Can I write another post about a birth story?  I would prefer to write about literally anything else.  That’s what’s going on in my head right now.  I would rather paint a beautiful Monet picture about life in Houston, TX.  It’s tough, but we’re surviving.  The sun is shining.  It’s one big Yay!

But sometimes things change quickly.  Life catches you off guard.  One day, the price of oil is $100 a barrel and just a scant few years later it’s at $30. One day you’re building a second house and the next you are wondering if you are going to be able to stay in the one you’re in.  One day your brother is healthy and the next he is an addict.  One day you have your parents, and then a father dies.  Or a mother dies.  Or your spouse gets sick.  Or he or she leaves.  Trust is broken and everything is different.  The wind blows in, destroys your sense of stability, and leaves you to carry on.

What to do?

If you have children, you have to keep parenting, broken heart and all.  And if they’re hurting, then you have to figure out a way for all of you to heal.  So you look outside at the swaying shimmering pine needles and think, let’s go outside.

It’s that impulse of the book Wild.  Go outside in nature and let it heal you as you push yourself to your limit and try to heal yourself (except you can’t leave because you have three kids, in case you forgot, and it’ll be years till you take them to Santiago de Compostela).  So we can all go outside together and find joy in His creation. When my kids start talking about the latest toy they want, I think, let’s go on a hike.  And then I drive to Buffalo Bayou and check out Lost Lake (a bit of a let down, but a nice man-made waterfall.  Keep walking through the rest of the park).  Or, more often, I drive to the Houston Arboretum.

I have two desires when I arrive.  I want to see turtles.  And I want to see a rabbit.  Apparently, I want to reenact Aesop’s fables.  I think I like the lightness of the rabbit and the heavy sagacity of the turtle.  I connect with both.  At the end, my kids like to play in the sandbox and I get to talk to the baby.  I think Mitya and I are having a moment and then he says, “Baba.”  Okay, got it.  We need a rabbit, a turtle, and Baba. Then our lives are complete.

It’s hard to see your kids hurting.  You want to be the balm that heals all wounds.  You want to be everything and every person to them.  But God provides other people to help you parent.  You are not meant to parent on your own.   And in the $30-a-barrel days, you really need to reach out to your network.  To friends you’ve known since college or from work.  To new friends. I love spending time with Oksana and Tania, two moms who both have small kids.  When we are together, it feels like a little tribe.  A home away from home.  And it’s good for kids to play together, like my kids love doing with my friend Allison’s kids.  Or I think of the fantastic parents I’ve met through their preschool.  I think of the wonderful preschool teachers.  I think of our rich faith community.  So many people who love our little ones.  As my friend Natalya says, to a good person, there is no such thing as other people’s children.

So far, we have two remedies—go out in nature and reach out to others.  What else, guys?

I think it’s finding something that gives you joy, finding meaningful work.  For me, it’s writing, especially when I’m writing outside.  For my son, it’s swimming.  For my daughter, it’s tae kwon do.  For both of them, it’s art class.  Maybe not every semester, but as often as possible.  They find a flow and forget about everything else, just excelling in what they are doing and being grateful for the experience.  To me, that’s healing.

Other balms include listening to music.  Singing along to Celia Cruz.  Crying with Maná.  Dancing to Shakira (did I mention I live in Houston—my station is often Mega 101.1).  Listening to the music of your children.  Singing with them.  Dancing with them.  Hugging them.

And praying.  How my prayers have changed.  At the same time, fundamentally, they stay the same.   For health and protection and fun.  I pray for a chance to serve.  I pray for a chance to rest.  I pray for those who hurt me.  We are all hurting on some level.  Instead of lashing out in anger, to be kind (oh, that’s a tough one. Instead, can we take it outside, to the park, and I can just calmly explain to them in my best raven voice that they are acting foolishly?).  Also challenging—reading Luke 6, like I had to, out loud, during Monday’s bible study.  Turn the other cheek. Do not judge.  Why did they do that?  Why, man, why (let me take out my pocket harmonica).  In reality and to the fullest extent, only God knows why.  We are to let go and move forward.  Which is hard.  And so I sit here at Memorial Park and write after Mitya fell asleep during the hike.  We just keep doing the best we can and try to show up for one another when we feel like curling up in a corner.  To help a woman whose husband is sick.  Or to encourage a woman who looks like maybe her bike ride took too much out of her.  Or, here’s an idea, to encourage yourself.  Look back at your life, at your “Success Stories.”  Look at what you have already accomplished.  Breathing in and out.   Just trying to be present to life with all of its changing winds.

Oil is sure to go back up, but it may take some time.  So in the meantime, hope to see you at the Arboretum.  You’ll find me by the turtles.