Baby Steps

Goals drive us forward. They also hold us back.

Goals often seem too big to get to. The great idea you had the other night feels suddenly less sparkly in the morning: there are far too many steps, it will require more time than you realized, need more attention than you believe you have, more energy than you find within you.

You feel overwhelmed. Discouraged. You get stuck.

Goals are posts along a journey. It truly is not the destination that matters, but the path you take to get there, what you learn along the way about yourself, about your possibilities, abilities, the things that limit you from stretching up and over into the incredible, the fears that keep you from reaching out.

Parents ask me about their children’s therapy: “Will he ever not need help?” they want to know. “Will people ever understand her when she speaks?” They worry how long it will take, how much effort, whether they can make it; can the child.

Children, too, talk about their process. “I am not good at this,” they say. “I don’t know how to write this reading response/this essay”, “I don’t know how to understand the story or how to have the words ready in my mouth when I raise my hand.” “Will I still have to see you next year?” they ask. “Do kids sometimes see you even when they are in high-school?” they inquire, wondering in part-worry, part-hope that I will answer in the affirmative: they worry that they can still be ‘different’ by then, and hope that if so, they will not be left on their own.

“We’ll get there,” I say. “One step at a time.” It is something most of us hear plenty, and not always helpfully, and I know it is often not what parents and children want to hear from me. However, it is Truth still … even if it stirs the place inside each one of us that wants to ‘get to’ where we’re going faster, that does not want to have to do the work, that wants destinations to arrive without the journey.

“Baby steps,” I recommend, knowing that this, too, is often hard to listen to. Who wants to take even smaller steps when the target seems so far away already? BIG steps will get me there oh so much faster! But baby-steps, too, are Truth. Careful, one-foot-then-the-other passage gets us there more surely than a hop-skip-pray-you’re-still-on-the-path would.

Baby-steps aren’t slow, really. They aren’t less-than other ways of making progress. Think of it: Babies take brave steps when they begin to walk. They walk and wobble, toddle and fall and rise and try again … and when they get their footing they walk almost constantly. They put little feet on every surface, tackle stairs, grass, sand, uneven ground. They hold on to hands, grab onto what is available. They crawl when there’s no balance to be found in standing. They climb on all fours. They find a way around. They stop and look for a path behind an obstacle and then surge forward in delight when they find it. Their steps get longer, surer, less a-wobble. They accelerate. They run.

“Baby steps,” I say. Remind. Consider.

It does not mean to do go slowly. It does not mean to take too long. It means to be determined, brave, consistently in focus and yet open to an opportunity to rest and play. It means looking ahead. It means seeing the immediate requiring some climbing over and assessing whether there’s someone tall to carry you awhile if you need a break or wish for a moment of better view …

It means getting there, and finding much to do along the pathway. It makes the journey part of what it takes, and worthy in of itself.

You start with baby-steps, yes. But along the way, you learn to walk. You find your pace. You learn to hop and skip and turn and twirl and run.

You’ll get there.

All you need to do is take step one.

off i go

Fair Isle Blessings

“When I count my blessings,

I count you twice!”

(Irish blessing)

blessings, ireland, naamayehuda, blog, st.patrick's day

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

May the fair-folk bless your path

and all of your soul’s coming and goings,

not once but twice.

How did THAT happen?

tom looking for ball

Kids are wizards of pointing out minutia of life that can seem quite arbitrary to us. They note things we missed completely. They seem to ‘insist’ on irrelevant details like the way the plate is organized, who got to open the refrigerator this time, or what touches what. Everything takes far LONGER to do with a little one around …

In good part it may well be because their life moves slower. Time is yet to be shackled onto watches and the ticking of a schedule. They pause mid-sleeve, pondering the way light filters through the cloth, unconcerned with how rushed the morning is. They stare in wonder at a pigeon when the light changed and it is time to cross the street. They have an urgent question or need just when you finally sat down to eat.

And they notice. Everything.

They collect each leaf and pebble. There is no such thing in their vocabulary as a “quick run to the store and back” … not when there’s a big exciting world out there. There is endlessness to explore: Cracks in the pavement. Bits of paper flown by winds. Funny people. Yippy dogs. Horns and beeps and squeaks and windows with wonders and when finally at the store, multitudes of candy at eye-level … How could it be that this was not what you came all the way for? …

They teach us patience, that’s for certain.
They also teach us that time is what we make of it. That stress can catch one breath, and relaxation ride right in upon another. That one can laugh before their tears have dried and emotions coexist and flow without a judgment.
They hold a mirror to the things we have forgotten or have misplaced our truth about or have given up on trying to critically examine.

They listen. Even when they do not seem to.

More than most anything else, they note the mismatch of expression, the ambiguity of tone and matter. The odd things our mouths can say and we do not hear.

In part it is because small children are so literal. They get confused when they listen to the WORDS we say and find it not to match the words’ MEANING. Their reaction (and ensuing cuteness) can have us realize hidden ambiguity. They reflect what we once saw and now are almost blind to: how the world works even though words so often mean things they do not really mean.

Want a few examples?

A father talked about his mother looking after the children when he and his wife had to both be away. “She has a heart of gold,” he gushed. His preschooler daughter piped up and added, “no daddy, you forgot. Nana’s TEETH are gold …”

A mother had forgotten something she needed to ask me. “I’ve had it at the back of my head all day,” she sighed, frustrated. Her three-year-old scrambled up onto the couch and took a look, exclaiming, “No mamma, it is nothing there!”

“It is all politics and money,” another parent moped when a kindergarten admission did not go the way she’d hoped, “there’s absolutely nothing new under the sun!” Her almost kindergartener son looked at her sideways. “That not true, Mommy,” he said, rather accusingly. “I have new Spiderman shoes! You forgetting my new Spiderman shoes?!!”

Then there are the cats and dogs that do not really rain; the invisible pins and needles one can be on (and no wonder one’s child refuses to sit where the parent sat a moment prior!!); the feet in mouths (“You can’t do that no more, Daddy. You’re too old. You can’t reach like baby Deena!”); the bleeding hearts (think on that …); the pants on fire…

Language is a treasure trove of meaning, and learning symbolic language is a big task. It calls for the ability to hold two lines of listening: one for the words, another for the context. Children get very good at that around age 5 or so, though they get thoroughly confused before they realize that “listen to what I say” is far from straight forward.

Kids practice logic. They spend a good bit of their time making connections, figuring out how things work and what brings on what. If you pour too quickly, you spill everything. If you push your brother, mom gets cross. If you don’t stop whining, you may lose a privilege. If you mix milk with chocolate syrup magic happens and you get chocolate milk!

They get right fast at figuring out what makes what, and a never-ending list of ‘why’s helps them figure things out. They realize there are desired outcomes and less favorable ones, some adults that are easier to get things from, that there is misfortune and consequence. They get uncannily creative at hopeful attribution of fault …

They map their world into cause and effect. Into how things happen. Who does what.

And sometimes they make connections that are not quite as we would have put them. … Like the little girl with the (newly) pregnant mom, who asked quite loudly and in public: “Daddy, how did God put a baby inside mommy and didn’t tell her about it until she peed on the stick?”

The B&Bees

The B&Bees

Listen

a voice

It is the voice of heart

The voice of care

Of here and then and everywhere.

Listen. It is there.

 

It is the voice that speaks the wind that rustles

Through the branches

From the smallest trees

Into the clouds.

Listen. Find its sound.

 

It is the voice of oceans ebbing surf

And twirling foam and shells

Onto changing sands

And sparkling sun.

Listen. All is one.

 

It is the voice of all that does not need

Explaining

And has no demand.

Listen. Understand.

 

It is the voice of who you’re meant to be

And are

And have never quite forgotten.

The voice that hears the broken places

It is the voice that heals.

Listen. Breathe it in, and feel.

 

It is the voice of calm

And nature

The voice of reason that does not hold cause

Or fault

Or worry

Just is.

Listen. Welcome ease.

 

It is the voice without words

That carries worlds within it

The voice of souls connected

Hope restored

The voice of light in flow

tenderly weaving earth and sky above.

Listen. It is the endless call of love.

You Can Still Hear

laughter

… and judging from today

You were amply, multitudinously loved.

Your laughter was what every one remembered

Its memory snuck giggles into sobs

It was what brought smiles

Into the tears

And light

Into the sorrow.

I can hear your laughter still.

It lives within me

As it does within so many others

Blessed to know you

And the bubbling of your kind and precious laugh

In life.

In love.

Transmuted into light.

Let it be

let it be

Let your soul speak

Words of wisdom, words of beauty

Let it be

Let your heart find

Words of courage, words of hope

Let it be

Let your mind know

Words of comfort, words of peace

Worlds of ease

Let it be

calm

Rest in Peace, Dear Carol

Carol H.

Carol H.

ברוך דיין אמת
May you rest in peace now, Carol, having completed your work on this earth, in this body; and having done so utterly spectacularly, as evidenced by the many people who love you so dearly, the lives you changed and enriched, the truth you spoke, the healing you provided, the open-mind and open-heart you lived by.
I miss you already.
I also know you’re going to be with us, always; if in a different way. But no less loving.

Am not worried for you being lonely over there, in Soul Heaven. Oh, not at all, for you have a welcoming committee with you! I can feel it. Kathryn, surely. She’s been moving front and center in the last month, preparing to receive you and ready for reconnecting. I can almost see your hand in hers as she shows you the path to new tomorrows. Others are there to welcome you, too … from recently departing friends to longer lost kin of heart and family. A multitude. A community of souls. A tribe. All holding you in love and light.

Am relieved that you are no longer suffering and that your body no longer limits your soul from soaring. You have blessed us all.

And you are a Blessed One.

I will be taking time off in your honor, to sit in prayer and meditation, to hold you in my heart fully, to be with you during this process of you moving on to a different path of being, to support your family.

There’s a candle lit for you here, as is the tradition in my family and upbringing, to ‘hold’ and ‘light the way’ and keep in thoughts and blessing a dear one who is walking a new path. Though knowing you, Carol, you are probably flying. Walking’s too slow. And you sure had enough of ‘slow’ for a while now…

I said goodbye to you when I went to sleep last night, having felt you getting close to passing since Friday and even more so all day yesterday, and I knew that something shifted in the early morning: a release, a relief, a letting go. You had let me know.

The deep love of those close to you–your dear husband, children, siblings, friends–I know it helped you through this most difficult last year, and helped you know it was okay to finally let go. Love held you. May it hold you still and hold us all now as sorrow flows and gratitude fills memories with the honor of knowing you and loving you. I love you so!

It has been an honor for me. Still is. Will remain so and only grow.

You have enriched my life, nourished me indelibly on levels that are hard to put in words, changed who I had the possibility to become. I cannot imagine my life without you. A gift. A blessing.
Carol, you are a part of my heart and always will be so.
You are family to me.
My love always — Na’ama

Find A Song

She never stops singing.

She sings when she’s playing. She sings in the stroller, the high-chair, the booster, on the carpet or floor. She sings in the sandbox. She sings on the swing. She sings in bed every morning. Come evenings she’s singing to sleep. She sings in the bathtub. She sings when she’s walking. She hums with food in her mouth. She’s heard singing while deep in a dream.

She sings top chart melodies. She sings the same line for a week (drives her mama nuts, but it is what it is … all she can do is introduce another song and hope it will be picked up on a whim).

She hums nursery rhymes, sings odd jumbled phrases. She repeats parts of jingles and mangles their lines. She mashes music from a hundred places and switches song to song without missing a beat. She makes up nonsense rhymes unselfconsciously. She fills in random words as she goes.

She does not quite keep time or pitch. She does not really carry a tune.

Not one would expect her to do so. She’s not quite three-years-old, after all.

So who cares if she pauses in imperfect rhythm or raises volume in an off-pitch pipsqueak dramatic flair. She’s adorable. She lives life utterly happy. She finds music flowing in every moment and in every action. She listens, she follows, she sings.

Her humming brings smiles to the lips of strangers. It melts the hearts of loved ones. It has people raise an eyebrow in amusement and meet the eyes of others in a shared moment of delight.

She’s a wonder. In her quiet content singing she’s a teacher, too:

For can you find the music that surrounds you? Do you listen? Can you hear?

It is flying on the molecules of oxygen around us. It is weaving in and out of every atom. It bonds the flow of leaves upon the water, it jingles in the rustling of branches waiting patiently for spring. It hums the breath of every living thing.

May she never lose touch with her singing. May her inner music flow unhindered and her heartbeat always rhyme with joy. And may those who wish to keep on singing, always find their song.

singing, joy, children, naamayehuda