A cursory look at the row of magazines while checking out at the grocery store recently depict a common theme. 

                                                

                                      WEDDINGS      

                      

Best colors and locations for a wedding, ideas for bachelorette parties and honeymoon planning. The pictures are beautiful; the couple and their friends are happy and the locations are sigh worthy. 

Grocery store magazine racks should have a fantasy or sci fi section. Divorce rates, while declining in 2021, are still around 44% of those people getting married. 

Should engaged couples have a marriage counselor and a divorce lawyer on their gift registry?

This spring I taught the Marriage and Family Counseling class for our Graduate Clinical Mental Health Counseling Program at Lipscomb University. One of our in-class assignments was to write marriage vows.  Either to remember what you may have written, or to create ideas for the future. The students quietly filled their pages. After exploring how we create dreams with words and phrases, the students asked what I would say after 44 years of marriage. 

I wrote these words on the white board.

                                                                  'I'll try again'

When Mark and I married we had the beautifully crafted promise, the carefully selected witty and thoughtful phrasing. 

And the phrase that I've promised again and again throughout those years, is that I'll try again. 

I'll try again to watch my words. I'll try again to forgive. I'll try again to love. 

    

                                        What is your promise? To yourself and those you love?

                                    May today be filled with moments of promise.

Some dates are easy to remember. 

Like the first time, my husband said

he loved me. 

We were sitting at the bottom of Yosemite Falls, his voice was sure, clear and not expecting an answer as if his statement was enough for the moment.

There are a lifetime of other moments when time expands sideways and your heart whispers to you, 'remember this.' 

January 4, 2019, is such a date. We moved my parents into an independent living facility. In the two months since:

• They moved into an assisted living care level
• They sent their beloved dachshund  Peanut to live with another family
• They call me 2 or 3 times a day (I have phone records...)
• Dad fell and was subsequentially admitted as a Hospice patient (he's doing better, thank you)
• They move into a Memory Care facility next week

So many dates, too many events that need their own space, but these moments must share with all of the other pulls on my time and attention. 

While I write my daily list to do for my parents:
       wash their clothes (run Dad's through hot water twice)
       grocery shop (smooth Peanut Butter ONLY)
       pay their bills, address change of address cards,
       negotiate their requests (demands?) to the facility staff,
I am listening to the radio conversations in the background:                              
       the loss of death to mudslides,
       the threat of loss of homes because of fire,
       the refusal to respect all rights for every human

       and I find the weight of my circumstances shift.


The shift is not from perhaps a first world problem to a pang of white guilt. There are plenty of times when that awareness is appropriate and neccessary. This, however, is a shift from isolation,  from feeling overwhelmed by the big and small decisions you face when caring for others, to experiencing the connectedness of being a member of the larger human race. The broader perspective does not diminish my worry, sadness and or overwhelming tiredness, but places my experiences next to those I see in my counseling practice, those I teach, those I supervise, those I parent, those I love.

The shift welcomes me into the world's embrace as it whispers to me, 'remember these moments.'

This shift reminds me of what is perhaps even more sweet to me than my husband telling me he loved me  44 years ago, which is his recent comment to me, 'you don't have to do this alone.' 

This is what I want to remember as I experience these dates, we can share them with those we love.

I hope you have friends and family you can share both these big important dates and the ones that no one will remember past the event.

Happy to help

It is my husband’s 63rd birthday. Family is gathered and our granddaughter Elin asks if she can help put the candles on the cake.

Elin, ‘can I help you put the candles in the cake?’
Me, ‘yes, you can place them anywhere you want.’

It is her next response that prompts this writing.
Elin, ‘Grandma, you are happy to let me help.’

As one of her primary caregivers her first year, Elin and I created many conversation patterns. One of which was the following,

Elin, ‘Grandma, can you help me?’ To which I would respond, ‘I’m happy to help you.’

In the conversation re the birthday candles, Elin was reminding me of our pattern, our way of relating to each other. Which started me thinking.

As a counselor, I am privilege to many conversations between partners, that, in some ways, are very similar to the one Elin and I shared. One partner reminding the other partner, ‘don’t you remember? This is what we said we would do.’ And sometimes the partner responds with ‘right, forgot.’ And sometimes the partner is silent, as they no longer wish to continue the pattern, the expectations, the commitment.

‘It can get better.’ A client recently started a session with that phrase. ‘You offered us that phrase last session, and I realized I had not heard anybody say that marriage could get better in a long time.’ Conversations that remind us of our first intentions, calling us to renew our commitments with authentic love can be moments of transition.

From This is difficult, I don’t like who I’ve (We’ve) become, to
This is difficult, and I remember who I am (who you are, who we are),

        someone committed to our continued conversations, 

        our continued pursuit of helping each other, 

        and our continued call to be our best selves.

As the birthday dinner ended, family members are saying goodbye, Elin brings her shoes over to my chair.

Elin, ‘Grandma, can you help me with my shoes?’
Me, ‘I’m happy to help.’

May you respond to reminders with grace, to renewed calls for authentic love with a resounding, ‘yes.’

Remembering.

Some of you may recognize what the elements in the picture are and what they represent for participants. I am visiting my parents this week, my stay includes a Sunday, and on Sunday, my parents pray. 

They pray, 
they read the Bible 
and they take communion.

They do all of these things at their home now instead of participating in a larger faith community.

My father thought they (the faith community) were marketing the message through a lens of humor. And while my dad has been known to create an entire sermon point around a new funny story he wanted to tell, at this point in his life, he wants a plain and simple message.

Not in a watered down, or less intelligent discussion, but one that is honest. Today's message is, 'love each other like your brother or sister.' Asking for thoughts or comments, my mother, ever the pragmatic one, says: 'that makes some assumptions about your brothers and sisters! What if you don't like them for very good reasons?' As Mom and I laugh, Dad attempts to regain the moment of reflection he had created. 

It's gone.

Mom shares a smile with me, Dad tells the same story he told 5 minutes ago, followed by Mom saying, 'Are you going to dismiss us?' Dad teases her, 'you do it.' Don't ever tell my mother to do something that she wants to do if you do not want an immediate response. Before I can look back to Mom, she has dismissed us and the conversation turns to where we are going for lunch.

But a couple of thoughts and experiences stay with me. While no longer a participant in their faith community, I respect the decision to create behaviors, patterns, and rituals that remind them of the values they hold to be true. All shaped through the lens of their 67-year-old marriage.

I also think about holding up family relationships as a lens for healthy, wholesome and perhaps holy relationships. The relationships that are the daily, in the moment, opportunities to demonstrate integrity, grace, and forgiveness. The relationships that challenge us to be authentic to ourselves and others, because they know the stories of your early childhood and the stories you never told your parents. (still not telling!)

For me, this is the plain and simple message today:
love self and others in a way that doesn't hide from ugly parts of one's self or of others, 
love in a way that says 'i've got your back,' 
love in a way that seeing someone wearing purple, you catch your breath, because your sister who has been dead for almost 4 years now, loved purple.

Love like that.

When do you buy Valentine flowers?

                                                                

I buy my own flowers. 

Valentine flowers I buy on February 15. 

It took me a while (ok, a few years) to understand that we enter relationships with our family of origin expectations packed in our suitcases. As a child living in Germany, we had several families from the US come to visit us and tour Europe. The summer I turned 16 we had a family come for a couple of weeks. Our sightseeing included Bavaria, Oberammergau, chance tickets to see the Passion Play and eventually, Paris. 

It was our trip to Paris I want to revisit. Known for his frugal habits, my father chose the least expensive hotel he could find. This was in 1970, no Trivago or Expedia around to verify hotel accommodations. We did learn all we needed to learn about the hotel on the elevator ride up to our rooms. The one we shared with other hotel guests and their escorts. It was after that trip that my mother insisted on white linen tablecloths wherever we visited.

For her, white linen tablecloths represented respectability, cleanliness and probably most importantly, no escorts. In the context of my parent's experiences, white linen tablecloths made sense for them. The 'white linen tablecloths' requirement was one of many family of origin expectations I brought into our marriage.

Mark brought his own family stories of expectations re gift-giving and special occasions. Our own gift giving experiences have ranged from 'hope you kept the receipt' to 'OMG I love it, I mean, you.' Our first Christmas celebration (we had been married ONE MONTH), Mark's gift to me was a crockpot. That's a story for another time.

Which brings me back to flowers. One of the things I work with couples in counseling on is identifying and managing expectations of themselves, of their partners and of the relationship. I have learned that I truly enjoy all aspects of choosing, buying, and arranging flowers. I do not need, expect or want Mark to buy me flowers. When he does buy flowers, he skypes to allow me to participate in the process.  The following is from a recent FB post. 

'I'm home after 1 1/2 weeks of teaching in Atlanta. I know Mark brought fresh flowers yesterday because he Skyped to see which ones I liked. So I was a bit hesitant to comment on these.
Me: These are interesting.
Mark: They're the old ones. I don't change anything when you're gone.'

It's taken a while, but I think I'm learning to leave my 'white linen tablecloth' expectations with my parents.

It was their story anyway. 

Prologue
In therapy, clients learn that progress towards health can be it's own unique journey. While goals of healing, integration, and well being remain a guiding focus, emotional and mental growth can come in spurts, after deliberate and consistent practice, or sometimes following unexpected discoveries. Our daughter's movement towards health is one such story. Shared with her permission.

A LOVE STORY,

in 5 chapters

Mama?
Yes, love?

Chapter one. Her relationship starts like most relationships. They meet, have a beer, listen to music, exchange cell phone numbers and tell each other they’ll meet again. Which they do, several times in fact, which leads to talks about shared values, dreams, hopes and commitment. He surprises her with a hand carved ring, and she says “really?” quickly followed by YES. 

Chapter two. Living into life dreams sees them move for him to complete schooling, scheduling calendars, and doctor’s appointments to discuss infertility and options. They choose options, and a sweet baby is born.

Chapter three. Life following birth is chaotic, uncertain and filled with questions. Postpartum depression and anxiety are new words added to her vocabulary. Help is found in family, medication, and hospitalization, outpatient care and ongoing follow-up care. 


Chapter four. As parents, they now move into caring for and loving their sweet daughter. As partners, they move into negotiating family needs and caring for each other. Slowly, step by step, she becomes reacquainted with the fun, joy and fulfillment of creativity; recognizing it has been her sidekick throughout her life and she once again finds a place in her busy, full and loving life for creativity. www.sierrapaperlove.com is born.

Chapter five. The following chapters are yet to be written. I do not know the details, what I do know is that our sweet daughter, her amazing and loving family will continue to create a loving home, where people are supported, and love is lived in the everyday.

                                    Elin: Mama?
                                   Bryn: Yes, love?








Post partum resources:www.thehummingbirdstudy.com, www.postpartum.net, www.resolveinfertility.org, www.postpartumprogress.org  http://postpartumstress.com/karen-kleiman-msw-lcsw/

Last week Mark and I were thinking about our upcoming anniversary, of our lives now and the journey we've made to this point. He had put a load of his laundry in the washer which reminded him of the 4 years at the Naval Academy when a laundry service picked up his (and all midshipmen's laundry) outside their room doors. He described stuffing everything into a duffle bag, tying it tight so  the strings wouldn't come undone, mixing his and 4000 other midshipmen underwear together. Then stopping by the 16th Company area down the hall couple of days later, picking up cleaned and pressed uniforms along with the cleaned clothes in the duffle bag which was brought back to the outside of his room.

Certainly not what he experienced in our marriage.

Which made me think of the ways in which laundry has, at times, become much like a barometer for the health of our marriage.

As our family focused exclusively on Mark's career as the primary financial support I found myself with a collection of part time jobs in-between caring for our children. Which meant, I had time for laundry. If our communication was healthy, if we were able to hear and support each other, doing laundry became just another chore. If, on the other hand, I didn't feel heard, supported or valued, his laundry would sit for days. It became a means to try to balance what I perceived as unequal power in our relationship.

Needless to say, early in our marriage, he was up several evenings, washing uniforms for the next week.

As we learned healthier coping and communication skills, laundry became less of a means to express resentment and more of an opportunity to show service. Washing and drying his clothes became a time to be grateful for work opportunities, for flexible schedules to care for our children, and a means to 'lose' his sweatshirts, socks and other items frayed, torn or which not longer fit.

As we celebrate our 38th anniversary today, I am grateful for Mark's unwavering determination to financially support our family, his love for me and his ability to, occasionally, do his own laundry.