confessions

The One Quality of Great and Generous Minds

September 4, 2014 by Edie Wadsworth 41 Comments

The boys were home this past weekend and so we lingered a while around the table, talking about their first couple weeks in classes and all the myriad of adjustments to be made when you begin a new season of life. One thing that can be hard is all the new people that begin to populate your life. But that part can also be overwhelming. I confessed to them how hard that can be even at my stage of life, even though I’m an extrovert and love meeting people. We were at a social gathering recently and I wasn’t feeling that well and wasn’t really in the curious and generous mood. I wanted to enjoy my expensive dinner and read the book I had stowed away in my purse and pretend I was eating alone. I have enough friends, I told myself. And this woman is 20 years my senior and she’s not talkative, so this is going to be a monumental effort to make genuine conversation.

But then I remembered what I always tell my kids. Teach yourself to be interested in people, to want to hear their stories. And if you’re not interested, confess that as a flaw in yourself and pretend to be interested until your stubborn mind catches up.

I think we’re not that curious about other people because we have to stop thinking and talking about ourselves long enough to let them talk. It takes humility—which Lewis says is not thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less. And we are nothing if not hopelessly self-centered, so this humility and curiosity doesn’t come natural to any of us, least of all, me.

So, despite my own selfish thoughts, I started asking her questions. Twenty minutes later I was sure she was one of the most fascinating women I had ever met. I’m so glad I didn’t miss that opportunity, but it makes me wonder how many people I’ve let slip through my fingers because I was too self-absorbed to care.

I told the boys and I keep reminding myself to stay curious—to cultivate the discipline of being interested in people. Even if you’re not. Even if you already have enough friends. Even when it’s inconvenient. Soon it will become more like habit and years later, you’ll find that what you’ve cultivated is a generous heart.

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I’d be so curious to know when the last time you felt like someone did this for you? Isn’t it wonderful when someone takes an interest in your life and wants to hear your story?

A Workspace, a Boutique, a Dream

September 2, 2014 by Edie Wadsworth 54 Comments

As you know, I’m a fan of an inspiring workspace.

After 3 years of living and working hard in this office, I still love it. Despite the fact that it NEVER looks this clean. An in, NOT EVER. I stalk inspiring workspaces online a lot and am always trying to figure out how our spaces can work better for us and imbibe the quirky leanings of my brain.

(if you can source this photo, please let me know!)

I’ve had this teeny tiny dream/idea in the back of my head for years that I rarely talk about and rarely share about. Why? Because what if I never do it? What if it sounds stupid and impractical? What if I already have enough on my plate? [Read more…] about A Workspace, a Boutique, a Dream

Something More Than a Miracle

August 25, 2014 by Edie Wadsworth 96 Comments

I’m writing this in part to tell you that if you ever wonder what you’ve done in your life, and everyone does wonder sooner or later, you have been God’s grace to me, a miracle, something more than a miracle. ~Marilynne Robinson, Gilead

It was a crisp October day when we stood on the back porch of our brand new house looking out on this near perfect landscape.

We could hardly believe that this was the exact same place we had stood nine months earlier and watched our house burn to the ground. We were overwhelmed with gratitude at how these ashes had turned to beauty—not just how God has raised up a house, but how He had once again raised hope in our hearts. We wanted this house to be a house of blessing. We prayed that maybe we’d even be able to adopt another child. We went so far as make an appointment with an attorney because we had always felt this sense that our family wasn’t finished—that we wanted to raise a son together. I would dream about “him” and in my mind, I knew just where I wanted the nursery. More than anything else, I wanted the chance to raise a child without the added pressure of working a high stress job.

I already had a name for him. John Elijah Wadsworth. We’d call him Jack after C.S. Lewis.

While my dreams for another child were bubbling over in my heart, we kept on living our life. We homeschooled our girls. We lived hard in these rooms—cooking, sewing, crafting, reading, learning. And a few months into enjoying our new place, my husband’s son moved across the country to live with us and get his life back on track. He moved into our guest room with his oversized backpack, his barrel o’ monkeys mustache, and his heartache.

Those early days were long and hard. There were so many tears. There were days we weren’t sure we’d make it. And we were often unsure if he would.

There was that fight in the garden when he yelled and I cried. There was that time he ran off and we worried we’d never see him again. There were those times I should have reached out and didn’t. All the mistakes, the misunderstandings, the failings. And then there was that day we made salsa in the kitchen—the first time I thought that maybe, just maybe this was all gonna be okay. There were those hundreds of meals he and I cooked together. The food that tastes so good that you know it had to be made by someone who loves you.

And then there was that day.

The one I couldn’t have prepared for in a million years.

The day he left.

I stood outside and watched him load the last of his things. I promised myself I wouldn’t come apart. I was so happy for him—that he’d come this far, that he was standing on his own feet so well. And that’s when I saw the miracle. God had given me another child to love. Not one born of my flesh but one so stitched into the fabric of my heart that he will never be anything to me but a son. I told him how grateful I was for him—how he had so blessed us by being here. I told him I couldn’t love him anymore if he were my own. I watched him drive away and cried for two hours straight.

Turns out God answered my prayer. There was no cute nursery to decorate. There were no baby blankets to wash. But the sacredness of this life intertwined in mine is no less a miracle.

And to think I almost missed the grace of God because it came dressed up like a wayward boy.

Maybe I’m finally learning that grace almost never looks like grace at first glance.

A Pep Talk For Your Inner 7th Grader

August 18, 2014 by Edie Wadsworth 36 Comments

“Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your senses.”~C.S. Lewis

I spoke at a women’s conference last weekend, which besides being a wonderful place of inspiration and creativity, can be the scariest place on earth.

A conference where 550 women descended with their cute shoes and their cool jewelry and their beautiful hair. I have never struggled with insecurity much. I’m not plagued with self-consciousness and I’m pretty sure I’ve been too insatiably curious about other people to worry too much about what other people thought of me. I realize now what a gift that is. I came to the conference with good friends and other than having to speak, I was just happy to be there, to see old friends and to meet new ones.

Until I walked into the cafeteria alone.

My group was already in there eating somewhere and I knew from a text in what general direction they were sitting in the room. But I walked into a large dining hall carrying my tray and unable to find my people and I had a moment of anxiety. I remembered watching my son do this in 4th grade in his first day of public school as I watched from outside the cafeteria doors. I saw him with that same look of anxiety and panic. Who do I sit with? Where are my people? Do I have people? I was 8 months pregnant with my 3rd child at the time and so hormonal that I started sobbing for my son. I went to find a teacher and ask her if she could help him find a seat. Now, here I was, the girl who is almost never insecure in social situations, feeling that old anxiety that we all know so well. Like being in 7th grade all over again and worried sick about how and where and under what conditions I might fit in to this impossible group of people before me.

When I found my people, I met Kari for the first time. And you know what she did? After she made us laugh hysterically about her size 12 jeans, she sat right down and told us about her struggle with weight loss. I wanted to cry. She made herself so vulnerable to us. It was a beautiful thing. But that’s so rare, isn’t it?

The truth is, this anxiety we have about being with each other doesn’t end in 7th grade. We all wish it did but 7th grade girls became middle aged women and sometimes it seems like not much else changes, in us or them. We’re competitive and fragile and often downright mean. But behind the unkindness is often just a paralyzing insecurity.

It was a good life lesson.

So, before all my talks I gave my pep talk about how to get the most out of conferences, which seems to apply to almost every social situation I can think of.

I started the pep talk by showing this picture.

I’m pretty sure I even thought I was cute back in 1984. The mullet, the acne, and the knee high tube socks tell a different story but I say never let a good mullet go to waste.

That middle schooler is still lurking around in all of us. (Yours was probably cuter, but whatever.)

The one who so desperately struggles to be herself. The one plagued with insecurity and self-consciousness. The one who abhors lunch time because the prospect of finding someone to sit with is so overwhelming. The one who is always feeling like she doesn’t measure up—she’s not thin enough or cute enough or smart enough or popular enough.

So I encouraged the people in my session to turn this all around. Because at the end of the day, our self-consciousness and our insecurity often just lead to self-centeredness. We’re so worried about ourselves that we forget why we’re here–to bless and serve others. I encouraged them to go into these (often scary) situations with an others focus. When you train yourself to focus on other people, you don’t have time to worry about all your insecurities. They evaporate. They become shadows instead of giant obstacles between you and your neighbor.

Think of situations you face everyday where this applies and remind yourself that this is not about you. This is about them—learning to see them, worrying about them, wondering if they’re okay, meeting their needs however we can, finding them a place to sit among the crowd. I train (more like harp on) my daughters to do this too. They’re both in middle school so I know full well how hard this can be.

So, there’s your pep talk.

Turn your insecurity into blessing by training your inner 7th grader to stop worrying so much about herself and instead turn the table and the spotlight and the energy towards her neighbor.

You’ll both be glad you did.

The One Thing You Can Do

August 15, 2014 by Edie Wadsworth 63 Comments

“We may ignore, but we can nowhere evade the presence of God. The world is crowded with Him. He walks everywhere incognito.”

She comes into my office and I barely notice.

I sit at my desk too numb to even think, nearly hopeless, while my coffee goes cold.

I’m glued to the screen. I scroll through the news feeds and it sickens me. Suicide, genocide, homocide—death and darkness are everywhere.

The world seems to have been forsaken, even by God.

It’s paralyzing. It’s impossible to watch and difficult to turn away.

I pray and grieve and and am jolted awake by her nudge, this cutie with tousled hair who wants to eat breakfast and to read chapter 10 of To Kill a Mockingbird.

She starts the sausage. We empty the dishwasher. I’m quiet and lost in images from my screen.

I make the coffee and lay out the beef for dinner. I make the bed and fold the laundry and for a brief moment, I really see her. I remember that among this world of death and chaos and prejudice and evil, I hold precious things in my hands.

I can’t bring peace to the Middle East or to the Midwest or even to my own house most days.

But I can do the next thing that blesses the next person in front of me.

I can make the meal, read the chapter, fold the shirt, write the words.

The tasks are so small they’re almost embarrassing.

But all the tiny acts of life and kindness wage war on this present darkness.

I wake up from the numbness of the headlines and look around me.

My neighbor is standing right here in the flesh with a need that I am equipped to meet.

So, I set the table and cut the hydrangeas and with every bite, she looks more and more like her Father.

The Father who loves us, who holds this all in His hands, who ushers in His kingdom of peace with water, Word, bread, and wine—He is here. He is our way to life. He is our only Hope.

He hasn’t forsaken us. He’s right in front of us—in our midst in the humblest of means.

But we miss Him, because He always comes in on a donkey and we’re always looking for a stallion.

Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.

And blessed is he with eyes to see.

Around the Table

August 13, 2014 by Edie Wadsworth 48 Comments

“How to announce the return of comfort and well-being except by cooking something fragrant. That is what her mother always did. After every calamity of any significance she would fill the atmosphere of the house with the smell of cinnamon rolls or brownies, or with chicken and dumplings, and it would mean, This house has a soul that loves us all, no matter what. ” Marilynne Robinson

We’re losing one from around our table this weekend.

I’ve been a mom for 24 years and I haven’t always known how sacred a thing it is to gather with my people around the table. This place where we feed them, listen to their stories, laugh at their jokes, and occasionally sit quiet because life with its grief and anger has gotten the best of us. This place where we teach them what it means to bow in thanks for daily bread. This place that breaks our backs because how can we possibly cook one more meal? This place where we’ve never been more aware of our shortcomings, but we just keep showing up to feed them anyway.

And then the long days turn into fast years and you face that first meal without that one you love.

In my mind, I try to avoid counting down the dinners because there’s a wall of tears that doesn’t need reminding.

Just 4 more dinners. How to say what these years have meant? How to hold such weighty things in our hands and hearts?

I remember how I’ve despised this job sometimes—the planning, the shopping, the cooking, the cleaning. Why are they always hungry every. single. day?!

I never saw the day coming that they’d go and an empty chair would leave my heart heavy.

This is no small thing what we do everyday, mamas. This meal is important. This table is sacred.

Sometimes we’re feasting and sometimes we’re just getting by but the time together around this table is changing us all.

We are so blessed by those who’ve come and gone from these chairs.

I hope you’ll linger extra long around the table tonight.

And remember that the time and effort you spend here feeding these people, with food and love, is so very special.

You are meeting your neighbor’s need in the most beautiful, life-giving way.

Bless you for your labor. It is not in vain.

And bless the ones who must leave.

We love you and it has been our privilege to share this table with you.

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(I keep this quote close to me in the kitchen. It helps me remember.)

If you’re short on time for planning, let me offer this one little suggestion. Over the next month, add the meal you make for dinner to your iPhone calendar and then *repeat* it on your calendar every month. If you eat out, maybe add what you would like to have cooked for that night. (There’s no shame in your game!) A month from now, you’ll have a month’s worth of meals in your calendar and all the sudden, you’ll be a meal planning genius! I’ve got a whole meal planning series on my blog, but this little tip will get you started with almost no work!

Here’s what I’d love to know from you—what are your struggles when it comes to family dinners? Have you found any solutions that you’d share with the rest of your internet sisters?