An “Old Soul”

psychologies.co.uk

My daughter was in the 8th grade when someone had first referred to her as an “old soul”. It was her social studies teacher who was also an assistant coach of her field hockey team. I stood in the parent-teacher conference slightly annoyed at his remark.

About a month later, someone else made the same comment.

The word “old” was not fitting for a vibrant, beautiful young teenager with long hair and a terrific laugh. A strong athlete with a quick-wit was anything but “old”.

The word “soul”? Well, that word was right on.

I was viewing the word “old” negatively as if these adults were making her less-than. Really what they were trying to do was locate a word to describe a teenager who was anything but typical. The teachers in particular always wanted to share stories with me about how my youngest not only befriended the special needs students but went out of her way to check in with them daily, saying “hello” and “how are you?” that perhaps meant more to the observant teachers than the children.

On the last day of eighth grade, she emerged from the traditional end-of-year award ceremonies empty-handed. “Mama, what I’m good at is not valued at school. It’s not graded.” I nearly died from heartbreak in the school hallway. Her eyes were quizzical as she too attempted to locate words to describe herself.

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It was a curious mix back in her youth: a sweet, gentle spirit who would be readily labeled very friendly but not boisterous, on the quiet-side, but also spoke up loudly when another was being belittled or ridiculed. Athletic and captain of her teams, she demonstrated tremendous ability to lead but sat back in group settings, allowing others to be “first”. I suppose the only term that came to the teachers’ minds was “old soul”.

This memory recently came back to me and so I researched a few minutes regarding what the term ‘old soul’ means. There were a wide array of contradicting definitions. Most didn’t resemble my child at all. However, one repetitive noun was “empath”. “An empath is someone who understands the mental or emotional states of others in a way that defies conventional science and psychology. Empaths have the ability to sense the feelings, the thoughts of people.” (Urban Dictionary) Essentially, feeling and thus expressing far more empathy than a normal human.  When my youngest was 12 years young, she learned of the diagnosis of a 5-year old boy with terminal cancer. We did not know this family personally but were praying for the boy. I watched my daughter pray, carefully follow his treatment over the few short months he had remaining on this side of heaven, and observed her emotional collapse when he left to be with the Lord. As she lay crying on the couch, she choked through her tears to me, “I don’t want you thinking I’m crying for my own sadness. I’m devastated for the parents…they will never get over this.” She was 12.

My baby girl is now a senior at a university she loves and thrives at. She’s known and loved by her friend group, has a wonderful boyfriend and professors gush over her public speaking skills. If you met her today, your first thought would definitely not be “public speaker” but the moment she takes the front of the room, she brings it to life and commands attention. She’s gentle in spirit, she listens when you speak-regardless of how important you may or may not be in the world-and she loves Jesus. She sees people in a world where most of us are sincerely invisible.

While finishing the decorating of my daughter’s room in her new apartment at school, I was frustrated because the little sunflower lights weren’t yet exactly how I wanted them. I was likely huffing and adjusting them when my youngest’s hand suddenly appeared, and laid ever so gently upon mine. I looked up from my crouched position on the floor at her smiling face. With her hand gently tapping mine she very softly said, “patience my little grasshopper”. I laughed out loud at her adaptation of the famous quote, which was far sweeter with “my little”.

Most actual definitions of old soul don’t fit my daughter, but the few consistent attributes of an empath were reminders for me. While this little jaunt down memory lane turned into a Mom-post, God used the fleeting memory and my quick internet searches to draw attention to the desensitization I’ve been experiencing lately. Normally a highly empathetic person myself, I realized that reviewing nearly 40 cases highlighting man’s worst depravities (see previous post/I’ve been serving on a grand jury for several weeks), my initial disgust has transitioned into desensitivity. We’ve been told that we’ve seen more horrific cases than many juries in past years. The fallout from the presidential election and the claims from those who “say that evil is good and good is evil; that dark is light and that light is dark” (Isaiah 5:20) has additionally increased my guardedness. This is not good when I’m usually quite approachable.

How good it will be to have a day this week purely devoted to gratitude, family, games and delicious food. The timing of Thanksgiving amidst the serious unrest across our Covid-globe and in our hearts…my heart…is much-needed. Perhaps I’m not alone in recognizing the need for renewing empathy and being more sensitive toward others. 

image above: studywithfriends.org/wp-content/uploads(fruit of the spirit image)

 

 

And So She Flew….

This blog has been quiet lately, but my nest has not been. My just-turned-23-year-young daughter (one of the twins) landed the kind of job we’ve been praying for since graduation last May. I rejoiced alongside her four weeks ago that God answered our prayers BIG, but was stunned that the job was 7-states and 16-hours away (by car). Sigh.

I write the beginning of this post from the airport concourse, waiting for my flight back to the nest.

The last month has been slammed at work, then crazy at home with planning, packing and preparing. Now, this huge, life-altering event is behind us. The wheels of my return flight squeaked as they tucked under, making me want to tuck my own feet under me and squeak a bit about what a huge hole there will be in my nest…

I had finally adjusted to the bustling activity and non-stop-in-and-out of the twins returning home from university last May. Although my youngest is still away at her school, the nest was no longer a silent space. We were literally back to “Mommmmm!” at the bathroom door the second I started the shower. Whenever I felt annoyed at something, I mumbled thanks that my nest was alive with life.

My saver-daughter independently purged years worth of clothes and shoes, and thinned three giant bins of cards and notes into one. She even found her saved baby teeth and notes to the tooth fairy (“please leave my teeth and thank you”). Piles to be packed and donations to be given away were strewn throughout the house and her room.

Her room.

The Jonas Brothers. One Direction. Taylor Swift. All decorations from her youth were recently replaced with fresh paint, a new travel theme – complete with photographs of her many adventures in travel. She had wisely turned down a job a Boston a couple months ago and arrived back home ready to nestle in…accepting that it could be a lonnnnnng wait for the “right” opportunity. God has such a sense of humor.

Her and I had just hung the last of enlarged photos from her trips and our summer vacation in Scotland and Ireland when the interviews began with her current job. The room we just completed was quickly deconstructed with all the décor in boxes for her first apartment.

While the mess strewn everywhere, she began wrapping fragiles in what we wrapped her in 23 years ago in the hospital. All of us parents have these exact same, thin, worn wraps somewhere in our homes and it was too much for me when I saw them.

This baby girl is my independent one. We have a favorite family video of her loudly announcing at 2 1/2 years old, “I can do ittttt!” She did not want help. Her independence is part of her. While this is how she can go to a place where she knows zero people, this quality has also (somewhat) eased my Mama-pain over her departure from the nest.

Funny how she’s my most independent one, but she’s also the only one who still sleeps with the same “dollies” at 23 that she did at 2yrs old.

These near stuffing-less treasures went with her far away.

Though Google and Zuckerberg and Apple’s leadership were decades ahead of us in copying and saving our so-called “personal” data – long before society bothered to contemplate if snaps and posts and emails were being saved in massive data centers – and I really go off on a tangent about all of it :), I still embrace certain technologies that keep my babies and I connected. I wonder how I lived without Snapchat to show my kids something at a store. I’ve always refused to use FB despite the disappointment of my friends, but I spend plenty of time on FaceTime with my kids.

Even more than when the twins were at their universities and we talked every day, “live” technologies have officially become a greater blessing during my daughter’s first full week on the job. Snaps of her new office help me picture her there. Snaps of her food make me laugh since she loves to eat! FaceTime on lunch breaks and after work help us still “do life” together as much as we can with 7 states between us.

Though my independent one, she was quick to confirm that it would only be 7 weeks until I arrive for Easter weekend….”you are coming for Easter, right Mom?”

Well…who can say no to that invitation!?

I Can’t Have a Relationship with my Turkey

(Many people enjoyed this post so much last year, I thought it might be fun to re-post as we enter into Thanksgiving week…)

I live in a suburb that is home to several beautiful farms. Recently, I saw two different signs offering turkeys for sale for Thanksgiving. I pulled over to take photos of both signs so I could call the numbers in the next few weeks to place an order.

I thought it would be neat to tell everyone at Thanksgiving that they were enjoying a healthy, no-hormone-injected, no-inhumane-treatment-turkey from the local farm.

Then, at the second farm, I looked to my right to see the other sign that said “choose your turkey”. There in the cutest little coop were several, beautiful white turkeys clucking around with their fellow feathered friends and family members. The customer could select their turkey, visit it regularly, watching it grow plump over the next few weeks.I stared at them. They were adorable! I suddenly thought about how the kids would name the horses or cows down the street when they were little. I didn’t have the heart to tell them back then that those cows we were visiting would end up in someone’s freezer by fall.

Not to sound like a Tyrannosaurus Rex, but I’m a meat-eater. I love a good roast, pulled pork and definitely a Thanksgiving turkey with plenty of gravy. However, I don’t think my enjoyment would be the same if I visited my selection for a month before picking him up headless.A few years ago, one of our 4H Moms had us over to plan out the year of crafts for our daughters. About an hour into the meeting, her daughter got up and said, “I’ll be right back, I need to go feed him.” I inquired about who she was feeding. Mom explained that every year her daughter independently purchased a small steer. She fed it daily and cared for it, eventually selling it the following year at fair.

When the girl came back into the house, I asked if she ever got attached and felt bad turning it over for slaughter. She shrugged saying, “Nope. I get paid $1300 at fair. I’m saving for college.”

While some may not get attached, I fear I might. Knowing me, I might actually name the bird during a visit. Then, I’m likely to share with the family that our meat was once “Bob” and we are eating him. My kids might get a chuckle, but I may have trouble digesting.

I momentarily felt conflicted about the whole turkey situation, but it does not make me consider being a vegetarian. I’m looking forward to the cherished meal.  I have to go order my turkey now. But, I’ll let the farmer choose one for me.

The Power of God’s Country

God’s Country: “A place conceived of as especially favored by God; a place away from a city.” Merriam-Webster

Last weekend, my husband and I flew to Virginia to see our youngest at school. She was thrilled to have us there and kept us really busy with her friends and touring around the university. It was all precious, precious time together, but there was something extra special about driving (and stopping) along the Blueridge Parkway.

We have traveled through Virginia for years, heading south every spring break with the kids. Back then, we drove which was exhausting, but we saw some beautiful scenery along the way. I fell in love with Virginia. I can appreciate northern Virginia for its proximity to D.C. and many historical sites. We have visited people and toured Leesburg, Arlington, etc., and enjoyed the shopping and eating. All of my travels there offered wonderful sights, but mid to lower Virginia is just stunningly beautiful.

Maybe it’s because I live in a part of NYS where we don’t have mountains so I’m always captivated by them on vacation. Maybe it’s because I live on five acres with a long driveway and I am a girl who likes open space.

I work in the city and take a deep breath when I hit that part of the thruway that finally parts wide. My town is lovely yet there was something much grander, peaceful and right about standing at the center of miles of valleys and mountains.

My job is stressful. I received a promotion a few months ago which was awesome but my hours went up, along with my stress. I do yoga and try my best to compartmentalize work from home but it’s challenging. Above and beyond is usually a way of life. Sustaining that level of giving and producing at work and then home is depleting. An hour of exercise a couple times a week does not restore me as it may have back in my 20’s.

The breathtaking mountainside along the Blueridge Parkway brought my shoulders back down where they belong. I walked in sneakers instead of heels. I breathed deeper than I do on a yoga mat. My eyes were off data and employee issues, soaking in what I name God’s Country.

“What are men to rocks and mountains?” Jane Austen

Those mountains reminded me that I’m missing time with God. We talk every day but my world shifted when I took on another job. I don’t spend enough time in the wide-open space of His Word. Peace like I experienced at the mountainside is elusive during many work days.

Make no mistake that He speaks in offices, at the watercooler, and has made His presence known during colleague conversations. But I thirst for more. I count this as a good thing. I never want to be comfortable too far away from Him, living lukewarm.

Late Sunday I had to come down from the Virginia mountains, just like Moses when he descended from Mt. Sinai. I reentered work on Monday, having to immediately address poor management behavior, just as Moses was confronted with poor behavior by the Israelites. The corporate culture at my company is unlike anything anyone has ever experienced, leading to high turnover. But God uses me for good in my particular role. I believe that He put me where I am to be a light in a crazy place as well as teach me a few lessons of my own.

He is at work and accomplishes His purposes even when we’re not in bible study. He is always with us but there is something powerful about standing in the literal “mist” and “midst” of His spectacular creation. Being engulfed in endless autumn color, feeling cool wind against my face that also refreshed my mind – and the complete silence in nature – equaled renewal.

There is a reason for all seasons in nature and in our lives. This specific season in my work life is challenging, but the chaos likely helps me appreciate God’s Country profoundly more.

Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Fashion

I’ve always wanted to participate in a word-of-the-day or photo challenge on WordPress. While I think of an idea or even pull up a photo, a busy schedule usually sets me on another path and the challenge is over before I can post!

Today, I’m joining in for Cee Cee’s photo challenge: Fashion. My eldest daughter is a fashion guru and took these photos of my youngest a month ago. It was a particular feat, as my baby does NOT like her picture taken, barely stands holiday and vacation photos, and really protests any form of “posing”. Let’s just say her older sister basically coerced her into this for her own social media needs in her fashion world!