In honor of Mother’s Day, I wanted to share snipets from a book my mother-in-law gave me last weekend. (Thank you, Marlene! You are wonderful!)

The book is called “Prudent Advice: Lessons for My Baby Daughter (A Life List for Every Woman)” by Jaime Morrison Curtis.

The book is an easy read, and cute on a coffee table or nightstand. A lot of times I find that coffee table books can be cheesy, but this book actually made me think about ways I’d like to treat people better, new experiences I’d like to try, and values I want to model to Anna. If you need a last minute gift idea for a mom in your life, this is a good one. There are over 400 honest and funny lessons of advice…but here are some of my favorites:

Always send a thank you note.

Take yourself on dates.

Appreciate the weather.

Walking away from oil on the stove is a guaranteed disaster (found that out this week!)

Frequent your local merchants.

Talk to strangers.

Everyone is a hypocrite.

Advocate for the causes you believe in.

There’s no need to comment on anyone’s weight. (Whether overweight or thin, it just makes people uncomfortable when you discuss their bodies. It’s really none of your business anyway.)

If you want to leave a party and you don’t have a good excuse, spill something on yourself.

Expressing your individuality is important, but try not to become a caricature of yourself.

Fame is not something you should aspire to.

There are times when you need to listen to the same song over and over.

When you drop off someone at home, wait until he or she gets inside before driving away.

Teach your baby the word “yes.” They learn “no” on their own so quickly.

Righty tighty, lefty loosey.

Let it be.

Happy Mother’s Day to my own mama, Ann. I love you Mom! 

I am reminded this week that I live in a broken world.

It is not just one story…it is many…all at the same time.

Young girls selling their bodies just blocks away from my house.

People with very sick children.

People I never thought would ever do THAT but they did.

Three people who have left someone they once said they loved.

Things too awful to really speak about.

In the middle of wrestling with all these things, I witnessed another broken relationship in front of my very eyes.

I exited the elevator at Kaiser yesterday following a young handicapped girl. She looked about seven. She was in a motorized wheelchair and followed an older woman who was carrying a newborn towards the receptionist station. When the older woman veered a little to the left, the young girl followed in her chair. The older woman stopped, then snapped, “How many times do I have to tell you to watch where you’re going and not cut people off? Apologize to the lady behind you.”

I am the lady behind her. (Since when am I a lady?! Ugh. I’m 30. Forgot!)

“Sorry,” she says softly. I try to tell her she didn’t cut me off, because she didn’t. Before I can do so, the older woman squawks again, “Look her in the eye when you apologize Shelby!”

Shelby is so handicapped that she appears to have a hard time even craning her neck my direction.

I am quiet. Stunned. I moved to the side of the hallway to give them their space.

“Go ahead of us, please,” says the woman. “Shelby cut you off, so you should go ahead of us.”

I assured both of them I was fine, there was not a need to apologize but I found myself stammering and flustered.

I felt like I should have blasted the mom; but she was a stranger. I felt like I should have been more comforting to Shelby; but she wasn’t my child. I felt a thousand thoughts in a brief few seconds, until I pulled out Anna’s Kaiser card and said, “We’re here for shots.”

And then I walked away, and prayed, and prayed and prayed that the shame Shelby probably feels daily would not damage her the way it probably will.

We live in a broken world.

What would you do if you witnessed something that society maybe wouldn’t classify as  ”verbal abuse” but you believe is damaging? Would you say something? 

Sometimes I struggle with guilt.

It’s a nasty emotion that I imagine a lot of people also struggle with, but hate to admit.

These days I’m struggling with the guilt of needing so much. Needing help with Anna. Needing help making food. Needing help cleaning my house. Needing time alone.

I’m also feeling guilt over the things I’m not doing. Not making money. Not writing as much as I’d like. Not running consistently like I used to. Not pruning my rose bushes. Not calling people back.

I even feel guilt when I’m having a good day–which happens a lot actually. Someone will look at me with sad puppy dog eyes and  say, “How are you really doing?” and I say, “I’m actually doing really well today.” They look at me like they don’t believe me…like I’m lying or pretending to be strong. Their expression makes me believe I should feel a certain way but I’m feeling another way. And then, well, guilt.

What is wrong with me?

Do you ever struggle with guilt?

I have a baby who is not sleeping as well as she was two weeks ago. This means I have limited time to blog, limited time to blow dry my hair, and limited time to read the book I checked out from the library almost a month ago.

I do, however, have a lot of time to watch the morning and evening news. If there was middle of the night news, I’d be watching that too.

In case you haven’t been watching the news, or reading the paper, our world is hurting. I know our world is always hurting. But this week, our hurting world strikes me deeper than it has before. Maybe it’s because I get to stare at a new life almost 24 hours a day. When I look at this baby girl, I can’t help but worry about the world I have brought her into.

The economy continues to tank.

Brave men and women continue to die at war.

And 12 million people are being impacted by a drought and famine in Somalia.

The images of starving children hurt my heart. I haven’t decided how to respond. Is sending money enough? Can we do more? At the very least...the very, very least… I can take a moment out of my own day to acknowledge that I’ve seen these horrors and I don’t want to forget them. I want to respond. I need to respond. We all need to. But, how?

More at Eugene Cho’s blog and Betsie Frei’s the BeList.

Post note: A few hours after publishing this post, I received an email from my friend Kelli, who besides being a great friend also just took really cute pictures of Anna. Anyway, Kelli sent me a very encouraging email about being a mother to a newborn. In it she reminded me to not let myself just watch the news. The news can be depressing and I’m hormonal to begin with! I took her advice and flipped Ted Talks onto my Hulu queue. Guess what popped up? This amazing video filmed just last month addressing hunger. I teared up while watching it. There I was, nursing Anna, when Josette says, “In 1987 I was a new mother, holding my first child, feeding her, when an image very similar to this came on the television. (Image is a Time magazine showing starving children in Etheopia.) This was yet another famine in Ethiopia. One two years earlier had killed more than a million people. But it never struck me as it did that moment because that image was a woman trying to nurse her baby and she had no milk to nurse….As a mother I thought, there’s nothing more haunting than the cry of a child that cannot be returned with food–the most fundamental expectation of every human being.”

She goes on to remind the audience that we know how to fix hunger. In our time in history, these haunting images of starvation are out of place. We have the resources. So, what do we do? I would encourage you to consider giving at least 17 cents per day (enough to feed one child according to the World Food Programme). The organization you choose is a personal choice. Eugene Cho lists several options. I’m looking forward to talking to Jonathan tonight about which organization we should choose.

I am encouraged at the end of today. I’m encouraged Anna slept a little bit more, and that I could have time to watch that Ted Talk. I’m thankful for a bit of silence to soak up the information and write on this little blog. I am reminded that our news reports on problems but doesn’t usually provide solutions. That part is up to us.

Today I am proud to share a guest post, written by my dad. This essay was not written intentionally for my blog. It came to me in the form of an email my dad sent to our family earlier today. As background, my Grandma Jeanne  (his mother) was diagnosed several years ago with dementia. The disease has quickly robbed her of much of her memory, and just a few months ago she was moved to a full time care facility. My mom, dad, and his siblings have spent much of the last 12 months grappling with her decline and all of the logistics and emotions that come with the disease. This short essay made me cry for many reasons. I cry for my grandma, and the confusing life she is now leading. I cry for the journey my family is walking through as we slowly lose her. I cry for the insight and vulnerability my dad isn’t afraid to show. And, I cry for the loss of material things…because sometimes they really do matter.

Most of us are taught as we venture through life not to love or covet material “things” because “things” don’t matter.  We are told things come and things go and we shouldn’t put importance on things.  We sometimes tire of things but we often then replace those things with what we think are more important things.  It is the people in our lives that matter the most, not things, right? We are supposed to say yes, that of course material things don’t matter.  The people in our lives should always be more important than things.  Today I am struggling emotionally with the parting of a “thing” because this thing evolved over many years to become more than just a thing to me.

John, Patty, Lynn, and I sold my mothers 1966 Oldsmobile today.  To most people my mom’s car was clearly just a thing, an old, beat up, uncomfortable thing.  For years I thought the same about this thing.  Mom’s car was too big, it was a gas hog, the air condioning no longer worked, the radio didn’t work, and the interior was shot.  John and I tried to convince mom for years to sell the car and get something smaller, more comfortable, and economical to drive.  John and I would banter back and forth with her, often getting her “irritated” as we would laugh about the “hog” that she refused to part with.  Mom loved that car.  She owned it for 44 years.  She stopped driving it years ago and she never would say why.  I think it was because mom was uncomfortable and unsure of herself driving it, and she was too darn stubborn to admit it.  Stubborn is a trait that did not fall far from mom’s genetic tree, but I digress.

As mom started having trouble doing her finances, I began helping her write her checks.  Every 6 months her car insurance would come due.  Every time I would say, “Mom, your car insurance is due.  Is it time to maybe sell the hog?”  She would hem and ha and try and convince me that she really was considering selling it, then she would say, “Let’s go ahead and pay it this time and I’ll think about it”.   I would smile and say ok knowing that this issue would replay itself again in 6 months with the same result.

John, Patty, Lynn, and I, all learned to drive in that car.  The first car I drove in by myself was the hog.  Many cars today look the same, and they are bought, sold, or traded in routinely.  Rarely anymore does a car identify someone.  That was definitely not the case with my mom and her car.  Friends and neighbors knew when they saw that sea foam green tank coming down the road, that Jeanne Sebek was behind the wheel.  It took me awhile to realize this, but Mom’s Oldsmobile had after many years become more than a thing to me.

Our mom came from modest means.  She was born on Christmas Day, 1929.  The same year that the Great Depression began.  It’s just a coincidence that mom showed up at the same time.  There is no direct correlation of her birth to that event that I am aware of.  Because of growing up in this era, mom was and still is very frugal.  Mom accepted what she had and she NEVER, and I mean NEVER, complained about what she didn’t have.  I have, and I always will admire her for that.  That is why she was not just content, but proud about owning that car for all these years.  That Oldsmobile had become synonymous with mom.  My irrational mind said that no one else should own this car.  This car is mom.  As I walked away from the Olds for the last time, I knew I was walking away from a part of my mom.  Another chapter closed today in my mom’s life story and that makes me sad.  Sometimes things do matter.

Post note: In June I was able to squeeze my big pregnant belly behind the hog for the first time. This picture captures the fun joy ride I took with Allison and Jonathan- my first and last time behind Grandma Jeanne’s sea foam green machine. I was trying to look cool behind the wheel but let’s just all agree I look incredibly silly.

As a little girl, I wanted to be a lot of things when I grew up. For a while I wanted to be the first woman President of the United States; then an author and illustrator of children’s books. As I got older I thought about becoming a TV reporter or a speechwriter. Clearly, I’m not doing any of these careers at the moment.

And yet, if I really look at the root of these dreams, I realize I wasn’t attracted to the job itself, but something much greater.

Justice. Freedom. Creativity. Storytelling.  Change. The power of words. New Perspective. Hope.

{Shoot. My blog post is starting to sound like an Obama 2012 campaign ad.}

I’m not covering war stories in Afghanistan or writing books on bestseller lists (yet!)—but that’s why I look up to, and celebrate, the people who are.  It’s why I care so deeply about the people in China, and why I got involved when Laura Ling was captured in North Korea. There are people around the world who don’t have a voice. Am I willing to be among the brave few who are speaking up for those who cannot?

Recently, Lara Logan, a well-known war correspondent, fought her own battle.  Logan was covering the protests in Egypt this past February when, after her cameraman’s battery died, the crowd become violent.  Quickly, crowds of men began pulling her away from her bodyguards and they began groping her repeatedly.  For over 25 minutes Lara was pulled in every direction- her clothes ripped off her body, her hair torn from her scalp, her muscles stretched as the crowds dragged her through gravel and assaulted her.

Who saved her? Ironically, the last person our western society might guess. Eventually, was rescued by a woman dressed head to toe in black religious robes.

“Just her eyes, I remember [I could see] just her eyes,” Logan said. “She put her arms around me. And oh my God, I can’t tell you what that moment was like for me. I wasn’t safe yet, because the mob was still trying to get at me. But now it wasn’t just about me anymore.

“It was about their women and that was what saved me, I think,” she said. “The women kind of closed ranks around me.”

I listened to Lara’s first hand account when she decided to share the story on 60 Minutes. The interview aired the same night that news about Osama bin Laden broke, but I didn’t see it until a few days later.

As the world waits to hear what Osama bin Laden’s wives might tell our government about him, I find myself hopeful. Like Lara and the women who rescued her in Egypt, can these wives find strength to find their own voice? Will they wade into the crowds, figuratively, and fight? I don’t know if they will, but in the meantime I am reminded that we all have opportunities to stand up, speak out, and step-in. My opportunities might be on this little ol’ blog, or in a conversation with friends. I don’t know what your chance will be. But, will you take it? Will you offer hope? Perspective? A voice for the voiceless?

picture credit to NewsOne

Recently life has been a bit more complicated than usual.

There’s the closet that I spent a few days organizing that just got disassembled. Complicated.

There’s figuring out how to buy just the right amount of food at Trader Joe’s to get us through the week, while still fitting it all in a mini fridge. Complicated.

There’s packing for a weekend away, coming home for 12 hours, doing laundry, eating a pizza, repacking for a 24 hour jaunt to San Diego while also packing up your entire house, again, so the floors can get refinished. Complicated (and currently in process).

There’s rushing from Roseville to West Sac in traffic. There are doctor’s appointments and blood tests. There’s figuring out a ride to the airport, from the airport, and to the airport again. There’s the fact that every single car rental place in San Diego is booked for tomorrow night because I waited until the last minute. Complicated.

There are the guilty feelings that surface for asking friends for favors, again. Can we borrow the truck? Can we sleep at your house? Can we eat at your house? Can you drive me here and there and everywhere? Can you put my clothes in your closet for a few weeks? Can you help us move? Can you make me a bagel because I’m starving as usual? (Yes, I really did ask Tammy to make me a bagel one morning last week. I’ve taken “mooch” to a whole new level.)

There’s a project due and only one day at the office to finish the work. Complicated.

And then there’s this book I’m starting to read with bible study that’s all about simplicity…and I’m realizing my life is too scheduled, too overcommitted, too wild. And yet I can’t say no to anything. Now I’m trying to get out of several commitments and its…well…complicated.

In the middle of the complicated there are moments of simplicity. Burgers with Allison and Matt in SF. Hiking the hills above Stanford with Brent and Erica. The very best Greek food ever in Los Gatos. Pink and white Birthday trees in bloom, just like they always are. Holding baby Louie. Homemade seafood gumbo and two days of sunshine skiing. (No falls = happy baby and mama!) Chocolate cake and a sip of wine  straight from Paris. Valentine making, airplane snuggling, a massage and a facial too. (Do you think my sweetheart was tired of hearing his sweetheart complain about pregnancy acne and being hungry? Yup.)

Really, in the grand scheme of things, my life is not complicated. But I do need more room. More room (literally) for the boxes, and more room (figuratively) for God’s still small voice. I need a few moments of peace when the days don’t seem to stop. I need a few days of sunshine when the weeks have been so gloomy and cold. Mostly I need just a little bit of perspective. Don’t we all?

photo credit: katie@!

In October I was at Los Angeles International Airport, flying home from Palm Springs after a fun weekend with my girlfriends. A few of us decided we’d eat dinner together in the Tom Bradley international terminal, which sat directly between our separate gates.

As soon as we walked in I became aware of everything; the languages, the hum of activity,  the quickness of step, the sense of both anticipation and exhaustion in the air. I stood in front of the huge electronic monitor that showed all the night’s incoming and departing flights. Manila. Beijing. Sydney. St. Petersburg. Rome. Seoul. Amsterdam.

We were supposed to be looking for a place to eat, but I couldn’t help but look for a place to go.

As I glanced at each faraway city, I pictured the people preparing to hop on the flights. “They must be so excited,” I thought, as if everyone who travels internationally enjoys the experience. Being in the terminal brought me back to my own travel adventures. I walked passed The Daily Grill, where Jonathan and I had eaten lunch with my mom before we departed for China. I looked down on the first floor where lines formed at check-in. I could see Anne and I there, years earlier, as we nervously prepared for our flight to Shanghai. And then of course I heard the clusters of  people traveling together, reminding me of fall 2003 when about 40 of us giggly college kids boarded our flight to London.

There are days when I want to escape, and it’s not because I have a bad life. In fact, I have a really, really good life. The thing about travel though–particulary overseas travel–is that it opens our eyes to a world of new experiences and different perspectives. Somedays, I long for a little change of pace.

On Thursday I was walking to meet a friend for lunch. On my way I passed an old church with a tree covered in leaves; even its trunk. Have you ever seen one of those? I suppose they’re somewhat common in California because I’ve passed that tree many times and never thought anything of it. A group of Asian people exited the church. It appeared they were from another country because they carried cameras and spoke another language. One of them noticed the tree and they all ran over to take a picture in front of it.

There I was, on just an ordinary day, noticing something I never would have before; something another person found exciting and different. It may not have been the Eiffel Tower, but it still caused me to feel a small sense of wonder that I don’t usually feel on a lunchtime walk.

I kept walking until I got to the area near the convention center. There are stone benches lining this particular street and they are etched with the words “Hear the Art.” I almost didn’t notice the phrase. When my eyes passed the first bench, I actually thought it read, “Heart the Art” which seemed odd. I remember asking myself, “Is it Heart the Art, or Hear the Art?”  I stopped and looked closer.

I’ve never really thought about hearing art. When I think “art” I think of something visual; a painting or dance performance. But it doesn’t have to be. Hearing the art means soaking in life with a different perspective. It means peeling off what we know as normal, and seeing it with a new set of eyes. It means hearing when we’re used to just seeing, walking a little bit slower, staring a little bit longer.

There I was again, seeing something I would have normally skipped over. This art didn’t rival the Sistine Chapel but it made me stop and think, which is what any good art will do.

Today I hope you hear the art.

p.s. I did a Google image search for “Hear the Art” and I found the bench! Someone else also saw the words as Heart the Art. Check out the post.

Pssttt! Secret time: I am a guest blogger today on Michele’s blog. Go check out the Moxy Project and leave her a comment.

P.S. The above shoes are an ode to Michele, who is wearing the cutest pair in her blog’s heading. I found this picture when doing a Google image search for “Moxy.” Credit goes to Moxie Fab World.

We live in this culture where telling people, “I’m busy”  is a sneaky way of saying, “I’m important.”

Oh, I’m guilty as charged. You probably are too. I mean, really, if you think about it–it’s rare to hear someone say, “I’m bored these days. My schedule is so empty it’s depressing. I wish I had meetings after work, and friends to dine with, and family calling, and service projects to do. Maybe someday I’ll be busy again.”

Doesn’t happen, right?

This summer work was busy, and our weekends were packed. They always are. But life in the evenings was quieter. I wasn’t blogging, I didn’t have bible study, and our monthly mentoring date with Dwight and Ruth was on hiatus until this week.

It was glorious, yet I still told people “I am so busy” whenever they asked how I was doing. Why was it so hard to just say “I’m GREAT!” ?

September then rushed in with changing leaves, football, a rainy day or two…and a packed schedule. I am back to searching for alone time, and battling anxiety during the long days when it seems the commitments never end.

I am searching for balance.

This summer, I read a book by Nancy Ortberg. In it, she writes about balance. I found myself looking at the B word with new eyes. She says, “Balance gives us the illusion of control. The comfort of order. Many are draw to the idea of balance because it promises to relieve the stress of our world, whose competing priorities are constantly clamoring to get our attention.”

It’s true. I’ll admit it. I like control and sometimes I’ll do anything to try and obtain it.

But what truly gave me encouragement, and what I hope will also encourage you today, is this:

“Part of the draw we feel towards balance is God’s fault. He created such a marvelous world. The thought that I can grow roses…and lead a meeting where great ideas and strategies emerge…and study the history of Europe…and ride a horse…and get lost in the words and melody of a poem…and seriously consider what the economic forces of poverty are and try to help change that…and bake a banana cream pie and relish every bite- there are just too many wonderful things, so much I do not want to miss. One life is not enough.”

My life is so full of beauty. And while I could stand to say NO a little more often, I am blessed by all the things I’ve said YES to.

No, one life is not enough.

picture credit: creative cow