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One More Kiss

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May-cember.  It’s becoming more recognized among parents of school-aged children.  The month of May is so crammed with activities that it resembles December—but with none of the fun of Christmas.  Performances, end of year parties, tournaments, concerts, graduation, graduation parties, dentist appointments, annual physicals, standardized tests, due dates, Mother’s Day, birthdays, Cinco de Mayo, Endangered Species Day, World Day for Cultural Diversity… the list seems endless.  There’s so much to do for the kids and their insane schedules, not to mention all that I’m doing for work—grant deadlines, promote summer camp, spring appeal, grant reports, meetings, annual reviews, contract negotiations—and home—renew pest control, renew lawn maintenance, plant flowers, tend to flower beds, mow the lawn, oil change on the mower, figure out why the composter isn’t working, clean the carpets, balance the checkbook, pay the taxes, renew the Costco membership, plan the graduation ...
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Flight Attendant

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There are a lot of specifics I don’t remember.  Where we were living, what stage of our marriage we were in, how many children we had—but really, none of that matters.  What matters is this: we were married with more than one child.  I had moved many times to support our lives together.  I was less than thrilled with my body and had no illusions about my own mortality, aging and/or energy for frivolous things like intimacy.  I hope that paints a picture for you before I share this moment in my life. I was picking Nick up from some airport somewhere.   It was either PHX or PHL or EWR.   I don’t remember and it wasn’t important.    It had been somewhere between 4 days and 2 weeks since I’d seen him.   Either way, it was a long enough time for me to be exhausted by parenting, housekeeping, working full-time and trying to maintain some kind of sanity. “How was your trip?” I said after pulling away from the curb. “It was good.   Ha...
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Small Groups

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I’ve tried to participate in small groups 3 times.  If you’re not familiar, it’s a church thing.  The idea is that we “do life” together.  You join a group with people in like-situations.  You share, you laugh, you cry, you support—you bond and make connections.  I can’t possibly do life “alone”.  I have too many kids for that.  But there’s a difference in being alone and being lonely.  You can be lonely in a house full of people.  And there are many parts of life where I am lonely, at least for periods of time.  ·          I often parent alone, without ever being a single parent. I am the only parent of children living at home in my workplace.   ·          I work alone, in my home office, in a job that is all about relationships. ·          I celebrate alone—we have no family nearby for holidays and birthday...
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Overhead

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I recently went to a screening of the movie Uncharitable .  It’s more of a documentary really about non-profits and how the outside world see’s “overhead” in the overall execution of any non-profit’s mission.  Ok ok, I know it’s not the kind of movie most people are like “OOOOOHHH!  Let’s go see THAT on a Friday night!”, but not only am I a non-profit professional, I’m a fundraiser—my entire job is “overhead” …and they gave me a free book and there’s not a lot I WON’T do for a free book. I left the movie feeling both inspired (yay!) and depressed (boo!).  Donors don’t like overhead.   They don’t want to pay for overhead.   But what is overhead?   It’s the portion of an organization that’s necessary to run the “business” but that doesn’t directly contribute to the programs that are designed to execute the mission.   If I’m a food bank, the building I work out of is overhead (actually, that’s capital—another big “no no” for most funders).  ...
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Selfcare vs. Superhero

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 So, which is it? Am I a Superhero or do I prioritize Self Care? Ugh. There's no good answer.  I've been reading a book on leadership.  The author talks about successful leaders who push and push and persevere and have late nights, and lots of coffee (I'm on board with this) and just get. it. done. But all of that, I contrast with the message of take care of yourself.  Give yourself a break. Cut yourself some slack.  Don't prioritize work over family. So, which one do I do?  How do I find the balance? Spoiler alert:  I don't have the answer. One of my greatest personal challenges is a struggle with perfectionism.  I often default to "anything less than perfection is failure".  It's something I place on myself--not others.  I make it a goal to run for 40 minutes every weekday.  Yesterday I only got in 20.  I just ran out of time.  But... I should have gotten started earlier.   I shouldn't have had that second cup ...
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The Writing Process

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 The sun has set, but it's not quite evening.  I'm still in my workday and I still have work to do.  Today, my task is to write a heart wrenching letter, seeking support from the thousands of humans who support the work of Indraloka.  To inspire them to help continue this work of hope, healing, compassion, and joy.  Nick is away.  The children are home but (presumably) occupied with their own tasks.   I sit down to write. Blank Blank Blank My desk is too messy.  I need a clear, distraction free work zone.  I tidy the desk and sit back down. The white page stares back at me, a blinking curser it's only movement. It's too quiet.  I put on the playlist I created that keeps me in a "fall" mood.  Carefully selected tracks of Bruce Hornsby, George Winston, Amber Run, Yanni, Hozier, and Shaboozy (ok, it's not fall--just a really FUN song!) fill my audible space.  I take a deep breath and dive into inspiration. But it doesn't come...
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Easter

It’s Holy Week.  I remember being confused by so many pieces of Easter when I was young.  Why was it called Good Friday if Jesus died?  Wasn’t that BAD Friday?  Why did we eat so much fish?  Ick.  Why did it always seem to be a gloomy, rainy, week?  Did God do that on purpose?  How could Jesus ride into the city of Jerusalem with such fanfare on Sunday and be beaten so brutally just 6 days later?  As I’ve grown in my faith and age, I understand so much more.  When Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ played in theaters, I went to see it.  My sobs could hardly be heard over the sobs of others.  This wasn’t a movie where you munched on popcorn and sipped a soft drink.  This was a chore—a duty as a Christian to come face to face with the brutality endured by our Savior.  To come to terms with what He experienced so that I could, what?  Show up late to work with no excuse?  Watch movies with foul language?  ...
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