Love is all about Love

Camble was determined to learn how to address an envelope because he wanted to send a card to "The Highlights People."  Who are the people that spelt his name wrong.   It's been pretty important to him for the last two weeks to correct this little problem.  Which has become a bigger issue because his Mother, Moi, has just kept trying to derail him with an encouraging "let it go" speech.  I interpreted this as the perfect opportunity for that speech.  But I underestimated just how important it was to him to receive his mail from "The Highlights People" addressed appropriately, his name spelling in particular.  

He had filled out his order sheet for a "free" adventure packet a few months ago.  He checked the mail, which is big time, and found one of The Highlights Magazine advertisements and proceeded to fill out all of the information needed on the card by asking each line item detail throughout the day.  I didn't associate his questions to the fact that he was filling out a form until he later explained to me that he had mailed the form and was anxiously anticipating the arrival of his adventure kit.  That is a little glimpse into how things work around here.    I wasn't even sure if I should take it all seriously until I realized how important it really was to him.  So we made a trip to the post office in desperation to see if they had somehow misplaced it.  Which lead to complete and utter dissappointement, followed by a heartbroken melt down, which I wholly participated in.  Later that day, an online inquiry to "The Highlights People" produced a real life adventure kit that arrived in the mail box two days later.  Addressed to "Camue", but none the less, safe and sound in good paper form.   I could kiss those folks.  Whew!

Camble was unsettled though.  He enjoyed his adventure kit and invited a buddy over to share it with him but he didn't let the spelling of his name slide.  It has become a subject of disturbance for the whole household.  Whichever level of empathy you choose to participate in is your business but it has come to all of our attention several times the fact that his name is clearly spelled wrong.  Clearly.  With all of our varying approaches to dealing with it or encouraging different methods for him to cope with it, it was Morgan who pointed out the historical likelihood that .... "They probably just spelled it wrong because you filled out the form wrong."   

So, Camble has spent the last week trying to come up with a solution to correct the problem.   His accountability should produce an equal accountability.    He sat down yesterday after school, in the middle of dinner, before wrestling practice and after wrestling practice with a card he was writing to fix everything.  Considering he is not even decided on how he is referring to his own self  these days, he provided the correct spelling for both of his names "GARRISON" and "CAMBLE" several times on the left side of the card. He would be happy with either one, just please know that .... "My name is NOT Camue.  Thank you.  GARRISON.  CAMBLE."

He found $.75 and reminded me that nobody knows what the cost of a stamp is in this house and we are all out of jam to bribe Tom, the mailman, with.   Which is the sad truth.  

So, this morning I am down on my hands and knees, mopping the floor under Camble's seat at the kitchen table and I am thinking about how blessed I am to know this boy, intimately.  I'm realizing that as I'm scrubbing this silly floor that I invested my time and effort and energy into to purchase and help build and now it is under my feet everyday, just as I intended it to be, and I take it for granted until I get the opportunity to get down on its level and be intimately reminded of what it is and what it's represented to me.  Every little dent and crack.   I know them.  The floor can't talk for itself and so I think of little Camble trying to defend his significance.   I think of how important it was to him to get the record set straight.   Even though he isn't sure if he is Camble or Garrison right now he knows he doesn't want to let somebody else define him as somebody he knows he is not.   

That makes me think of the times in my life people have tried to define me as somebody I am not.  Did I have the opportunity and the courage to set the record straight?  Trying to identify and see yourself in your children makes you look back into your own experiences to try to relate but, even better, for me, it provides an innocent and inspirational glimpse as to what it could have been and should be like.  I find that pretty smile worthy.   But they are their own selves and just as many times as I can identify with my children's experiences I can also look at their situations anew and realize it has nothing to do with me or my own history but is helping me to see and accept the simple, uncomplicated truths of how things are.  And I learn everyday from that.  From them. 

I think of the times I have been misguided and judged people because of my intentions to make sense of them and it all provided a means to an end.  A clear little clean cut description I could check yes or no to.  Children help you to see that life is messy.  And long.  I used to tell myself life was so short and I could consequentially excuse a lot of things with the justification that "Aw well.... life is short", .... but it's not.  It is long.  Broken down and measured by years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and ultimately the moments that prove to be meaningful.  And children help to shape the infiniteness of it all.   They are these little supernatural, incredible beings in the flesh and simultaneously fragile and being able to recognize that will call on parts of you that you never knew existed.  Look into the eyes of a child and tell me all things are not possible.  That's when you really get a chance to know who you are and what you're made up of.  Guts and all.  

One day you wake up in yesterday's clothes and you have chickens to feed and you're surrounded by orchestrated chaos and you feel like an Olympic hurdler for overcoming the monumental obstacles life is throwing at you and yet you have this spirit of gratitude wash over you because you're going through it.  You get to.  Here it is, struggle and all.  This is your life.  How you choose to deal with it is going to give your kids their reference points.   Or some pretty memorable stories.  The choice to take an interest in people and engage, even when it's ugly and messy and to keep showing up.  The choice to try, everyday.  Well, most days.  Some days you're lucky you know how to make good soup and they feel obliged to stick around.  More than the soup, it's the family you choose and create and the relationships you build with them that in turn builds you.  And it isn't really about knowing who likes whipping cream in their cocoa.  That is a handy fact.  But it's about learning understanding and peace from your oldest daughter, truth and strength from your youngest daughter, tenderness and vulnerability from your oldest son and patience and sincerity from your baby boy.  And that isn't what defines them as people, but it is what has helped to define you.  It's important to make no mistake about that.

I'm feeling blessed that Camble has the courage to express himself.   I'm feeling fortunate that I have had chances to not let myself be boxed in by other peoples need to define me.  And I'm entirely grateful for these kidz who teach me every day all I need to really know about life and how to make love have everything to do with love.  

Tammy

  

Da Da Da Da, Da Teen

Living amongst the teens are we.  I am glad I got to take a minute to sit down and think of a few good things to share about Sam.  I am not disillusioned.  She is bossy and cranky and a little argumentative and thinks she needs to control every single stinking situation, but she certainly hasn't fallen from grace, considering her affliction and all.  Teenager.

 

 

Actually I can't even make anything of it.  She's been a walk in the park.  I spent last Friday with a crowd of 13 year old boyz and it was a little cathartic, to say the least.   I came home in absolute awe of Sam.  I gained a whole new appreciation for that girl.

 

 

Samantha asked me if I would do a biography for her, . . . about her. I've been giving it a few dayz to try to reflect and consider what I could say to put Samantha's life into the context of "what has it all been about, thus far." I don't know if I will do this justice but I do appreciate the opportunity to try. In 20 years from now I imagine this will maybe stand as a little glimpse, a little glimmer, of what was to be. But as for what has already been:

Samantha was the start of a lot of firsts. She was born on the first day, of the first month, of the new millennium. She was also the first of what would become our four children. But she was our first baby. She sure was. We brought her home from the hospital to our house in Cottage Grove. The first house that we owned. It was a little house and easy to have straightened and put back together by 6:00 in the morning, even if I got up at 5:30. Which might suggest that I got a hint of sleep. Which I did not. Samantha did not do well in the sleep department. We will have to give her her first F for failing that subject. One night I rocked her to our "bedtime" cd 13 times, only to attempt to put her in her crib and have her come unhinged and start the whole process over again. But we were learning and living and loving each other. All of that time was important. At the time I couldn't remember to put the milk in the refrigerator and the phone . . . Well, the phone was found in the refrigerator more often than the milk. But she loved me anyway and I remember all of the moments when we were together, and things were easy, and we were figuring out that we all belonged to each other and that was how it was supposed to be. She has always been such good medicine.

Samantha had a very keen interest in animals from the beginning. We had gotten her a black goldfish for her bedroom; the kind with the eyeballs that poked out on either side of its head. Samantha would just sit in my lap and be content to watch him/her for what seemed like forever. And her interest inspired me to have an interest. Honestly, I had put the goldfish in her room as almost simply a decoration. But her interest made me see something more in that little fish. Sitting there, with her in my lap, focused on one thing, I learned how to be present in the moment. Something that has always been present in Samantha is an incredible focus and a desire to seek understanding for all of her interests. She has proven time and time again that you cannot underestimate what you can gain in life from simple, quiet observation. She reminds me everyday that curiosity is such a blessing.

Samantha was supposed to go to daycare when I was scheduled to return back to work. I knew I wanted to make a good choice about placing her in a safe, caring daycare and I knew her being happy where she was when I was away from her was my top priority. But there was still so much I wasn't prepared for in that whole situation. My first day back to work was sickening to me. At 10:00 the daycare called me to tell me that Samantha hadn't taken her bottle, still. But I already knew she hadn't. I knew. And something I knew about Samantha already was that she wouldn't compromise. She was stubborn and determined. And for the first time I gave heed to recognizing what it meant, in its entirety, to love someone so much and in the very same instance be completely petrified for them. Samantha and I had developed so much understanding and unspoken communication that being separated from her was literally painful. All I could imagine was that she was left confused and wondering and I didn't want to leave somebody I loved in that state. She trusted me and I knew how much of an honor that was. So, for the first time in my life, I quit something. I quit. There was only one thing I wanted to try harder at. I told my boss I had to leave because Samantha needed me. I could try to justify the hardship of being separated but a paycheck wasn't worth it to me. Who knew? I thought I had to have a job and work and do those things, but I found out how I really felt about all of that in a quick hurry. Two hours back in the saddle and I abandoned the road for home. I hope that bond is never broken. She has taught me to have faith and given me strength to practice my beliefs. Regardless.

Samantha really educated me on how to be happy for someone else. When she was barely four she was reading all by herself and people would admire her and remark on how much of an accomplishment that was and praise me. I had to defer to her because it was her accomplishment, not mine. She had dedicated herself to discovering all she could about letters and sounds. What began at 18 months, with her sounding out the sounds that her name made and matching it to the letters on the cereal box, scribbling out "S" , "A" , "M" , and then bringing it to me to ask, "Is this my name? Is this what makes my name?" , set her on a path to discover more and more until she was just all of a sudden reading one day. That really helped to shape how I feel about pride. Taking credit for what she had done would have been robbing her. So I think that was when I discovered what it was like to be a little bit of a cheerleader and throw out some enthusiasm and a little encouragement and then sit in the shadows and see which direction the game went. It is such a rewarding moment to get to witness your children tackle something and come out ahead on the other side and you sit and realize, "This is who they are. That was all of their own doing. Wow." She has such a talent for bringing joy and sunshine into our family. Yay! You did it!!

Samantha has grown to just a little over 5 feet tall, as of recently, and she is quiet and can be shy, but there are moments I would have mistaken her for 6 foot tall and bullet proof. She is kind and caring and fair and compassionate and yet so brave and steady and sure. From the position of a parent, I realize how lucky I am in her. From the perspective of a person, I feel so privileged to get to know her. I appreciate her humble, unassuming nature. I admire her try. I adore her good heart. I feel at home with her sweet soul. Good things are going to happen in this world with her around. She's a "goodie", that one, for sure.

Lovin is easy . . . .

Another morning that Brazen has forgotten to eat breakfast.  Ugh.  He's all over the place, from flying high and checking the chore chart with his initials and wanting to be the big house hero to sinking as low as to whispering in Camble's ear "Hey, Camble, go ask Mama if we can have some ice cream.  Go ask.  Do it."  I am the omniscient.   I am Mama.   He doesn't even have to ask.  I answer, "Are you kidding me?????  Have you gone and lost your mind, Son?????  IT IS 7:00 IN THE MORNING!!"  He's done all of his chores.  He's checked off everything on my list.  He just forgot to feed himself first.  Looking in his eyes and seeing his head sink back about 45 degrees backwards, like a cartoon character would do to avoid the rushing wind of the shouting, I get my answer.  I see it clearly.  Because, all the while, I have been asking myself,  "Why?  Why is he doing this?  Where is this coming from?  Did he not get enough sleep?  Why? ......"  

He's starving.

"Dear Lord, what kind of mother am I?  I should have known better.  He needs to eat.  First thing.  He was starving.  The poor boy."   And then I begin rationalizing  and reconciling all of his off character choices for the morning because he had a need.  I just couldn't recognize it.   He had a big giant hole in his tummy and even though he was going through the motions of being a human being and participating in life and our family he was really choking down what he really needed, until it finally got the best of him.  Literally.  The best was there.  I saw it.  And then I witnessed it go away.  It settled for staying in the background and letting the beast come out to solve the problem of facilitating the need.  Compromise a little now to fill the need.  The deep dark hole.  The starving and longing.  

I don't know why it's on my heart to forgive and give grace and search for understanding.   Well, I do, but some days I really don't have the faintest idea where that comes from in me because I am just so rotten and terrible at it.  I witness somebody put their needs before somebody else's and I'll guarantee you that you have never seen a person more disgusted and repulsed then beautiful moi.   And there is no understanding.   When I sense a person's intentions are bad or self serving I can get right down to the business of "protect at all costs . . .leave no survivors to speak of this" in a quick hurry.  No grace.   No, there will be none.  None.  Uh uh.  Ain't happenin'.  Gone from my being.  It might as well be a 100 million dollar grocery store giveaway that they are playing and I can tell you what their odds of winning are.   They're a piece of crap dirtbag and I hope they rot in Hell.  There it is.  The fear.   Wince.  And then, as soon as I think it, or say it, I'm feeling badly.  Feeling like a jerk.  Feeling like I've failed my self.  Failed what I believe in, deep down.  Failed to ask the "Why?" for their sake.   "What would Jesus do Tammy?"   But life is full of contradictions and I certainly posses no shortage of them.  And then I'm thankful for some of that good grace that I have floating around in my bones, because I need some in a quick hurry.  

Lovin is easy.  Lovin who you choose to love.  Lovin when it's easy.  Lovin the beauty.  Lovin on our terms.  Lovin when our expectations are being adhered to.  But is that all there is to love?  Is "that" love?   I've been thinking so much lately about relationships and ones that are damaged, the people that actually exist in those relationships that have suffered, how we are all flawed and how it could be possible that those relationships can still exist in love.  Restoration.  Redemption.  Fear.

I began asking "Why?" and searching for understanding when I was a child.  Like all children innately do.  Like you did.  I assume.  There were some injustices here and there in my life and I didn't get angry so much as I searched for understanding.  Well, unless those injustices affected my brothers and sisters.  But, that's a whole other story.  I saw people in my life and my family at their best and that helped me to reconcile their worst.  If I didn't have understanding I at least had compassion and that was because I had love.  I had love first.  I knew these people for who they were, not expecting any more or any less, and I loved them.    I didn't think of being compensated for any wrong doings.  I knew if they were making some harsh choices that were impacting me and making life a rough go I figured out how to deal with it as best as I could at the time or I'd devise some way to adapt or avoid or escape it.  Life went on.  Some times were harder and that's when I came to know Jesus, The Holy Spirit, because I survived some of those struggles literally knocked down on my knees, silently calling out for help.   He was my lifeline.  Help was sent to me in the form of peace and a very big faith.  In times of hardship, when I needed it the most, those gifts sustained and embodied my soul.  When my Mom would go on a big bender or have a wild drug party I knew that was her method of escape.  It wasn't for me to choose her method any more then I could choose her demons.  And I couldn't save her from herself.  She was starving.  I wished she had the peace I had inside of me.  I wished she had the faith that it would all be okay.  When I was struggling through my life and relationship with my Dad and Step-Mom I lived a life of fear and eventually that severed me from love.  I prayed for relief in any and every form and when it didn't come I was angry and isolated and ugly but still strong enough to somehow not let my soul be defeated.   But I was starving.  My will was enormous and I survived the time I spent with them solely because I made one choice and dedication inside.   "I will not compromise.  No, I will not.  Not today." 

There are lots of effective forms of breaking a person down.   I guess I can be thankful that my Dad and step mom weren't so subtle about the goals they had for me.  So, I kind of knew what to expect.  My step mom used to gloat that she would break me.  "Whatever it takes.  We will break you and make you bow down."  That just made me dig my heals in a little further.  Keep it coming.  I got this.  And what did all of that stem from in them?  Fear.  They didn't get the love they needed along the way.  Parts of it they must've been too afraid to even ask for.  They must've thought nobody would even consider.

I think everybody has a choice.  Well, we have lots of choices.  But we have a decision to make about our not so shiney experiences and we can either choose to fight like the best of the demons coming at us or you can lay down your weapons and surrender and embrace acceptance if you happen to have one of these big huge gaping chasms in your being and find this said space in the light of the day and say, "Well, there that is" and decide to scoop up a little sand and mulch and throw some seeds and sprinkle lots of water into it and hope for the best.   Or you can find it in the pitch black and stumble and fall and spend your life screaming and hollering and cursing "God, damn it!!" trying to get the Hell out, sucking whoever and whatever down into the abyss as you go along.  Or, because I always like having a third option, if you were my buddy Nate, you'd say, "Man, I have a bus and a backhoe and I can have that puppy gone in about two minutes." 

But we all know and meet people walking around with these big holes and we see how they are defined and we let ourselves be defined by those holes and other peoples opinions of them and I think about what I'm going to choose to do about it when I sense a need from someone and their big black hole.  I wonder if I have what it takes to reach out when it counts.  To touch someone and help them.  Someone that presents no appeal to me at all.  Because that's when it really counts.   Could I walk away and deny them the love I know they really, truly need because it's not convenient to me?  Who is that benefiting?  Am I strong enough to bring good into their life so they have a fighting chance at loving themselves?  Will I consider the cost to me before I'm willing to help someone? 

I pick up the bible searching for pat answers to prepare myself and I find it's full of wisdom and advise, but primarily, for me, it's full of a belief.  One in particular.  Jesus' belief and how he carried about putting into practice his belief and instilled a message . . . the message of Love.  And that Jesus guy, he didn't say "Tammy, love when it's easy, sugar.  No big.   Let it just come to ya.  This love gig is cake."  That wasn't exactly the good word he was spreading.  And I'll just continue the paraphrasing, but He said to love the lepers.  The thieves.  The liars.  The dirtbags.  The underdog.  The ugly.  The undesirables.  Something like that.  And I say I don't wanna, a lot.  It's not cozy and comfy.  He spoke of all who needed our love and He spoke of the fear we would have to overcome to be able to love as He taught us to.  And He asked us to do it, especially when it's hard . . . when we don't wanna.  That was His hope.   To love in His name.  That screws my face up and brings some heavy tears to my eyes.  Makes me feel like it's in there, somewhere.  I have that desire and yet I fall short.  I want to beat myself up and put myself on the "discount/closeout" section of humanity for being so awful at doing my one simple job in life.  But that is not my burden.   

So, I believe it starts with loving ourselves.  Without fear.  Loving the ugly you're lugging around.  Then reaching out and helping others to do the same.  But that is easier said then done. For sure. In fact, we learn it's so much easier to do just the opposite.  His work, His creation, His message He left up to us to share and tend and yet, what is it that we teach each other?  

In my relationships I have had times where my love spoke of only love.  The love that I had to give was pure and was for the sake of love.   But I can reflect back on even more time spent in all of my relationships when I know the love spoke about what other people wanted from me or what I needed.  It was about earning, filling somebody else's needs, adhering to demands and terms and conditions and expectations, trying to satisfy pride, seeking approval, control, accepting, maintaining image and appearances, avoiding punishment, enduring and sacrificing, feeling compromised, embracing struggle, finding the purpose in the pain . . . . all with the label of Love stuck on it and somehow feeling a little confused by it all. 

After Camble was born I was so tired of going through the motions to fill obligations I just sat myself down and had a little come to Jesus talk that went a little like, "You know what it is that needs to change.  Doing it is going to be hard.    How about you don't owe anybody anything other than genuine love?  How about you relieve people from your expectations and allow yourself to be relieved of their expectations and just know people for who they are, truly?"   I'll admit, when I wasn't the obliging sort anymore and apparently wasn't willing to be part of some people's compensation strategy they had going for themselves I kinda got put on the outs.  But, my focus was on my family and I needed to grow in ways that helped me to love them truly and deeply and that meant I needed to have enough strength in character to re-evaluate and let some of those surface, self serving, exhausting, drain all of the life out of me relationships go.  I had to come to terms with my empathy.  Because I will take care of you and your pain and everyone else's around me until the cows come home.  And that somehow works for a lot of folks.  Odd.  But part of loving my family well and loving other's genuinely and honestly meant I needed to start with loving myself.  I had to swallow my pride.  I had to be as kind to myself as I would be to you.

So, where is the balance?  Where is the moderation between being A, First Class, #1 and feeding every hungry soul in the entire world?  I'm learning the answers for myself.   It's been an evolution.  Asking myself how I want my children to be loved helped me to know how I needed to be loved and that is powerful medicine.  So, it starts with you.  Right here.   Having a sense for how my short comings impact my children and people around me has helped me grow and seeing them thrive in love has kept the pendulum swinging.   If that is what you can call  balance.  Another part is really not so much caring what you might call it.  With all due respect.  Trust me on that one.  I see my children's faults and I used to want to use all sorts of theories and methods and discipline and teaching techniques to make them go away.  Kidz can have some painful stages.   I was Mama.  I would fix it all.  Well, all of that really proved ineffective.  When nothing would work I'd go for the big guns.   I would sometimes use the wrath of God.  As a parent I was pretty sure I could relate.   I was almost positive God would be angry if he knew they were stealing shiny pencil erasers.   Almost.   Soooooooooo, I was just kind of the messenger passing on the message of "Don't steal erasers or you are going to burn in Hell."  Something like that.  Ugh.  Grace, sincere apologies and sleep (blessed sleep) helped us all survive that little period of life we now loving refer to as "Mommy was delusional."  However well you can pronounce that last word in our house, according to your age and level of articulation.  CRAZY is the short version.   

Love.  Love really is the answer. 

I've tried to maintain an awareness and a safe distance from that sacred part of my children that I understand there might not be any mending done to once the damage has been done.   I have had people in my life who have not been so conscientious.   We have people sitting beside us or walking around out there or sitting in prison cells, some of them self constructed, believing what everybody has told them their entire life.   A society of judgement and yet a system of reform that we initiated based on our desire to rehabilitate folks with institutions that we, as flawed people, facilitate.   But what kind of message are we really sending in all of that?  

Sometimes, the most difficult thing I have had to overcome, as a parent and as a person, is myself.  The judge.  I hate that job.  God, I'm so glad I'm not God.     Calming myself and giving my kidz or someone a place where they are heard and I listen, instead of attacking them with discipline or recoil with judgement and choosing instead to say the words or embody the belief, "I'm sorry you did that.  I don't want you to feel rotten about yourself.  I have love for you." can be so healing.   Not that I'm preaching against teaching any of the " . . . Thou shalt not. . . ."s but when "thou already hast," what are you gonna do about it?  Listening to how crummy your friends or family or anybody feels because they just had to go out and try it for themselves is torturous.  You should try it.  You have no idea how hard it is.  And yet, how rewarding.  What am I saying through my actions? is my confession and conviction.  How close to sharing love in spirit you are when you can reach out in kindness.   

When my children have committed an offense it is very easy for me to turn to the fear of what  the impact of their choices and the reality of facing the consequences might have on them.   But all that translates to them is, "Mom is really pretty scary right now."   Appropriate facial expressions to match.   I don't want them to have to cope with consequences.  I want to protect them from that and put the pain on me for them.  For their sake.  I don't want them to have to even live with the guilt.   I want them to make all of the right choices to avoid the pain of society not loving them.  That is me losing faith.   That is me not loving myself enough to reach out to the next guy and love him too.    Even when he's been a screw up or a dirtbag.   But "somebody" has already put that on themselves for me.  "Somebody" has already done the dirty work for me.  "Somebody" paid for his sins and her sins and . . . . even all of mine.   All I have to do is choose to love.  There, finally my heart is open to it.  So, all I have to do is love.  Truly.  And not for appearances sake. That is the gold.  That is what is going to make you feel good about yourself.  Not buying a big house.  Not taking a vacation in Costa Rica (although that would bring me great joy).  If I've done my job right, I won't be rewarded with pride and praise.  I will not be compensated.  I will have been diligent and accomplished at passing the message along.  I will have raised people that know they're worth loving and they will think you are too.  Period.  No conditions.   So they will be connected.  They will have the promise of One.  I can leave this world with the faith and hope that that message will get them through and help them carry on. 

But this particular morning, as I mentioned, I am with Brazen and he's trying to sort out how to get what he wants because he's lost sight of what he needs.  So, he starts with the negotiations.  He'll clean his room, feed the chickens, . . . . oh wait . . . . he's already done all of that he realizes.  So, I sense him start to get angry.  He's already done a lot.  He's given of himself.  He wants some ice cream and so he starts to point out to me how he's already done A,B, and C and he deserves some ice cream.  And there you have it.  Whoooooa ho ho Buddy!!  The true point I am trying to develop here.  Bare with me.

I watched the movie Sweet Land last year.  The movie is really supposed to be a love story and I understood all of that but what really struck me about the whole movie was one simple point. Olaf, was an immigrant farmer living in Minnesota in the 20's and he had established and sustained himself solely on the income of his crops.   Olaf decides to get a mail order bride from Norway and so begins their story of creating a relationship and a love and a life together where nothing comes easy for them.  What I really admired was that Olaf was resolute in his belief that ". . . banking and farming don't mix" and as the movie illustrated Olaf putting that belief into practice I began to draw a parallel to all of the relationships that exist on just the opposite of this belief.   Banking and loving.   People that become the bank or are willing to bank with their love and they negotiate and sacrifice the sacred and compromise and settle for somebody else giving them what they want, right now, and how they pay for that, in the end with interest.  Who benefits from that and what need does that really serve?

And I was thinking about that point of the movie when Brazen started to get angry with me that morning.  When his negotiations didn't work, he turned to extortion.  No more Mr. Nice Guy.  Apparently we had a contract.  Who knew?  Unfortunately for him, this is probably THEE most ineffective form of intimidation you can use on me anymore.  But, we turned it into a starring match.  I have my eyebrows raised at this point.   Go ahead, badger me with ". . . after all I've done for you . . . ." because all I have to say to that is, "Then, don't do it.  Please.  It says nothing about me and everything about your intentions and what you want to get out of me.  So, save us all the trouble.  Don't."  And he, looking a little powerless, doesn't give up easily.  He starts with the necklace I made for him.  Gone.  It now means nothing.  Worthless trinket.  We're still staring at one another.  Now my arms are folded.  Okay. Where are we going with this? Is this really necessary?

I start to envision this young man, carrying a burdensome suitcase through the desert.  Holding onto all his worldly possessions with a tight grip on the handle, dragging it along behind him.   Some choices and decisions to make here.   Until, fast forwarding through the frames, I see this string of belongings scattered in the wake of his path.  The necklace.  Then the book.  The sweater.  The Pokeman card.  Over the shoulder go the stuffed animals.  The special rocks he was saving for me.  All of those attachments.  Gone.    This is a little process I like to call "Cut the crap." Figuring out what really matters.  And when that suit case it empty what is left?

Love.

So, we come running back to one another.  And probably I gave the kid some ice cream.  After we had the "Do you know what you need buddy?" conversation and he poured himself some cereal and I got over myself a little.  Who am I kidding?  I know he's really not "Big Bad Brazie Boy, The Mob Boss."  And, I'm not a victim. I love the little guy.  I love him enough to not rob him of the experiences of learning how to help participate in taking care of his own needs.  I don't want him to go putting his love on credit.  I don't want him finding somebody and making them compensate for all of the ice cream he missed out on when he was a kid.  Ya know what I mean?  I want him to grow in love and realize he is his own best resource.  I'm also not afraid of putting my big girl pants on and demonstrating that there are some walls you have to bounce off of and pick yourself back up again and when he looks around I'll be there and be able to offer love.

Lucky for Brazen, and very lucky for me, I had my Grampa when I was growing up.  We had an unspoken understanding for one another.   He believed in me and I believed in him.  No matter what.   Between us existed a bond that was unbreakable.   He didn't put his pride on my shoulders to carry.  He was past all of that.  He lightened my heart with his bright smiles, let me listen to all of the stories he cared to tell me and he gave me space to figure things out for myself.  Through his patience, trust and unwavering faith in me I was able to recognize and build on my own innate sense of value.  He wasn't willing to give up on me, no matter what, so I damn sure wasn't going to either.

I'm pretty grateful for my Grampa's love.  When I feel pretty down on myself I am reminded that he thought I was pretty easy to love.   That means something to me.   It makes me smile.  Kinda makes me feel lovable.  I think that would make God smile too.  That's how I hope my kidz feel later on in life.  I hope they know I sure love them, and that it's easy, even when they're rotten.  Everybody needs that.