Beth Troy's Blog, page 5

Day 6: Rest in the Shepherd

Three times last week, I woke up at strange times. My eyes would flash open, and anxiety pressed on my chest while my mind whirled through worries like a carousel gone berserk. Every time, I recited Psalm 23.

Why Psalm 23? Well, it’s one of the only Bible verses I can recall at strange hours. Why is that? I inadvertently memorized it in the 1980s when television mini-series were the thing. My mom was a Civil War nut and would pop in the VHS to record anything to do with it, including John Jakes’ North and South. I’m sure you’ve seen it, so I’m sure you recall that somewhere in the 18+ hours of footage there’s a funeral scene where Psalm 23 is recited. To be clear, it was less about the scripture and more about the unrequited love between Orry and Madeline that kept me watching BUT …

God will have his way.

Psalm 23 continues to stick.

Which is why you should memorize stuff when you’re young.

I digress.

All week, we’ve been clarifying what we need a break from and why. Today is about what to do with the answer.

The common interpretation of rest is it’s something we do – to cease, refresh, recover – but in the Bible, rest begins as a noun. Before we “do” rest, we must enter into rest and that takes leading. Then, we must receive the rest we find, and that takes convincing.

This is where Psalm 23 comes in – the go-to comfort psalm where The Lord is my shepherd and because he’s my shepherd, I shall not be in want. The more I recited the verses over this past week, the more I got a sense of something that’s eluded me since the 80s.

Though I might recite this psalm to seek comfort and though I might come away from it with comfort, this psalm is not about comfort. It’s about The Shepherd Who Is Our Rest.

Which brings us to a little gift! I’ll be sending all my blog subscribers a reading of Psalm 23 for you to download. It’s not a Bible study so much as my journey of turning the verses over in my mind – the places I paused and the questions I asked. Scripture is rich, but we don’t know how rich it is when we take someone else’s word for it. My hope is you will use this reading to seek, understand, and apply Psalm 23 in your pursuit of rest this weekend.

If you haven’t already, SIGN UP BY 11:59PM TONIGHT and the download will be waiting for you in your inbox when you wake up tomorrow morning.

Have a great weekend! I’ll be back here on Monday to pick up where we left off.

Day 5: I Need a Rest from … [Part 2]

What do you really need a break from?

I’m looking back at the brainstorm from Day 3 and can see the solutions to some of my answers are simple. Take mud. I really do need a break from mud – on my boots, on my dogs, and in the van. The solution is simple. The Oxford Rain Forest needs to rest and let the dirt dry out so I can clean (or at least consider cleaning).

For this one, there is no mud under the mud for me. Mud doesn’t beget an anxiety that wakes me up at 2AM. I just need the mud to quit. It’s that simple.

Other solutions are more complicated because my answers are complicated and (to make this sentence more complicated) I don’t even know they’re complicated until I try a solution and it fails.

Take schoolwork on every surface of the house.

I thought I’d solved this one last week. School finished the week before, and we put everything away. Surfaces, cleared! Halfway through the week, the cleared surfaces were making me uneasy, in particular the spot at the kitchen table where Tommy had been doing his schoolwork.

Why?

Because I liked that we had something to work on every day

Why?

Because it felt like we were making progress

Why?

Because he was writing and reading a lot of words, and I feel like we need to keep doing that

Why?

Because he has a huge language deficit, and I feel like it’s up to me to fix it

Why?

Because I’m his mom, and if I can’t fix this for him, then what’s the point?

Oh. Those cleared surfaces weren’t so simple. They were a beginning, and beyond them, I saw a “ceaseless round of striving” (from Keller sermon, Day 4). Because what’s going on with Tommy can be solved with one more sight word, right? I saw the “eternal murmur of self-reproach” over my inadequacy as Tommy’s mom.

… if I can’t fix this for him, then what’s the point?

Which brings us to a warning. Sometimes asking “why” on repeat can bring us to a crying place. Maybe it’s your repeat crying place. It’s okay. You can cry there. When you’re ready, there’s a resting place for your tears, which we’ll talk about tomorrow.

Today is for asking, “Why?”

It might take some time. It definitely takes a dose of bravery because you need to be honest to go there and receive the answer you find. Good thing you are all brave people!

Would you also be so brave as to share what you “really” need a break from in the comments below?

I’ll get us started.

Mommy guilt. Heightened sense of healing powers.

We’re talking rest right now on the blog – what it is, why we need it, and how we get it. If you just jumped in, go to Post 1 to catch up. Sign up for the blogs to go straight to your Inbox so you don’t miss any!

Day 4: Rest Under the Rest

Do you know how to lie down and sleep?

My boys didn’t. The first night home, Jesse woke up by the devil’s clockwork: every hour, on the hour. Eventually, he learned to separate day from night, stay horizontal, and keep his eyes closed until the sleep kicked in.

Do you know how to lie down and sleep?

It’s a two-level question with the second level murkier than the first. In this second level, it isn’t an exchange of day for night so much as on for off. It’s a question about rest.

Do you know how to rest?

Do you know how to stop working and start playing? Do you know how to leave the piles on the counter and sit down? Do you know how to put your phone away and be inaccessible? Do you know how to stop striving and say good enough? Do you know how to stop talking and start listening? Observing? Do you know how to quit the future and stay in the present? Do you know how to release control and step back?

Do you know how to lie down and sleep?

Yesterday, we brainstormed everything we need a break from. In some cases, the fix is simple and looks like more sleep. A Sunday nap, perhaps. In others, we see how the fix could be a nap, but it’s going to take some doing to get there. Then there’s a remainder, where the fix is going to take way more than a nap because the noise, the work, the problem, the emotion is complicated. Putting a nap on it would just be you lying down and ruminating with your eyes closed.

I’ve listened to this sermon on Work & Rest from Tim Keller after every semester and before every vacation over the last three years. It reminds me that rest is complicated because what keeps us from resting is complicated because what keeps us working is complicated.

Have a listen:

Think of it as a little lecture to ground us in more understanding, and it’s going to feel like a lecture because Keller is dry. He’s also smart. Give him 40 minutes over the course of today (while you fold laundry, drive around in your car, pull weeds, watch water boil), and you’ll find deeper clarity of what it means to really rest. Then, share your main take-away in the comments below!

I’ll start. I don’t keep the world running. So maybe I will take that nap today.

Your turn!

We’re talking rest right now on the blog – what it is, why we need it, and how we get it. If you just jumped in, go to Post 1 to catch up. Sign up for the blogs to go straight to your Inbox so you don’t miss any!

Day 3: I Need a Rest from … [Part 1]

What do you need a break from?

I bet an answer immediately popped to mind, but don’t move on yet because I bet you need a break from more than one thing, and I bet you need a break from more than just work (though we usually think of “work” as the counterpoint to “rest”).

That’s a lot of bets from me today! Let’s see if my gambling is on-point with a brainstorming activity. Think of brainstorming as like my writing room clean-out from Day 2 because:

Before we can catch a breakWe need to answer “from what?”From “all” of the whatBecause sometimes the first answer isn’t the right answerAnd sometimes it’s answer(s)

It’s a bold move to clear out your mind – bolder than clearing out your writing room – because brainstorming requires us to put down everything that comes to mind. By that I mean everything. This includes the ugly – the “poop” on your writing room floor. Side-step it all you want, it’s still there.

A brainstorm requires you get it out. A brainstorm also gives you permission to get it out because the only “bad” thoughts in a brainstorm are the ones you don’t write down.

Here’s how you do it:

Ask the question: What do you need a break from?Make a space to answer the question. I sometimes brainstorm with Post-Its on the closet doors in my writing room. For this one, I did it in a notebook at the kitchen island.Sprint. I set a timer. To start, I recommend 5 minutes. For 5 minutes, commit to doing nothing other than answering the question: What do you need a break from? Answer with everything that comes to mind. It’s normal to stall after 6-10 answers in the first minute. Trust me, there’s more. Keep going until your 5 minutes is up.Keep returning to your brainstorm. I worked on mine, in sprints, over a morning.

Here’s a sample from my brainstorm.

What do I (Beth) need a break from?

ZoomWebExGoogle HangoutSeeing anyone on a screen ever againFearMy daily outfit of hoody, fleece and knit cap.Weather, you could help with this. Warm up! It’s May!Trying to convince my oldest that doing 30 algebraic problems has lasting value for his lifeI never liked algebra – letters should stay with letters and numbers with numbersWeeding. As soon as I turn my back, those little X%*^& grow back.Schoolwork on every surface of the houseGrade negotiations with my students. Next year, I’m pre-empting all of these with a mass announcement. “Happy end of the semester! If you have questions about grades, please remember Professor Troy is an unreasonable person.”Just ask her childrenGoodwill being closedDonations piling up in every closetFace masksFace masks + glasses = a personal fogMy dogs barking at everything on the streetTax billsOther billsAll billsTwo email inboxesMudStaying strong against Tommy’s incessant requests for ice cream. If only he knew how much I’m on his side.Piles. Every room has one and they all require about 5 minutes of figuring before clearing.Speculation about school next fallSpeculation about this summerAre they opening the pool? If they open the pool, are the Troys going to the pool?My overgrown bangsTo-do lists that scaffoldLike putting out the hummingbird feeder. First I need to clean the window I hang it on with hot water and vinegar like my mother taught me. Do I have vinegar? Where’s my stepping stool?I think Ezra also appropriated my squeegee for an outdoor fight and put it “back” in a new placeWhere is that place?To-do lists that stalled a long time agoThe frost that shriveled my Japanese mapleFlash identity changes between Beth, the mom, Beth, the professor, Beth the wife, Beth, the neighbor, Beth, the friend, Beth, the writerFeeling tiredHalf-finished copy edits of Lu2Any question that begins with “Should”Any sentence that begins with “Mom”BickeringIn the worldIn my houseThe color of my roofThe color of my house

Now, it’s your turn! It’s sprints of small time over time, and you can totally do this throughout your day today. It will feel good at first, and then a little strange, and then your mind will explode (in a good way). So much will come out – things that make you laugh, things you didn’t know were there, and things you didn’t wish were there. All of it is clarity.

We’ll talk about what to do with the clarity tomorrow. Today is for the brainstorm! Have at it!

In the comments, report back with A) How many answers you generated and B) Which one you really need a break from

We’re talking rest right now on the blog – what it is, why we need it, and how we get it. If you just jumped in, go to Post 1 to catch up. Sign up for the blogs to go straight to your Inbox so you don’t miss any!

Day 2: Ready for a Rest?

Before every rest, there’s a paint explosion. At least for me. This one was kicked off by my dog pooping on the floor.

Picture it: I’m in a Zoom meeting. Actually, I’m teaching over Zoom in my writing room because it’s the one place with a door that’s not a bedroom or bathroom in a house full of boy children during quarantine. If I don’t let our dog, JB, in she’ll whimper on the other side of the door. I let her in. Then, she poops on my writing room floor in the middle of class.

I’m a pro. I finish teaching with a poker face, which I wish came with a poker nose. After class is done, I clean it up, and I notice all other sorts of gross. The painted cement floor is covered in grime, a mix of tracked-in yuck and candle soot. The soot is also on the white walls, and many of the pictures I hung a few years back are askew, the sticky tack having lost its stickiness (or would that be its tackiness) awhile back?

I’d run out of surfaces, too. Jesse had taken over my desk for homeschool, so I moved operations to the circular table and piled the books and journals from there in a corner on the floor. In the other corner was a box of Lu books that I kept meaning to put in the closet (once I cleaned out the closet). The third corner held a stack of mishmash – teaching notes from a class I taught in January, tumblers I was supposed to have given people, and a folder of receipts needing filing. In the last corner leaned a yoga mat from a time when I used to practice breathing while stretching my hammies.

My writing room – the space I’d claimed and restored three years ago after publishing Lu – was now a heap of non-decision, disorganization, too many people, candle pollution (and dog poop).

“Everything out!” I declared, and I enlisted the boys to help move stuff from one room to another, which was sort of like pushing dirt around, but I needed a handle on what I was dealing with before I could pare down and reorganize. With the room cleared, I could see the candle grime was everywhere, and I filled a bucket with soapy water. Five minutes in, I realized this was really pushing dirt around.

So, I decided to paint over it instead, a maneuver that seemed heady at this point in the day, but quite normal to Matt when he came home to the chaos of one piled-up room and three boys in front of screens so Mom can paint RIGHT NOW!

“You tend to do this between one thing and another,” he observed.

Oh.

Over the next few weeks, we’re talking about rest – what it is and where it can take us if we’d only give over to it. Before we get too far in, it’s important to know our own tells for when we need a break. As I shared in the in the last blog, mine begins with a left-eye twitch and moves to a need to paint something, apparently.

As we move from spring to summer, what unconscious or even semi-conscious actions are telling you it’s time to:

Clear outChange courseHang upSay, “No”NapPlayLet goStop

The sooner I catch these signals, the more rest feels like a bold decision versus a last-ditch resort. Tomorrow, we’ll do a little brainstorm to help you clear your life out, but today, let’s stay here in my freshly painted writing room. I’d love for you to share in the comments – What in your life is telling you it’s time to rest?

We’re talking rest right now on the blog – what it is, why we need it, and how we get it. If you just jumped in, go to Post 1 to catch up. Sign up for the blogs to go straight to your Inbox so you don’t miss any!

Day 1: Rest

Last night kept getting better. The rain forecast pushed to today, and so we invited a friend of Jesse’s to play outside. The dad came, too – with 2 beers and 2 Hot-N-Ready’s, which I took as my invitation to sneak inside and finish a book while the dads took charge

I finished the book! And, I snuck a bowl of ice cream (there was only enough Graeter’s in the freezer for 1 – ME!) and by the time I came back outside, the backyard was a frolic of boys and glow sticks.

“Are they playing a game?” I asked, trying to decipher the shouted glee.

“Yes,” the friend’s dad said. “Not the same one, but no one seems to know that.”

I smiled. “Welcome to summer break!”

“I guess it is summer break … more or less.”

More or less.

After the hustle of a normal spring, summer break usually feels like double doors flung open to the sun. But this year, it’s a more or less – an after-thought because what are we really stepping away from after the last couple months of quarantine blend? What we’re stepping into feels just as vague, as the usual travel, camp, and pool plans of summer fun are in limbo or cancelled.

How do we catch a summer break this year?

I’m going to piece this answer together over the next several blogs, beginning with rest because A) I need it B) I’m a life-long learner of the concept because C) I’m pretty bad at it.

I’m no stranger to running on empty, but the difference between Vintage Beth and Present Beth is I’m better at diagnosis (my left eye starts twitching) and repair.

It’s a flawed and earnest journey with Rest & Me, but maybe you’d like to join in this time around? I’ll be sharing a mix – what I’m thinking, what I’m learning, what I’m trying – and I’d love for you to share, too, because conversations are better than monologues, and we all go farther with some help.

To gear up, I’m taking a rest from the blog this week but next week, NEXT MONDAY, I’ll be back, rested, and ready to start. In the meantime, how about you:

Sign up to receive the blogs so they go to you instead of you going to them.Get some friends to sign up with you because … everything is better with friends (says Beth, The Extrovert).Start the conversation in the comments below. I have two questions to get us going. Question 1: How are you finding rest in your life right now? Question 2: In what area of your life do you need a big ole’ break? Check out my latest blogs on what quarantine has looked like for me.

See you next week!

Day 48: School’s Out!

Well, school’s almost out. As I write this post, Ezra has two journal pages and a math test, but then – then! – school.is.out.

We did it. I don’t know if we did it well, academically speaking, but I don’t think that’s the point of the last couple months so much as …

Seeing – how the boys learn, what sparks their curiosity, and what they avoid.

Trying – schedules, approaches, and layouts with this kid in the basement, the other at the table, and the last one in his room.

Changing – all of the above until we found something that worked for however long it worked.

Being – together, all the time.

I’ve felt unqualified and under-sourced. I’ve wished for a teacher’s aide. If Matt had brought home a quarantine girlfriend, I would have happily welcomed her into our home so long as her long division was solid.

I’ve felt overwhelmed. Did the boys establish a rotation where every 30 seconds was someone’s turn to say, “Hey, Mom …?” I think so.

But I decided early on to extend what constitutes a “good” or “bad” school day beyond my feelings and beyond the tally of how many times someone stomped up the stairs and declared to quit the Troy Country Day School.

Success looked like showing up and doing as best as we could with what we had, which, it turns out, has been my mothering M.O. all along. And the mothering is better for the teaching. It goes back to all of that seeing.

I know some of you are anywhere from a week to a month from school’s out. Maybe you’re reading this post as you stomp up the stairs. There’s nothing wrong with a little stomp. There’s nothing wrong with calling it a day before you’re actually finished. There’s nothing wrong with turning the chalkboard wall in your kitchen into a GIANT countdown.

Show up. Keep doing the best you can with what you have. I’ll be celebrating with you as you cross the finish line.

Day 47: Good Morning, Rain

I don’t have a screened porch. I have windows and screens.

7AM and I head upstairs to change. In quarantine, I alternate between shower and deodorant-swipe days, and today is the latter. I choose an outfit that works with a ponytail and ball cap.

Then, I hear the rain.

Are you also the type, that when you hear a morning rain, you start to see a different sort of day taking shape? Maybe one that’s a bit more sensory? Slower? A day for secret hiding places?

I open the window wide. One of the perks of living in a 1960s house is that deep roof overhangs were the thing. It makes growing plants on this side of the house tricky, but it also means the rain rarely comes in. I stick my nose to the screen. I breathe in. I don’t need to describe the smell. You know it. Plus, I can’t describe it. The smell of rain just is.

I set aside my plans to go to the grocery and close the bedroom door.

I make the bed.

I write this post.

Next up is reading, which I will do until I’m found.

Day 46: Now

We have these two dogs.

I like walking. They like walking (running, herding). For a long time I thought, we should do this. Together. In the mornings.

But I put it off like I do with a lot of things that are important but not the loudest things calling my name.

The first morning of quarantine I finally took that walk. I enjoyed it so much I declared I would hereby start all of my mornings in such a way.

In Beth-speak this means a couple mornings a week, but a couple is more than none. I’m satisfied. So are the doggies. They know what it means when I pull on my bean boots and knit cap and prance in place while I put a second cup of coffee in my to-go mug.

Spring is a dynamic time to take up a walking habit. There are more birds around than there were in March. I bring out my winter coat only once a week now. The sun is starting to rise around 6. All but the tallest trees have their leaves.

In a world where so much has changed, I am grateful for the seasonal cycles that do not. In days that seem to blend without end, seeking the sunrise tells me otherwise.

Today is a new day.

Day 45: Huh

I finished my grading yesterday, and it felt like a bit of an accident because I didn’t think it would happen for one more week. But here I am, Tuesday morning, and the sky is blue with a promise of warm.

Maybe I’ll get outside and be outside without thinking about what I ought to be doing inside.

Maybe I’ll read more of the book I started this morning.

Maybe I’ll sneak up to my bedroom to read it.

Maybe the boys won’t find me.

Maybe I’ll take back my writing room from the boy who has decided it’s his math room because it’s quiet in here, Mom.

Maybe I’ll Kondo my writing room from the piles in every corner that never brought me joy.

Maybe I’ll marinate chicken for Matt to grill tonight.

Maybe I’ll drink wine while he grills. Maybe I’ll read my book and drink wine while he grills.

How nice to have a day of maybe instead of have to. Maybe the boys will accidentally finish their work up, too, so we can maybe around this week together.