Crossing Life's Monkey Bars

"You don't even seem to notice it...the noise."

She was referring to the level of activity you could hear at any given moment in my home. The tone in her voice let me know exactly what she meant.  Emphasis on the word noise. I am sure her definition included adjectives such as confusion and chaos. For me the proper definition was engagement...life in motion. 

.

I laughed when my neighbor made that comment to me over 20 years ago.  It was laughable.  Six kids, their friends, our extended family, and a menagerie of pets over the years filled our home with lots of "noise."  All I really knew then was that this noise spoke to me.  I understood it's dialect in some mystical way that I couldn't explain.

.

My husband and I are officially empty nesters now. Yet, this fact doesn't eliminate the sound of life in motion in our lives. Life's noise doesn't stop when your kids leave home, or you leave home, or you finally have an adequate savings account. Nor does it stop on the day you wake up and realize that perhaps the deep mourning process from a loss has eased. Loss of a job, a child, a marriage, a loved one, a dream or direction. Every life experience comes with "noise."

.

We had only been living in our new neighborhood a year or so when I had that conversation long ago. I was just beginning to recognize Peace in the noise of life. My dad had passed away only a few months before our move. I still vividly remember the day of my dad's funeral. I had been so busy with family coming in to town and all the preparations that I simply had not taken any time to process what I was actually experiencing.

.

I woke up early that morning and got in my car to go for a drive. I happened by a small salon where the owner was using her keys to open the front door.  I pulled in and asked if she could cut my hair. I wasn't even sure I actually needed a haircut. She told me she didn't have time that morning but she could fit me in that afternoon.  I told her I would be at my father's funeral that afternoon.  The next thing I knew I was in her chair getting my hair washed.  The warm water, the gentle head massage, the quiet of the morning in an empty salon, and the silent tears began to flow down my cheeks. I could literally feel life moving over and around me in a rush to get by. I could hear in the rush, "sshhh...take in this moment. Feel today. Today will soon be tomorrow." I was keenly aware in that moment that life's noise and rush would not stop despite my loss. And now that day is 27 years ago.

.

Fear would have us believe that we can hold back life's motion, escape life's noise, run around it or ahead of it. When actually it is safe to be still and allow life to wash over and through us with all of it's force. To hold out our arms and say "here I am." We can be rooted and let our branches bend and shudder in the gale.

.

Trees need the wind to strengthen their roots allowing them to grow taller. In a storm a large tree sways and bends with the wind. Despite the loss of leaves in the turmult, the rustle of it's branches and the leaves join in the wind's song. We too can learn this song. We can learn to engage and move with it. 

.

I made no mention to my neighbor of the late night roar of fear. In night's silence I could hear that distant roar grow closer. Fear's voice so loud at times that sleep escaped me. I still have those nights. I still hear the force of the storm pounding against the windows of my life. I forget the lyrics that accompany the song of the storm. Without focused listening I'm unable to hear Hope humming the melody for me. 

.

Hope sings the song of the storm. 

.

Brene Brown in her book, "Atlas of the Heart" describes Hope not as an emotion but as a way of thinking... a cognitive ability. Hope, she tells us, "can be learned...it is a function of struggle - we develop hope not during the easy or comfortable times, but through adversity and discomfort." I love this description.

.

Hope's whisper comes in the same way that a gentle breeze does on a hot day. Subtle and easy to let pass over you without taking advantage of it's renewing strength. Hope speaks the language of Peace, "Keep going." "You got this." "Go to sleep." "Breathe." "You are enough." "Be fearless." 

.

My children and now my grandchildren are still teaching me about life in motion. Right now several of them are over coming fear and the "there is no way I can do this," noise.  My oldest grand daughter headed to High School and tried out for Varsity Soccer.  Freshman year of High School...terrifying.  Varsity soccer tryouts as a Freshman...terrifying. I know she had sleepless nights.  I also know she has loved this crazy first year.  And, yes, she made the Varsity team.  Watching her play in the freezing rain...literally, freezing rain, on a windy October night, the joy on her face gave new meaning to the phrase "dancing in the rain."  

What will her Sophomore year bring? Driving.

.

Yet another granddaughter has taken up "tumbling." I love that word. Somehow it softens the implication of it's definition. After months of practice, in a step by step process, she strengthened her core muscles and developed the mindset of Hope. Tumble after tumble...and then the day came when she landed it. 

.

Two other grandchildren, have recently mastered crossing the monkey bars. Now there is hope at work! They sent videos to each other showing their progress. At the park I would watch them work at the life skill. First just reaching out and grabbing that first rung. I had the privilege of holding their legs in my arms and taking on just a bit of the weight as they practiced being brave...letting go, grabbing hold, letting go, grabbing hold, letting go. 

.

Their practice included falls. I could tell by the look on their faces that they never considered the fall a failure. It turned out that the ground was closer than it appeared. It was only a dust yourself off kind of moment. "You got this." "Try again" came from their parents (and grandma) at first.  Then it came from within. Soon they were on their own all the way across. At first a labored rung by rung. Then with the confident joy that comes when you are swinging across the playground. The work had become play.

.

I can still see the school yard monkey bars through my seven year old eyes.  So far off the ground.  I could see the other kids crossing with such confidence.  Fearless it seemed to me.  It didn't help that I wasn't built like the other kids. They were lithe and strong.  I was square and not so strong. "Nothing is hard once you know how to do it," my mom would say. I would get so angry with her when those words answered my "this is too hard" statements. I now recognize that it was the language of Hope she spoke. Hope, the dialect of life in motion, is a language you can learn.

.

There was a park I could ride my bike to. (In the 70s kids did that on there own.) That first afternoon was brutal. Fear, Blisters, Scrapes. I do not remember how many days I spent after school at that park. I do remember the day I first grabbed the rung at school in front of other kids and swung across.  I no longer needed Hope for the monkey bars... I was already across 

.

The roar I still hear in the quiet of the night I now know is actually the the sound of life rushing around me. Hope holds my legs, lifting me. Here I am grabbing hold, letting go, grabbing hold, letting go...

 

It really is a matter of what you hear in the midst of life's noise.