Leigh Kramer

When Ace Smiles

I'm drawn to him like a magnet the moment I set foot through the door. I am torn between warring desires: locating the nearest sink to wash the bus germs away or getting my baby fix. The sink always wins, for his sake as much as mine. While my hands become clean, my thoughts are on him.

I'll walk over to wherever he is in the house. It's usually playtime when I get home from work so he'll be on his blanket surrounded by toys.

His eyes will focus on me and then: glee fills his face. Does a better greeting exist than a full-blown baby smile?

I live for that smile.

I've lived in San Francisco for a little over 3 months now. The way I found a job without looking, I thought an apartment would also fall into place in no time. Instead, I've joined the legions searching out a place of their own in this city. While I wait, I'm living with the family I house-sat for when I first moved.

I still can't believe I live here, much less that I'm an honorary member of Micha's family. For years we've traded stories and now I see the living embodiment of some of hers.

Her oldest two boys were already born when I first stumbled onto her blog. Our friendship grew the way only those connected via the internet can. We bonded over being 4s and lamented over not living closer. This was especially true this past year, as I would have loved to have been physically present during her pregnancy with Ace.

I was thrilled when she told me she was pregnant. A couple of months later she told me the baby would likely have Down Syndrome. It didn't change my love for the wee babe growing in her womb but there is an ache in knowing what the future might hold.

True, we never know the future. A baby born healthy is not guaranteed an easy road. Babies born with an extra chromosome grow up to live wonderful lives, especially babies born now when there is more education and support services. There may be uncertainties but there is still so much joy.

This has proven true for baby Ace. When he was born, I couldn't wait to meet him.

Who could have guessed it would happen because I'm living at his house?

Almost every day we have Ace and Miss Leigh time. He is most gracious in letting me get my snuggle fix.

When he smiles at me, I imagine it's his way of saying, "you're my person." I can't say whether he actually recognizes me yet but he responds to me and that's something.

I make noises and change words to songs to entertain him. When he's fussing at dinner time, I'll rock him or walk him around the house to soothe him. We've got our routines down during the small window we have in the evening.

He is one of the sweetest babies I know and I feel immeasurably lucky to get to spend so much time with him by virtue of living in his home. Each day he's growing stronger and bigger and it's happening before my very eyes.

He is becoming himself.

Ace has Down Syndrome.  There is no changing that fact. It will mark his life in ways we don't yet know but it's not the best descriptor of who he is or will be. It is not a tragedy.

The future is bright for Ace and I cannot wait to see who he grows up to be.

 ***

This Saturday October 17 I'm participating in the Bay Area Buddy Walk. I'll be rocking my blue #ACEface is my friend t-shirt. You’re welcome to purchase your own shirt! (Multiple colors, styles, and even kid sizes available.) All proceeds from the sales will be donated to the National Down Syndrome Society.

You can also support Ace and all his friends by giving to the fundraising page for this year’s NDSS Buddy Walk.

Friendship Is An Echo, A Mirror

I call them my Life Council but that makes it sound like I hand picked them for my team when really they were the ones picking me.

I had no say in the matter, other than to say yes to them, these fierce wonders who appeared in my life right when I needed them.

It's as if we were invited to the dinner party and most of us knew the hostess and some of us knew each other or knew friends of friends. Alchemy occurred once we sat at the same table. We thought we were there for dinner but it was the start of something so much bigger.

We were wide-eyed at one another as the bond formed and the roots grew deep below the surface. How did we get so lucky? We'd never experienced anything like it, a collective sisterhood appearing from the mists and saving our respective lives.

Though, to be clear, this group has never replaced the relationships in our lives. If anything, it's enhanced our day-to-day community. I still turn to my best friends, to my inner circle. My Life Council is in the same orbit. It's both/and.

We have a million names for ourselves and a million more inside jokes. We are the safe place and we are ever present. There are few topics we haven't covered and then turned around to cover again.

Day by day, we choose each other.

It sound idyllic. It rings true of blessing and honor and good old-fashioned luck. It is all these things.

And yet I never knew when I first said yes to the invitation, I would have to keep saying yes to these remarkable women.

There are times I've wanted to hide and times I actually have stepped back because I worried I was too much or not enough. Times when I was overwhelmed by my own ugly envy, an emotion I've never wanted to wield against my dearest friends, though it is my core struggle.

We have taken turns dancing around each other, bowing out while on vacation or when life became too compacted with busy or too laden with emotion. But we always circle back around. We always return to one other.

We have showed up. We have said yes. We have marched.

We have risked vulnerability over and over again: would we hold one another? Would we still be there if even this was uttered?

We dispense wit and wisdom. We deliver a swift kick in the arse, as needed. We challenge. We speak truth in love. We have laughed loud in to the night and wept alongside one another.

We have summoned all of our courage to say the things we've told very few or perhaps no one at all and received the echo of "me, too" "me, too" "me, too."

We keep showing up in the ways we know best how and receive the gift of this mirror: "we see you, we hear you, we love you."

We see the best in one another and believe in each person's potential, even when they struggle to see it themselves.

We are there for one another, even when divided by state lines. We hold one another's secrets and celebrate each other's success.

I am a better person for having them in my life. They have taught me how to be a better friend, hostess, and all around kickass woman.

Sometimes I am tempted to wonder what I add to the mix. When I am stressed, I want to follow my gloomier inclinations to believe I wouldn't be missed but I have learned to flit those fears away.

These women have carried me during some of my darkest hours. They have believed in and for me when I forgot how. They have championed my cause and painted a vision for a wondrous future. We have talked endlessly over coffee and tea and glasses of wine. They have put me up in their guest rooms and poured cocktails and baked cakes. Their children and husbands are more than faces seen on a Christmas card.

How many more ways can a person choose another?

We are who we are to each other precisely because of who we each are.

We are the echo. We are the mirror. We are the gift.

The Ministry of Availability

This post was originally published at A Deeper Story. There's something terrifying about admitting this, even though I know this season of life is right where I'm meant to be. Even if it makes me uncomfortable at times. Head on over to read the rest.

(And in case you missed Nish's announcement Friday, be sure to read her post. Writing for Deeper Story has been one of the greatest honors and I'm sad to see it go. But I'm unspeakably proud of my friend for making this hard decision.)

I'm not busy.

There. I said it. I'm fighting the urge to feel ashamed of my present circumstances.

I'm not sure when it happened but you're more likely to hear "busy" than "fine" when you ask someone how they've been. We're all busy, busy, busy.

I lived this way for most of my 20s. I would describe what I had going on for the weekend and people would look at me goggle-eyed, while I protested, "it's not that much." Secretly I was pleased by how much I did and saw. I worked full-time, served at church, planned get togethers, hosted dinners, and always added "one more thing" in to the mix.

Underneath the surface, however, I was terrified to not have any plans. 

I associated not having plans with being a loser and those insecurities were ever ready to present themselves should I have met a plan-free Saturday night.

After my Grandma died in 2007, I pushed the metaphorical reset button. I couldn’t escape my grief and in the process of mourning, I finally let myself off the “busy” hook.

I’ve been balancing my introversion with my deep love of an active social life ever since. And for the most part, it’s worked. I say yes to only the things I want to say yes to. I’m well-versed in saying no to everything else.

A few months ago, my work situation changed. I have five different part-time jobs and every week looks different, depending on what my bosses or clients need. It’s a lot of balls in the air and yet I’ve found myself with extra hours to fill.

It’s not something I bragged about. That old insecurity lingered. A lack of plans still equaled “loser” in my mind. Plus, there’s financial stress and a feeling I should be doing more.

I’m not good at pretending to be something I’m not and the truth is I’m not busy. The other truth is there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m not going to apologize for these extra hours and I’m not going to waste them either.

All of these part-time jobs are hopefully helping me work toward my goals. While I’d like to figure out a more sustainable plan that will help me get there, I’m trying to be faithful to where I am now.

To that end, I’m praying I’ll be open to how God will fill my extra hours.

One week I took my laptop over to a friend’s house to lend my presence. She had been having a rough time and just needed a friendly face in the mornings. I worked in the corner while she went about her routine. We didn’t talk too much but I was there if her anxiety gave way or she needed a quick hand with something.

Every time I left her house, I thanked God I could be there for her in such a tangible way. It primed me to be more aware of what I’ve dubbed “the ministry of availability.”

A couple of my jobs are work-from-home and the hours are flexible. On these days, I look for opportunities to say yes to my friends. Work is still the priority but I can make time for an airport run or to rescue a friend whose car has left them stranded. I can make a meal for someone who is sick or fill in as a last minute babysitter. I can meet up for coffee and have a good heart to heart, which is one of my favorite things to do anyway.

On the days I’m in an office and less physically available, I’ll pray for my loved ones during my commute. One day I brainstormed marketing ideas for a friend’s book release. Another day I wrote a few notes of encouragement during my lunch break.

Often in our everyday routines, we forget to look for ways to be there for others. Sometimes this is because we’re walking a hard road ourselves and we truly need to stay in our own lane- and perhaps have others come alongside us. But sometimes we’re distracted and we half listen to and half see the people we love.

I’m as guilty of this as anyone.

When my work settles down in to a more respectable 9 to 5, I will have to work harder at being available and seeing through what people say, compared to what they need.

For now though, the offer is on the table. My friends may not choose to use me or they may need me on a day when I’m actually not free. So far this hasn’t happened. It’s made me grateful for this unpredictable season. Though I’m ready for more financial certainty, I’m not ready to let go of this perspective.

I am not busy. I am available. My eyes are open. May I be the hands and feet of Christ to those in need.

 

In the Moment

The hopes and fears of all my years met in the living room that night. A few years back I sat beside my two best friends and their husbands, reunited for the weekend. We watched a Nicholas Sparks movie but that wasn't the reason I wanted to cry.

 

I had prepared myself for inevitable disconnect. They moved on to be wives and mothers, while I have not. This difference does not divide us but it's there.  I knew at some point I would feel sad our lives are not all on the same page. But that wasn't quite it either. 

 

I was surrounded by the people who have known me best and longest but I felt alone, suddenly catapulted back to 16, self-hating and desperate to be accepted and loved by my peers. All I could see was them in their respective couplings and me, the consistent fifth wheel. Was this how it would be for the rest of our lives? Did they really want me there? Surely they only kept me around out of pity. The unexpected nature of those insecurities crept into my present and threw me. 

 

After the movie ended, I quietly put my shoes on, said goodnight, and then fell apart as I walked to my car. 

I cried as I drove home, wishing I had a cigarette in spite of quitting several years prior. And then I cried as I paced around my house, hard rock blaring from a stereo. I wanted something to hold on to.

I believed the lies that I wasn’t worthy of love and friendship. I thought I had moved beyond it and this failure defeated me. I tried to summon the truth, tried calling out to God. The hour grew later but I could find no rest. I finally fell asleep without relief. My eyes felt gritty and my face puffy when I woke. By the time my friends and I met up for breakfast, I’d resolved to put the sadness behind me. I didn’t want to ruin the rest of our time together with my issues. They knew something happened and one of the husband’s apologized, thinking I was upset about the way they’d made fun of the film, forgetting I’d normally join in on the take-down. But I brushed it off and said I was fine. They saw right through me but didn’t push.

A couple of days passed and I couldn’t shake the mood. I wasn’t that 16 year old girl anymore. My self-hating ways have been put behind me for quite some time. Why then did these insecurities surprise me?

I prayed again. I didn’t want to be stuck battling the same things. I asked God how to move beyond it. I prepared myself for silence. Only He spoke.

Tell, He said. Not a tied up pretty with a bow, here’s what I’m working on version. Just the in-the-moment pain.

Not what I wanted to hear. Ever used to being the listener, I didn’t know how to share my pain until I’d already moved on from it. I rationalized they wouldn’t understand and feared people would think of me as a whiner. I believed I should have dealt with this baggage by now; therefore I shouldn’t subject other people to it. With this, I realized I’d swallowed the lie about being the strong one in my relationships, that I somehow didn’t deserve comfort. While I didn’t present myself as someone who was put together, I also didn’t often allow my friends the opportunity to speak to my broken pieces.

I know this about myself and have even tried to be more intentional in sharing about these dark moments with my inner circle. Still, I hesitate each time, wondering if this will be the moment that they tire of listening or decide I am just too much.

It’s not fair to my closest friends and it’s not fair to me. Vulnerability is a risk but haven’t these kindreds already earned that?

Tell. The word reverberated through me that weekend and I recognized its rightness then and now. It was time to trust and share and let God. The lies we believe lose their power when we say them out loud to a trusted friend. Some things we cannot do on our own. It was time to tell.

So I did. And I have.

 

This post was originally published at A Deeper Story. The original is here.

Are You Hiding?

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"Are you hiding?"

My counselor let the question hang in the air for a moment. I turned it around, forehead wrinkled and looking toward the ceiling for insight.

In my quest to broaden community and build relationships, I've run up against my introversion and my insecurities. Despite a wide circle of friends accumulated over the course of the lifetime, including people I've known since grammar school, I am prone to worrying people won't like me or if they do like me, they don't understand me. All fears are alleviated when I'm in someone's presence but if I know next to no one at an event or months go by before the next coffee date, the fears creep back in. 

I may look forward to plans for weeks but the day of, I would feel something akin to panic and want to back out. This was supremely frustrating because community is incredibly important to me and I struggled to understand why it's sometimes hard for my actions to reflect my heart.

She continued, "sometimes we need to pay attention to what our guts are telling us. Canceling plans becomes self-care. But sometimes what you feel inside makes you want to hide and you need to push through anyway."

The internal lightbulb flicked on.

Was I hiding? Had I been hiding?

My counselor asked this question last summer and it has guided me ever since.

Being able to ask myself "am I hiding?" clarifies everything.

When I honestly reflect on this question, I can figure out what's behind the hesitancy. If it's been a crazy week, maybe I do need to pass on plans and get my introvert on. But maybe I'm letting my fears speak more loudly than they should. Maybe I'm more worried about whether people will want to engage with me. Maybe I'm stressed over a personal situation and really don't want to talk about it- but I should. Maybe I'm nervous about spending time with a new friend: will they understand where I'm coming from or will they think I'm a big weirdo? (Probably both, which is actually pretty perfect.)

Most of the time when the angst arises, I push past it and end up enjoying myself. I'm almost always glad I went and that new connections were forged. This is how relationships are built: one interaction at a time. There is risk involved in relationships but because it's a priority for me, it's a risk I'm willing to take.

And when I feel like hiding? It might be a sign I need to take a risk that much more because 99% of my angst is all in my head. Not a reflection of reality. I will be angsty for the rest of my life but I'm not captive to it.

I don't have to hide anymore.