You have a superpower.
And every day you get a chance to use it.
It's the power to change the world.
By choosing play over pressure.
Peace over violence.
Kindness over power.
Compassion over neglect.
Forgiveness over blame.
Every. Single. Day.
As a parent you possess the power to change the world.
One day at a time,
one child at a time,
one interaction at a time.
And the world transforms.
But that does not mean you will be perfect.
You will falter.
You will yell.
You will curse.
You will break.
You will forget just for a moment how amazingly powerful you are and you will return to shame, anger, manipulation, and control.
To all of us.
In our own way we each create own reasons for regret.
And then you have the chance to choose forgiveness again. This time for you.
No one is perfect.
Not your partner, not your child, not your mother. And not you.
We're all stumbling along, learning as we go.
Doing our best.
We are all flawed.
It's part of the plan. It gives us good work to do with our time here on earth.
Allow yourself your imperfections.
Allow them to your child as well.
And yes, allow them even to that other mother you see on the street who's come undone and is yelling and pulling her little one roughly along.
She needs it most of all.
And then, remember your power.
To shape the world, for good.
It takes courage to forge a new path.
To reach for peace when you were taught reach for power.
To reach for compassion when last time you faltered.
To reach for understanding even in frustration. Or exhaustion. Or anger.
You have the power to change the world. And also to change yourself.
And the harder that is for you, the more deeply I honor your work.
Onward, mama. Onward.
You carry the world in your arms.
It's your superpower.
This is a repost from 2014.
Yesterday I shared with you my goal of slowness. Of presence in this day.
So what came of it, you ask?
I slowed down and watched my husband gently cradle a lamb in his arms.
As he fed her I marveled at this man I have spend half of my life with, who knows me better than anyone else on earth. I wondered what the next 42 years will bring us.
There was time for me to notice.
We took a walk together and found wildflowers by the creek.
I took a few pictures, we pulled a few invasives, and we laughed great belly laughs at whatever sass or nonsense we were talking on this rare and precious "date" together in the woods.
There was time to reconnect.
Together with our kids, we planted dozens of pines along our property's edge.
Not because it was Earth Day but because we love trees and want them to take root. For shade. For shelter. For the future.
The trees were a gift from a friend, and as we planted the kids and I talked about how they were not for us but for for tomorrow. That someday a family would treasure the shade they give, long after we're gone.
There was time for the future.
I was able to sit and be with my child who was having a hard day.
To empathize, to validate, to listen. To be nowhere else but here. After the healing tears were shed I reflected on how thankful I was to have been able to hold that space with her.
There was time to listen.
I cooked a meal for a family I thought could use a little love right now.
Because I could. There was time in all the slowness. After it was delivered I sat in the fleeting sunlight with Lupine in the grass and played farm animals with her.
There was time for others.
And finally, I took a few moments to write.
To work on my book and reconnect with the words I have written so far. It's a big job, but one moment at a time the words are taking shape. For that I am so thankful.
There was time for this dream.
And as the day ended I head the cranes and the peepers and watched the sun slip behind the hills.
A quiet, slow end to a quiet, slow day. And I was thankful for it all.
There was time for gratitude.
And while it sounds like a lot to do in one day - without distraction, without obligation, without hurry - time felt expansive. It was slow and soul-feeding. And just what I needed.
We have a saying here in the Driftless: slower is better. I wholeheartedly agree.
I have two dogs. A springer spaniel and a golden retriever. And their energy couldn't be more different. One is ever in a hurry, the other even blinks slow.
One gulps, one savors. One worries, the other always seems to know that things always turns out okay.
And I wonder sometimes. Am I a more of a springer or a golden?
Because it would be easy to rush through this life, distracted and distraught, only to awaken and realize (or not) how much I have missed.
In a day or a decade or a lifetime.
The perfect light, a fleeting season, or this whole delicious chapter made of baby animals and carefree kids. To hurry through and miss it all.
In a world that feels ever in a rush, I choose to go slowly.
I will plant and tend, stitch and mend.
When we are tired we will sleep, when we are rested we will rise.
When we are hungry we will cook and sit and eat. Together.
Intentionally, consciously, slowly.
I want to put aside all the hurry and busy and should and move instead with mindful grace, tending to things that matter most.
I want to awaken and feel my life unfolding around me, not simply rushing by.
Because we're already at our destination.
We won't get there tomorrow or next week or next year.
Our only destination is today.
Perhaps it's time to slow down to savor our arrival.
And those countless things that make you believe you're too hurried to savor this delicious now? Set aside those that you can, then pour yourself - slowly, slowly - into those that remain.
All tortoise, no hare.
All here, no there.
Because everything we need is today.
And there is no hurry for us to get anywhere else.
It is quite possible that what it takes to make me happy has become more simple with each passing year.
That what I need is easier to know and easier to find.
When I turned 40 (two years ago) I remember holding onto the "shoulds" that came along with it.
I should have a party. I should gather with the most important people in my life. I should craft meaning around this day.
I should make a kind of big deal out of this. Because I thought if I didn't I might regret it.
When all was said and done I would have preferred to gather one-on-one with each of those wonderful people instead of as a group, as small as it was. I would have carved out more quiet space. I would have honored my nature more fully.
And now? At 42? Forget about it.
Forget the "shoulds". The rules. The expectations.
All I need is my family and friends and an abundance of simple, easy-to-find joys.
With that in mind, I spent my birthday weekend digging a new garden bed, foraging nettles, snuggling lambs, and connecting with the people that I love.
There was good (simple) food, good (simple) work, lovely (simple) gifts, and meaningful conversation.
There was fresh air and sunshine and a quiet place to enjoy it.
One of my dearest friends came for the weekend and I didn't clean for her (a struggle even for me) because it was my birthday and I didn't want to get caught in the loop of "shoulds".
Instead I welcomed her into the chaos and we found the space there in which to simply be. (And knit. And talk.)
Because it turns out for me that 42 sounds older than it feels.
Yet the self-knowing that growing older brings? That is something I deeply treasure.
I'm learning how to ask for what I need. And how to give much of that to myself.
I'm learning that it doesn't take much more for me to be happy then honoring and living my own truths.
If this is what it means to grow up I'm all for it.
So hello, 42. I'm ready for you.
Bring it on!
Today is my birthday.
And yesterday I got my first gift in the white and yellow faces of these flowers.
When I came up the hill, hurrying my kids to a class, I noticed (like I do every week) how sad that road looks since the county cut out all the trees that border the lane.
Just stumps, as far as I can see.
But then as we crested I saw it. I'm pretty sure I gasped. Because there in that mess of stumps was a carpet of trembling white.
Bloodroot, one of my favorite spring flowers, dancing in the wind.
After dropping off the kids I set off on foot to see them for myself. They were a bit early because of the unexpected sunshine, but bloodroot just the same.
And my heart was lifted.
Because there in the bleakness of those tree stumps was more beauty than I could absorb.
And while I wished I had a proper camera (and not just a phone!) with me, it was more than enough.
And the most beautiful part of my day.
So keep your eyes open, friends. To beauty, to sweetness, to light. If you look hard enough, you can find magic anywhere.
And dancing flowers beneath your feet.
A video posted by Rachel Jepson Wolf (@lusa_mama) on Apr 16, 2015 at 2:44pm PDT
Hello there! I am Rachel Wolf. Lover of wild places, blogger, homesteader-in-training, unschooling mama, & owner of LüSa Organics. At home in the hills of the Driftless. Welcome!
@lusa_mama on Instagram
@lusa_organics on Instagram