see that. But I've learned, slowly, that I can always choose my attitude. I can choose if I want to stay stuck. I can choose if I want to ask for help.

Sometimes I don't want to choose. I want to try to change other people or fight against my circumstances.  I don't want to accept what I can not change. But that just feels miserable after a while.

If you are familiar with the 12 Steps of AA and Al-Anon, then you know that the first step is to admit you are powerless and your life has become unmanageable. These steps have brought me so much healing and helped me discover how much God cares for me. Truly, truly cares for me.

I now know what happens when I try to control what I am powerless over. I get crazy. I get irritable without even knowing it. I make frantic decisions. I don't have any peace in my soul.

My son struggles with Tourette Syndrome. He is a courageous boy who has learned to live his life with a disability. As his mom, I wish that I could take away the struggle. I have had to admit I am powerless over Tourette Syndrome and how it affects our family life. I don't like it some days. I wish we didn't have to live with it. Some days I don't know how to parent a child with a disability. Or I think I can handle it on my own. My recovery work has helped me know how to navigate life with Tourette's.

When I admit I am powerless, I begin to discover that I am truly not helpless. I can turn over my life to the care of God and ask him for help. And this is where I want to live. This is where I know peace.  It's where life becomes an adventure!

Our son struggles to enter into large crowds. He has always struggled with this, but now we know why. Tourette Syndrome often includes sensory defensiveness and obsessive compulsive tendencies. Recently, we went on a retreat with our faith community. We knew he would struggle but were surprised by how much he regressed. Getting out of the cabin to go to breakfast the first morning was a nightmare. (From my perspective!) We finally got out the door, and it didn't get much better.

On the way back to our cabin after the morning activities and lunch, I finally let go. I was tired of nagging, fighting, reasoning and threatening. Nothing was working. I asked God to help me let go and show me how to move forward.

This is when my faith and my life collide.  When I step back and let go of control. I admit that I am powerless over the situation and need help. I let go and ask God for help. I get out of the way.

Later, we let our son know that this situation was not working for our family. We told him we were not mad, but we were not going to continue to stay if things didn't change. We let him know that he needed to decide if he wanted to stay or go home by dinner time.

And then I let go. I let go of the outcome. I let go of expectations. I enjoyed the afternoon.

Our son had a great afternoon. He made the choice to stay. And he didn't want the weekend to end!

When we got home, we debriefed and asked him what we could have done differently. I shared with him how I don't like to sleep in strange beds so I like to see a picture of the hotel room on the internet before we go on a trip. That's how I take care of myself.

I asked him if it would have been helpful if we had let him look at the camp location on the internet before we went. He said, "No....but could we go early next time before everyone arrives so I can see the place without all the people first?"

Wow! What a great idea!  Yes! Yes! And how wonderful that he came up with it himself.

For me, that is the best part of letting go and asking God for help. It gives other people the freedom to grow and learn. I get out of the way! Our son discovered that weekend that he is not helpless. He has choices about how to live life with a disability.

May I learn from him how to be so brave!

Waiting for a Moonbeam - A new blog for women

I haven't forgotten about my blog! But I have been working on a project that is close to my heart. A new blog for women going through infertility and all the ups and downs on that journey.

As I have entered the world of blogging, I have yet to find a blog to encourage and support women who are struggling through infertility. All the blogs that I have found written by women tend to be filled with stories about motherhood or parenthood or grand-motherhood. This is not surprising. But a woman who is struggling through infertility would not feel encouraged by reflections about life through that lens. It would only remind her once again that she is not in "the club" every time she goes to the blog. Something she feels every day. At least that is my perspective.

I decided to jump in and create a blog for women who need a safe place to go and not feel alone in their journey through infertility.

I have found that the writing keeps pouring out of me. It's a little scary to launch my story out into cyberspace. But even the name, Waiting for a Moonbeam, came to me in a way that felt like God was directing my path in this direction.

So if you know of any women who are on the journey through infertility or adoption, please let them know about this blog. If you are a friend or family member of someone who is longing to be a mom, you might want to read some of the posts to know how to love and support her.


My deepest prayer is that at least one women will not have to walk alone while she waits.  

Here's the link. You can also find the blog's Facebook page on the link.

Waiting for a Moonbeam

In Honor of My Second Home on the Anniversary of 3/11

I wrote the following a year ago after the earthquake and tsunami. I was not blogging at the time. I post it today on the anniversary of 3/11 as I remember my many friends in Japan and their beautiful country. 

Looking out my kitchen window I see our Japanese maple lush with new growth. It draws me back to my years of living in Japan. Every fall the Japanese maple or momiji would burst forth with vibrant earth tones in the mountains of Japan. Most people think of Tokyo and city life when they picture life in Japan. But the Japanese can only live on ten percent of the landmass because the rest of the country is made up of mountain ranges covered in cedar, maple and bamboo forests.   As the momiji would begin to change colors, my friends would soon be organizing a hike to the nearby mountains to see the forest ablaze in a patchwork of gold, auburn, red, and yellow. My fondest memories are filled with such outings with my students and friends.

As spring approaches in Japan, I know the cherry blossoms are beginning to show their splendor, and it will be soon be time for o-hanami or flower viewing. My Japanese friends will gather under a canopy of blossoms at famous parks or temples and enjoy a picnic of chirashizushi or takenoko-gohan or some other dish of the season.

The country seems to move together in a synchronized rhythm with the coming of each new season.  A picnic under the cherry trees. The sharing of a first slice of melon with friends in the summer. A hike to the mountains in the fall. 

Even the school-age children seem to magically transform all on the same day as they abandon their long-sleeved shirts for their spring uniform with its new short-sleeves. Never mind if the weather hasn’t changed. As a foreigner riding on the train filled with children it was not easy to miss since I was the only one still wearing long-sleeves!

As a native Californian who grew up near San Francisco, I also know the change of seasons – not out of the snow but out of cold, wet winters into bright, vibrant springtime. But it wasn’t until I returned from living in Japan that I noticed that my childhood home was on a street filled with an array of cherry trees in the front yards of my neighbors. I must have walked by those trees in full bloom year after year on my way home from school, but I never really saw them. Not until I returned from Japan did I pause and see their glorious plumage and look down the street in awe. One of the many gifts from my life in Japan.

Now as I watch the faces of so many Japanese peering out over destruction and loss, I see myself standing in the street that I once walked and shopped and lived my life. Japan became my home.  I did not live in the north where the destruction is the worse, but I still see my friends and neighbors in each face and each house lost.

An American, Taylor Anderson, was one of those lost in the tsunami. She was 24. She was an English teacher who loved her life in Japan.  I celebrated my 24 birthday in Japan. I lived there for four years and it became my home.  It could have been me in the wake of this disaster.

I grieve for a nation who taught me how to pause and appreciate the beauty around me and celebrate it with others. I now long to give something back to this beautiful country and its people but feel powerless. As a woman who worships the God who entered human suffering in order to bring healing to our battered souls and to be ever-present with us, I long to offer this hope. 

As I see spring opening up in my town on the Pacific Ocean, I stand on its shores and open up my hands and my heart to you, Japan, and pray for healing to come you.

As the cherry blossoms burst open this year, I wonder how the nation will celebrate o-hanami? Will they gather as families or co-workers or school friends? Will it be a somber time? Or will they step into the rhythm set by generations before them who have enjoyed the simplicity of a picnic under the cherry blossoms? Will it be a time of healing for this generation? 

May healing come not just to the land but to the soul of a nation. 

Living with the Mess

Life is messy. At least, that's my experience.  I wish I had more time with the people I love. I can't keep all the balls in the air. My expectations of myself and others are often unrealistic. I struggle with resentments and keeping my side of the street clean. I don't have it all figured out. I say the wrong thing. I don't say what I need to say.... But I jump in because I want to live life even with its messiness.

But somewhere along the way I got duped into thinking that life is a competition and I should hide my mess. Image is what matters. 

As a woman who is looking to find her identity in something deeper than external markers, I know that my worth is not measured by what's on the outside. In fact, it's not measured at all. My inner life is not in competition with anyone else's. No matter what I might be hearing around me. And yet, you would never know that walking into many of the places of worship across my city. Image is still a big selling point. And sadly, the church is not devoid of it.

I say this with grace because I buy into it too. Culture is part of what influences us every day. But it can also get so tightly wrapped around our spiritual identity that we forget that God wants us to discover who we are on the inside and see the places in our culture that rob us from deepening our spiritual identity.  I believe that we have to acknowledge those places if we are to discover who we are truly meant to be.

For me this was one of the gifts I received from leaving my own culture and learning to live in another. I did that for four years. And it sent a lightening bolt through my own cultural identity.

For two of those years, I shared an apartment with women from three different cultures and lived in a fourth. My own cultural markers no longer had any relevance. The city where I was grew up, the university I attended, the church I attended, the foods I missed, the music I listened to -- they had no relevance to those I was building relationships with. We shared bits of our culture with each other, but we had to go deeper than that. We had to find connections based upon what made us human beings and how we wanted to relate to one another. It took effort. It took commitment. It took humility. It took love and forgiveness. It took prayer. Sometimes it was messy. But it was beautiful. It was real. It was life.

Today I want to celebrate the mess. The beautiful mess of living life in the midst of a culture that says beauty is only seen on the outside. I want to be a person who lives more rooted in my spiritual identity than in my cultural identity. I want to be an authentic follower of Jesus who discovers what it means to listen to his voice above all others.

This post is dedicated to Doris, Renee and Stephanie for putting up with this loud American.

An Ordinary Life -- Selah

Sometimes life feels mundane.

Ordinary.

Busy but not fulfilling. 

Bare.

Winter reminds me that new life is not always seen on the outside, 

but comes quietly from soaking in the nutrients hidden beneath.

The bare branch says,

Sink into it. 

Live in its simplicity. 

This is the gift of a contemplative life.

Humbled by the barrenness

only to discover hidden beneath 

gifts of grace

from the One 

who beckons the bud.

To learn more about this series, please visit SELAH.