Holiday Card 2024

2024 highlights include a month-long East Coast trip to Johnson family wiht a couple dreamy days in NYC and seeing 'Six' on Broadway. The girls managed to get autographs after the show - Thea's on the cast of her wrist she broke on our first day of summer vacation in Chicago. Two days after we returned from our travels, it was Etta's turn at the orthopedist when she broke her foot showing off her brand new skateboarding skills. This made the rest of the summer challenging, particularly when she immediately headed off to sleep-away camp. Speaking of, we barely saw Anna this summer as she attended 3 Covenant camps (NH, WI and WA) in the course of a month. This spring, Adam made the most of his flexible schedule by fitting in 3 trips in 6 weeks: flying to Alabama and California for golf and soccer and hitting the links at Pebble Beach with his brothers and dad. Sheri responded in kind this fall with two trips with/to dear friends and a special trip to Ireland with dad and sister, Kristi. The year was bookended with a magical week in Mexico with the entire Hendrickson crew and the Johnson girls finally making it to Taylor Swift's Era's tour, which was, as everyone promised, a once in a lifetime event we will never, ever forget.

In our quotidian lives, soccer reigned supreme this fall with Anna (14, grade 8) joining a 3rd team this fall, bringing our family total to 8 practices and 5 games a week. As the only one in the family not playing or coaching, Sheri carries on her mom's legacy by being the world's best (loudest) fan. Etta (10, grade 5) is a flurry of creativity when she's not at gymnastics, and has started a math tutoring company with her bestie. Thea (8, grade 3) was thrilled to add Girl Scouts and YMCA Adventurers to her docket this fall, but now laments she only has time for several playdates a week. All three girls are heavily involved in drama - of both the performance and personal variety - with Anna ending 2024 with another stellar lead rold in her school production. It turns out old dogs can learn new tricks as Sheri now identifies as both a dog lover and a runner! She continues to love working when she feels like it. Adam's list of home/car/projects grows or shrinks in direct proportion to his late night YouTube tutorial viewing and he is still loving his side gig as Doctor. We can't forget Bruno, the dog, around whom all our affections truly revolve.

We are so grateful for you and pray that Peace, Goodwill with all abide this Holy Christmastide.

Holiday Card 2023

Last year's card was never sent with my mom passing two weeks before Christmas and the amount of life lived in the last two years feels far too vast to fit on the back of a 5x7. Our girls are growing at lightning speed with Anna now a teenager!! (7th grade) and playing soccer/lacrosse/basketball. She has more friends than she can manage, loves choir and theatre and played a lead role in last spring's production. Etta, now 9 (4th grade), is passionate about gymnastics, Taylor Swift, drawing, writing, building and making plays and shows and all things creative. Thea is 7 (2nd grade) going on 17 and puts together outfits based on theme or how "teenager-y: they are. She does all the things her sisters do, but with added flair, sparkle, mischief and pure volume. We got a puppy in March simultaneously descending us further into chaos and bringing us more joy than we ever expected. Bruno is the cutest, friendliest, funnniest dog who sometimes puts up with our adoration and excessive affection. Adam is still saving lives at the VA and building decks/bedrooms/porches, fixing cars and being Fun Dad extraordinaire when he's off. I (Sheri) am working more all the time and balancing all the other the roles I am lucky enough to have.

2022 brought us sorrow and love mingled as we said a long goodbye to our dear mom and Mormor. We carry both the mundane busyness of life and profound sadness as we struggle to both hold loosely and cling tightly. Life doesn't stop for our pain and our grief hasn't prevented our joy. In that vein, we have gone on as many trips and adventures as we could manage including Adam and I traveling to Iceland this fall. We are marked by these years and all they have held and are grateful for everyday of this life we are fortunate enough to live and the people we get to live it with. 

With so much love,

Sheri, Adam, Anna, Etta, Thea & Bruno

Mom

Last Sunday would have been mom's 77th birthday, and it was our first Mother's Day without her. To say I miss her feels absurd... it's so woefully inadequate. I'm not ready to reopen the wound and write again, but I thought I could share my tribute from her service.

If you knew mom, or if you even met her - actually I feel like meeting her and knowing her were one and the same to be honest - she wasn’t a particularly private person… But if you knew anything at all about her you knew she loved people. Like really, really loved people. She loved the people she knew, her family, her church people, her cancer group, the person in line in front of her at the grocery store, you.

Mom would talk to people everywhere and would never pass up a chance to chat. She just loved hearing people’s stories, and if she couldn’t, she would just make them up. I remember as kids we would give her a hard time as she would not only people-watch, but speculate about the stranger’s life and some of these stories were pretty elaborate. We would roll our eyes and groan, but looking back, I think it’s a beautiful thing - maybe not so much the speculating, but how mom always made sure to see people when most of us don’t. She knew everyone has a story and she cared about every single one.

Being seen and telling ‘stories’ was really a big part of who mom was. What made her her. She had an insatiable curiosity AND a strong desire to share her own story. Her constant quest to connect to others, to see the humanity in all, the threads that connect us to each other and to our creator was a beautiful thing. She was a woman who spent her life hosting and loving and giving and feeling and always, always, ALWAYS pointing others to the goodness of her God, the one she loved with all her heart and whose love she seemed to not just believe but actually FEEL.

So what was her story? What is her legacy, what has she left behind? 

I look around the room and I think the answer is pretty obvious - it’s in all of you, everyone here, everyone watching out there, really everyone who was lucky enough to cross her path. Her legacy is how she touched the lives of so many, simply because her heart was so big and her compassion so endless. We made a kudoboard for mom when she was in hospice, a place where you could write her a message and tell her what she meant to you. The responses just poured in. From friends here in BC, old colleagues in Calgary, from our childhood friends, even from people whom she had never directly met. This was the kind of impact she had. Even in my old yearbook from CBC there are several comments referencing mom. My mom - in my yearbook. This is what I’m talking about. 

Her story will live on in all of you, her family, her brothers and sisters in law, uncles, aunts, cousins and more. You are the lucky ones who knew her and were loved and cherished by her her entire life. She loved you every single day of her 76 years and counted herself blessed beyond measure to call you her family. You were everything to her.

Her legacy lives on in my dad. That man right there, to whom she was married for more than 54 years. In many ways her polar opposite, but together a remarkable team. Her love and devotion and her very tender heart has undoubtedly and indelibly changed him. They balanced each other, challenged each other and found their way through life together, raising three kids with love and grace and leaning into their roles as grandparents in ways that brought out the absolute best in them both.

Mom’s legacy lives on, in various forms, through my sisters and me. We might not bake like she did, or cry quite as easily (questionable), but I know when I look at my sisters I see so much of her beautiful and pure heart: her generosity, thoughtfulness and endless compassion. 

I look at those 9 faces there, those beautiful faces whom she loved more than I could ever say, in ways that were so specific, thoughtful and personal to each of them. And I know that without a doubt her story lives on through each of those precious grandchildren. If they inherit a fraction of her tender heart, sharp intellect or zest for life the world will be a better place. They are quite literally her living legacy and the ones whose losses grieve me the most, the ones who lost their Mormor. They were the very luckiest kids alive to have her and I would have done just about anything to keep their Mormor in their lives if I could have. 

I know it’s the easy way out to use words that aren’t my own, but I remember thinking years ago, when mom was still alive and well, that Nichole Nordeman’s song ‘Legacy’ could have been written about her. In it she says, “I want to leave a legacy, how will they remember me, did I choose to love, did I point to you enough to make a mark on things? I want to leave an offering. A child of mercy and grace who blessed your name unapologetically. I want to leave that kind of legacy.”

And that’s exactly what mom did.

One of her last days in hospice, when speaking was becoming difficult, mom made a point of telling me she was concerned about me not having her around anymore, no longer having my love for her reciprocated. I assured her I am fortunate enough to be well-loved by so many, and more to the point, the love she spent a lifetime giving will not simply disappear.

I don’t know if I will ever accept that she’s gone. I’m not sure I can. And maybe that’s OK, because then maybe she never really will be - not when she’s left all this love behind.

Merry Christmas card 2021

 

The Johnson family started 2021 with 4 COVID cases and is ending it with five fully vaccinated members! We are deeply grateful for this full circle. We took advantage of the flexibility of remote schooling and Adam's work with as many trips and getaways as we could fit in and even managed to extend our yearly New England visit to a full month as we added a special all-Hendrickson trip to enjoy limited, precious time together. Anna (11, grade 5) and Etta (7, grade 2) are thrilled to be back to in-person school this year and Thea (5) started Kindergarten this fall! They've all adapted well to the significant changes, but mom and dad have taken longer to get used to all the quiet after 18 months of being together 24/7. Adam has spent his time doing home projects (adding plumbing to his repertoire), and Sheri is allowing herself space to process and prioritize while taking on some interior design consulting work. We've welcomed the busy-ness of this slightly more normal fall with all the sports (so much soccer!), church, small group, Girl Scouts etc returning to in-person (albeit masked).

Joy and laughter fills our days, even as we struggle through some of our hardest times. Our People have shown us what it looks like to love well simply by showing up for us, and we are profoundly grateful for each of them, for you.

May peace, goodwill with all abide this Holy Christmastide,

Sheri, Adam, Anna, Etta & Thea

Merry Christmas card 2020

 Since I've neglected this little blog entirely, I failed to post last year's Christmas card, but am sharing 2020s with two text versions, both equally true and indicative of just how much perspective and spin changes things - or just what mood I'm in when I write. :)

*also, I can't upload the actual Christmas card because I'm having problems with the website. But here is our pic.

When we look back on 2020 we see the chaos we've all experienced, the quarantine, the loneliness, the remote learning, everything that COVID so kindly gave us. We also remember the many trips and adventures we managed to safely take, the ways we coped, the memories we made together at home, the things we missed desperately, the things we didn't realize we take for granted, the fun we always manage to have. Our year was "unprecedented" as they like to say, not just with the macro-level crazy, but with personal pain and uncertainty - stories that shaped us but aren't ours to share. It's hard to put words on this year that I count as a great gift and a tremendous trial, a year that highlihgted our relentless privilege and good fortune, and a year that brought us to our knees. What we know with certainty looking back on this year so many of us would like to forget is while we are a little battered and bruised we remain the very luckiest people we know - we have each other and we have you. 

Peace, goodwill with all abide this Holy Christmastide.

Love, Adam, Sheri, Anna (10), Etta (6.5) & Thea (4)

alternate version:

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

2020 brought the Johnsons all kinds of mayhem and melancholy both COVID related and not. We started out the year on a high with a dream ski trip and then descended quickly into lock down, remote learning and fear, uncertainty and sadness. As a hospitalist at the VA here in Seattle, Adam has been taking care of COVID patients since March, but thankfully has avoided the virus himself (he has half a dozen tests to prove it!). Our social, active Anna (10!) has been living her worst nightmare without school, activities and sports. However, she has impressed and surprised us with her adaptability and her love for learning has enabled her to enjoy remote learning even as she mourns for in-person school and the million activities that make up her preferred schedule. Etta (6.5), meanwhile, is living her best life at home and with her family 24/7. Our little homebody has ne'er a complaint about what COVID has meant for her even as she 'claims' to miss school, church and friends. They both are fortunate to have fantastic teachers (4th and 1st grade) and a dear school family that we desperately miss. Thea, now 4, complains incessantly about missing her 'school' and Tot Bop and Story Time and gymastics and and and, however, since she now has pretty much constant attention from not 1 but 4 members of the family nobody feels that badly for her. I (Sheri) have clearly abandoned any career or hobby interests this year and focused on, well, getting us through this. While all my previous suspicions that homeschooling was not meant for me have been clearly verified, I find myself secretly grateful for all this low-key time that we've had together. I hate to admit that as anxious as I am for 'a return to normal' I'm going to miss having the girls home immensely - some times. 

Because we are who we are and we know what we need, we took as many vacations, trips and adventures as we safely could and as always, those remain precious highlights for us. We so look forward to being able to travel freely to and with our people, whose absence we feel more keenly every single day.

Apart from our families and presented with more than our fair share of sobering news, this year has brought us plenty of pain and hardship, but we are also keenly aware of how privileged and lucky we are to be unscathed by this horrific pandemic and how fortunate we are to look back with gratitude on a time that brought us even closer when it's devastated and destroyed so very many. We remind ourselves to take nothing for granted and to be grateful for each and every day. 

Which brings us to you, our dear family and friends. We miss you desperately and long for the day we can hug your faces again. 

May peace, goodwill with all abide this Holy Christmastide.

Love, the Johnsons

Merry Christmas Card 2018

Merry Christmas!

2018 has been a great year for our little family with lots of travel and adventure. Anna (8, Grade 2) loves being the oldest child, school, soccer, ballet, gymnastics, soccer, sewing, soccer and keeping herself busy at all times. Etta (4.5) loves having her own life with HER preschool and ballet class. She's counting down the days until she's 5 and in Kindergarten (sob!) and wants nothing more than to be as big a kid as Anna. Thea (2) erroneously insists she's a "toddler" instead of a "baby" and continues to adore her big sisters even as she spends most of her time terrorizing them. We in turn adore her and her 'spunk', even though it might kill us. Speaking of things that might kill us, we began a kitchen remodel when school started and are hoping against hope that we'll be all done by the time all our parents/grandparents join us for Christmas (yay!).

We are grateful beyond measure for our many gifts and feel as though we are the luckiest family around.

May Peace, Goodwill with all abide this Holy Christmastide.

Love, Adam, Sheri, Anna, Etta & Thea

A better person

If there is one thing that I know for sure about parenthood, it's that being a mother has made me a better person. Unequivocally.

Don't mishear me, I'm no saint. But there are three small children who are with me all my waking hours, hear all the words I say, see the expressions on my face and know how I spend my time. Three children who look to me for guidance, love me fiercely and follow me blindly. For better or for worse, it's my voice they listen to, and my acceptance they strive for. I am acutely aware of my influence on their lives. It's a glorious burden to bear.

And so I'm learning that I have to actually BE the person I SAY I am. I hope it's not an enormous adjustment and that I've always lived some semblance of the principled life I have strived for. Even so, the alignment has become tighter and the details attended to more minute. We spend our time and our energy teaching our kids the values we hold most dear. We talk about what we stand for as a family, and are intentional about establishing overarching values and goals that influence our life on a grand scale and our parenting on a daily one. The conversations are endless, between Adam and I, and between us and our kids, seeking constantly to teach that they are loved, valued, cherished, accepted, safe. We revisit constantly the ways we can instill in them that they are brave, strong, kind, enough. We try to teach them to listen to their inner voice, to use their words to express their hearts, to stand firm in their convictions, to look out for others and themselves. To love big, fully, unconditionally. To be gracious, forgiving, thoughtful, giving. To be bold, courageous, adventurous. To be all the many things God created them to be. We worry, we stress, I may even obsess about how we can best equip these little wonders to be their best selves, to live their best lives, to make their world the best place it can be.

It's so hard.

And we fall SO short.

But in the trying, we are succeeding, and where we fail we rely on God's grace.

And we know that all our words will ring hollow if they stand alone.

They are listening to our words, but they are copying our actions.

I am constantly telling the girls they can do hard things, and so I must do hard things, too. I tell them I am proud of them, so I tell myself I'm proud of me, too. I want them to be unhindered and joyful, and so I sing and dance with abandon. I want them to stand up for themselves, so they hear me stand up for them, and for myself too. I want them to love reading and the world it will open for them, so I make sure they see their mother reading books instead of playing on my phone. I want them to use their beautiful imaginations and so I must engage with mine. I want them to love being outside, testing their limits, listening to their bodies and so I show them I do the same with mine. I want them to be persistent so they need to see my persistence. I want them to care about justice and the well-being of others so they need to see me out there, getting my hands dirty and doing the work I say I care about. I want them to cling fiercely to their beliefs and convictions so they need to see how firm I stand in mine. I want them to listen to the voices deep in their heart so I have to show them that I am listening to mine. I want them to follow their dreams so I have to show them that I am following mine, too.

It's tremendously inconvenient to align my words with my actions, but it's profoundly freeing as well. One great gift of parenting has been learning that I, in fact, can be any type of person I want to be. It's not too late to be the things I hope my girls will be. In fact, it's necessary that I am.

I want the world for them.

I am claiming the world for myself.

Raising our girls to be the best people they can be has forced my hand.

Merry Christmas Card 2017

Merry Christmas!

Since you last heard from us in 2015 (oops!), Thea Bea (Th-ee-ah Bee) joined our family and changed our lives in all the best and most inconvenient ways. If you walked into our house unannounced (please do!) you'd likely find Anna (now 7, Grade 1) jumping on the furniture or practicing a soccer or gymnastics 'move' and telling us in detail everything she did or learned or thought that day. Etta (3.5, preschool), singing a song, wearing a costume, and deep in imagination-land would be bringing out all the just put away choking hazards in the house and hiding Thea's toys where she can't reach. For her part, Thea, (15 mo) would be walking around screaming at the top of her lungs with a pair of Etta's underwear on her head and said choking hazard in her mouth while throwing our most valuable possessions in the trash, never to be seen again. Adam, home from work as a Hospitalist at theVA, would have 3 kids crawling all over him as he tries to tell Sheri about his day over the din of Casper Babypants. Sheri would be putting off making dinner, nodding politely, futilely asking everytone to PLEASE BE QUIET and wondering if she can go to bed yet.

Other days, Adam's off work and we pick Anna up from school and see what local adventure we can fit in, what park we haven't yet explored, what beach we haven't been to recently. We dream about skiing as a family this winter, reminisce about the fun trips we've taken this last year (Panorama, the Cottage, Pilgrim Pines, Mesquite), dream about the ones that lie ahead and scheme about fitting in even more. We do our best to fill our days with wonder and fun, laughter and love, lots of fresh air and so very much joy. We feel without a doubt we're the very luckiest people around and we are so grateful.

May Peace, Goodwill with all abide this Holy Christmastide.

Love, the Johnsons

Summer

This time tomorrow I will be frantically shoving scrambled eggs in my kids mouths and trying desperately not to be late for the first day of school. So, today I sit here in the quiet while my girls get one last sleep-in, enjoying my coffee and pre-breakfast cookie, waiting for them to emerge from their room sleepy-eyed and snuggly and not in any sort of rush at all.

It's been the summer of water (lakes, sounds, oceans, creeks, pools, spray parks, wading pools, waterparks and sprinklers), of gymnastics and soccer and sports and swimming and biking. It was the summer of lost teeth, skinned knees and sandy feet. The summer of illness, too. It's been the summer of our backyard - parties and sprinklers and trampoline jumping; 'soup making' and flower crowns and tea parties and so many dinners on the deck. We went to war with the wasps and fed flies to the spiders and painted rocks and sold lemonade. We ate 'summer cereal' and too many treats, played board games on the deck and told bedtime stories on the trampoline as Thea crawled all over us. We sang Moana at the top of our lungs and would stay in the same clothes for days on end. It's been a summer of perfect weather and wide open windows. We had a July filled with big, special trips and an August filled with simple, special days. It was the summer Thea stopped being a little baby, Etta finished with diapers and Anna learned to braid her own hair. It was the summer of 'sisters' where an already tight bond grew immeasurably stronger which means, of course, it was the summer of bickering, too. It was the summer where I didn't get a moment to myself, checked nothing off my 'to do' list and didn't mind nearly as much as usual. It was a summer that wasn't as perfect as now it sounds, filled with its own frustrations big and small, and plenty a plaintiff 'what are we going to do today?' but now on this last day this is what I remember.

And I am so grateful.

Jack

Oh my little women,

We had to say goodbye to your cat brother yesterday, a couple days ago as Etta would say. It's been hard. So much harder than I ever imagined. You have been great, done great. You are so strong and resilient. Me, not so much. You miss him, well Anna does. Etta doesn't quite understand and Thea just blows bubbles. But Anna, you were sad, and brave and mostly protective and sorry for me. I'm proud of your resiliency. I hope we can let you process.

I want you girls to know a little about him. He was wonderful. He was terrible, too, but we loved him so much and he loved you. He hated everyone, but he loved you fiercely.

He was a crazy cat and could have been such a danger to you, but somehow he knew you were off limits. There were moments of course, but on the whole he put up with you and gave to you grace that he wouldn't begin to muster for anyone else. You loved him, even though you were scared of him. You were used to his presence and he made you laugh. He filled our house with so much craziness and frustration and love. We all felt it in so many ways.

I'm sorry you had to experience loss this early in life and I'm so proud of how you have been facing it head on. You didn't run away from any of it. You even looked at his lifeless body and buried him in the backyard. You saw me cry and grieve in a way that you've never seen before and can't possibly understand. It scared you, I know and for that I'm sorry.

But we're teaching you that it's OK to feel anything you feel. It's OK to be sad. And so, you must see me be sad and let me be sad. It's a hard lesson.

When we were burying him I told you that being sad was OK because it showed how happy we were. If he hadn't been happy, if he hadn't meant so very much we wouldn't be sad. All emotions are connected and we hope to show you how to accept them, navigate them, embrace them even when it's so very hard.

I'm devastated by this loss. I miss him more than I can ever say. I'm more sad than I thought I could be and I want to thank you for letting me. Thanks for the cards, and words and hugs and kisses and thanks for letting me cry.

Jack loved you. I love you, too.

Forever,

Mama

Today, I grieve

I wrote this because I need desperately to process and grieve. If you feel differently by all means enjoy your unencumbered heart, but please refrain from dishonoring mine with your words.

Anna's school canceled a lock-down drill today because children were coming to school anxious and scared about the results of last night's election and didn't need to be reminded that someone might come in and shoot them in their classroom.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Last night Anna learned that Hillary Clinton might lose the election. She cried. She asked me if Donald Trump was going to kill her because she heard kids said that he is a 'bad guy' and that's what they do in movies. I comforted her and told her (again) that he's not a 'bad guy' and he wasn't going to kill anyone. I told her it was still early and we wouldn't know until the morning who won. I told her it was going to be OK no matter what happened. I thought about how sad it is that she might grow up scared of the next President regardless of the logic. I thought about how there are many real reasons to fear.

This morning Anna came into our room and asked who won the election. I swallowed hard, looked away and took a deep breath. I struggled to keep my voice steady and stated that Donald Trump did. She saw my tears and she cried, too. She kept saying that she was sorry and she kept asking if it was going to be OK. I kept telling her that she would be OK. I told her nothing would change in our family or our house. I told her it was even more important now that we are kind and love and take care of the people that Donald Trump isn't so nice to. She asked if he would be mean to her and I said of course not and that she would probably never meet him, but that if she did he would probably be really nice to her.

I was going to wake Anna up last night and bring her downstairs to see the first female be elected President of the United States of America. I was going to share that seminal moment with her. A moment that would have been historic and powerful for me, but would have been normal for her. She wasn't going to have to know any better.

But here we are trying to find the words to calm her fears without lying to her and lying to her anyway because we don't know how to tell her that this man who is hateful to so many, who has said things we can't repeat, who wants to turn away the very people Jesus wants us to invite in will be leading this country. I can't look her in the eye and tell her everything is OK when millions of people decided to put him in charge despite all this, or worse, because all this. It is not OK.

I went to bed lying to myself that it was going to be alright and woke up this morning with the realization that I'm not so much scared of what he will do, or try to do, but I am absolutely terrified by what has been done. Hatred, bigotry, sexism, racism and fear has been endorsed by millions upon millions of Americans. Make no mistake, a vote is an endorsement.

And this is where we are raising our daughters.

I was praying in the shower, tears falling down my face. I felt grateful and guilty with the realization that our children will probably remain largely directly unaffected, that in fact some of the unjust systems that will be perpetuated are the systems from which they already benefit. I felt angry and scared that we teach our daughters proper terminology and consent so they can protect themselves from the very thing that the President elect has bragged about doing. I felt helpless that he was elected despite such fervent and vocal opposition and then convicted that in fact for those of us who believe that love truly does trump hate that the work has just now begun.

I believe this - that now is when the real work begins. We fight back. We love bigger, we give more generously, we believe the best in people, we advocate for others. We don't give up. We don't agree with the vitriol coming from the White House so we model grace and compassion and justice in our homes. Our children may not see decency and character or even common courtesy in leadership but they will see it in us. We live with integrity. We live what we believe. We will be the change we want so desperately to see.

Yet...

Her school canceled a lock-down drill today because children were coming to school anxious and scared about the results of last night's election and didn't need to be reminded that someone might come in and shoot them in their classroom. And this morning, in that very classroom where they practice those drills, Anna put her hand over her heart and pledged allegiance to this country.

...

I remain committed to the good work, to sharing the Love and living in hope, but today, today I just need to cry.

Today, I grieve

I wrote this because I need desperately to process and grieve. If you feel differently by all means enjoy your unencumbered heart, but please refrain from dishonoring mine with your words.

Anna's school canceled a lock-down drill today because children were coming to school anxious and scared about the results of last night's election and didn't need to be reminded that someone might come in and shoot them in their classroom.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Last night Anna learned that Hillary Clinton might lose the election. She cried. She asked me if Donald Trump was going to kill her because she heard kids said that he is a 'bad guy' and that's what they do in movies. I comforted her and told her (again) that he's not a 'bad guy' and he wasn't going to kill anyone. I told her it was still early and we wouldn't know until the morning who won. I told her it was going to be OK no matter what happened. I thought about how sad it is that she might grow up scared of the next President regardless of the logic. I thought about how there are many real reasons to fear.

This morning Anna came into our room and asked who won the election. I swallowed hard, looked away and took a deep breath. I struggled to keep my voice steady and stated that Donald Trump did. She saw my tears and she cried, too. She kept saying that she was sorry and she kept asking if it was going to be OK. I kept telling her that she would be OK. I told her nothing would change in our family or our house. I told her it was even more important now that we are kind and love and take care of the people that Donald Trump isn't so nice to. She asked if he would be mean to her and I said of course not and that she would probably never meet him, but that if she did he would probably be really nice to her.

I was going to wake Anna up last night and bring her downstairs to see the first female be elected President of the United States of America. I was going to share that seminal moment with her. A moment that would have been historic and powerful for me, but would have been normal for her. She wasn't going to have to know any better.

But here we are trying to find the words to calm her fears without lying to her and lying to her anyway because we don't know how to tell her that this man who is hateful to so many, who has said things we can't repeat, who wants to turn away the very people Jesus wants us to invite in will be leading this country. I can't look her in the eye and tell her everything is OK when millions of people decided to put him in charge despite all this, or worse, because all this. It is not OK.

I went to bed lying to myself that it was going to be alright and woke up this morning with the realization that I'm not so much scared of what he will do, or try to do, but I am absolutely terrified by what has been done. Hatred, bigotry, sexism, racism and fear has been endorsed by millions upon millions of Americans. Make no mistake, a vote is an endorsement.

And this is where we are raising our daughters.

I was praying in the shower, tears falling down my face. I felt grateful and guilty with the realization that our children will probably remain largely directly unaffected, that in fact some of the unjust systems that will be perpetuated are the systems from which they already benefit. I felt angry and scared that we teach our daughters proper terminology and consent so they can protect themselves from the very thing that the President elect has bragged about doing. I felt helpless that he was elected despite such fervent and vocal opposition and then convicted that in fact for those of us who believe that love truly does trump hate that the work has just now begun.

I believe this - that now is when the real work begins. We fight back. We love bigger, we give more generously, we believe the best in people, we advocate for others. We don't give up. We don't agree with the vitriol coming from the White House so we model grace and compassion and justice in our homes. Our children may not see decency and character or even common courtesy in leadership but they will see it in us. We live with integrity. We live what we believe. We will be the change we want so desperately to see.

Yet...

Her school canceled a lock-down drill today because children were coming to school anxious and scared about the results of last night's election and didn't need to be reminded that someone might come in and shoot them in their classroom. And this morning, in that very classroom where they practice those drills, Anna put her hand over her heart and pledged allegiance to this country.

...

I remain committed to the good work, to sharing the Love and living in hope, but today, today I just need to cry.

What I want her Kindergarten teacher to know

I wrote this a couple weeks ago. Since then we've met with her teacher and she's had her first day. I'm proud to report she enjoyed her first day of school and I was more or less able to reign myself in during our meeting. Her teacher told us that his goals are for each student to feel valued, safe and respected. I didn't have much to add after that.

Next week we meet with Anna's Kindergarten teacher before school starts. These meetings are new this year. They want to provide a time for parents and teachers to meet and talk about the student and what the parents hope for their child in their first year in school.

Anna will be in Mr. Zillig's class and the first thing I want to tell him is that I'm sorry he has to have these meetings. I mean, honestly. He has to sit with 25 odd parents and hear how special their kid is and all the ways in which he should cater to them specifically and I'm pretty sure his job is already hard enough.

I also want to tell him that he IS SO INCREDIBLY LUCKY TO HAVE ANNA IN HIS CLASS BECAUSE SHE IS THE MOST SPECIAL GIRL IN THE WORLD AND HE BETTER TREAT HER RIGHT.

So there's that.

However, I strive to be a semi-rational being (despite post-partum hormones) so I'm going to go for something in between if I can find the words. How do we begin to tell him about our girl? This nuanced, complex, phenomenal human being? How do we put to words the hopes and worries we have for her as she ventures into the rest of her life? How do we remove our neuroses and baggage and focus on her? It's a tall order, and there will always be more I will want to tell him if only I could find the words or had the nerve.

But for now, this is what I want to say:

Our greatest hope for Anna this year has nothing to do with reading and writing. Our biggest wish is simply this: that she will be seen, that she will be known, that she will be safe.

We want her to be seen. Simply to be seen. Not lost in the shuffle or overlooked because she is compliant and well behaved. We want her to be noticed. Please try to see her.

We want her to be known. We want her to be known in the ways that she will reveal herself to you, to us, to the world as she continues to grow and learn. We want her to be validated and encouraged and challenged. We hope she will be known for who she truly is, and not who you think she will be, nor whom we have described her to be, but who she is. Please try to get to know her.

We want her to be safe. I worry for her physical safety and I long for her emotional security. We hope for a safe place to be herself - to feel her big feelings, to share her huge heart, to bear her vulnerable self when she so chooses. We want her to feel safe to learn and question and push her boundaries. Please try to keep her safe.

She's a girl filled with emotions so big and so strong and so powerful. Her compassion, empathy and passion are her guiding light, and they are her achilles heel. She is deeply thoughtful and caring, affectionate and loyal. She is keenly sensitive and empathetic. She is an observer and takes her time, makes up her own mind and commits to something with no less than 100% devotion, persistence and dedication. She is determined to the point of obstinance and frustrated so very easily. So easily. She demands perfection of herself and will either give up in a fit of frustration or work tirelessly till she accomplishes her goal. She is not thick skinned, but will put up with any amount of blood and pain and sweat if, and only if, it's her decision. She's a leader, but not a loud one. She's a team player yet she's fiercely competitive. She cares about everyone and everything and feels the pain of all around her. Chances are she will do well in school. She is social, self-sufficient, craves structure and order and simply LOVES to learn.

She will light up the classroom with that smile of hers and she could set the world on fire with all the love she has inside.

She's a million things all at once. And she's our baby girl.

And so that is our loftiest hope - that you might see her, know her and keep her safe.

Anna, in her preschool teachers' words

Anna absolutely loved preschool. She loved it from day one. She thrived. She was safe, she was known, she was happy. She loved her teachers and they loved her. We had a tight knit group of students and parents who took care of each other. We are so grateful for the two years she spent there, and we miss it already.

It was such a gift to have teachers who were invested in their students and who truly delighted in them. They understood Anna and they appreciated her for her. I brought them a copy of Dr Seuss' 'Oh, the Places You Will Go' and asked them to write a few words to her. I'm so very glad I did. You should see her face when I read their words to her (through my tears).

Here's what they had to say:

Anna,

I am so excited for your future and for the person you will become, because already, at 5 years old - you lead with your heart. During times of challenge, you will succeed if you remember to stick to your heart, because it is strong and smart. I have had the best time being your teacher, not because of what I have taught you, but what I have learned from you. The kindness and creativity you share - it is both impressive and delightful. I hope you always go through life with the same unique, imaginative spirit that you had here.

Forever wishing you well,

Miss Caty

Anna,

Thank you so much for all the love and light you bring into the classroom every day. Your kindness and enthusiasm for learning is so infectious - one of my favorite things about being a teacher has been looking out during circle time and seeing your eyes light up as we talk about the world and new ideas.

Anna, your future is as BIG as your heart. There's no doubt in my mind that you will succeed at everything you put your mind to. Because already, at five years old you carry such a strong sense of who you are and I admire you so much because of that. You are a brave leader; I can't wait to witness all the amazing things you'll achieve!

I'll miss your giggles and stylish sunglasses! Keep on smiling. :)

Forever your friend,

Miss CC

Joy to the World

This last Sunday I shared why Joy to the World is one of my favorite Christmas carols. In typical fashion, I didn't write it out and so stuttered and hemmed and hawed, struggling to articulate the words in my head. 

This is what I was trying to say.

I love advent. I cherish the time of preparation, the solemn darkness of the weeks leading up to Christmas. I'm glad we don't skip over advent and rush straight into Christmas, missing all the nuances, all the reasons why Christmas is. We reflect on the peace, hope, joy, and light that Christmas will bring. And we long. Oh, how we long. O Come, O Come Emmanuel! It speaks to my heart, advent does.

And this year advent has felt particularly important, relevant, needed. But it's also felt extra dark. The darkness that we live in both figuratively and literally is heavy and thick. We need no reminders. We are already longing for the light.

But sometimes I long so much for peace and hope and light I forget about joy. How dare we dream of joy when peace and love and even basic kindness seem so far from reach? Joy is audacious. Joy is a luxury. How do we sing of joy in a world so broken?

I feel comfortable in advent - ruminating, praying, hoping, expecting. I know how to live here, waiting for the light to come.

I'm not so good at proclaiming that the light HAS come to a world still so dark.

But at Christmas we rejoice! We are given a reason, THE reason to rejoice, and the joy is undeniable. We claim it. We proclaim it. We sing Joy to the World and we remember that there is joy - great joy and we rejoice. As we should.

...

Joy to the World reminds me of my Grandpa, a most joy-filled man. I can hear him singing loudly, swinging his arms and holding the notes longer than everyone else for extra emphasis. Joy to the World reminds me of times spent singing Christmas carols around my mom's piano and it reminds me of a drive home from the mountains when Adam and I sang carols a cappella with my grandparents the whole way home. It reminds me of Grandpa leading the Christmas Eve service when he would visit our church in Calgary and how we'd end with candles and Silent Night. But as I remember it, Joy to the World was the real finale, the most fitting way to end a Christmas service. Because... JOY also, has the final word.

JOY TO THE WORLD
The Lord is come
Let earth receive her King
Let every heart prepare him room
And heaven and nature sing
And heaven and nature sing
And heaven and heaven and nature sing

Joy to the earth
the Savior reigns
Let all their songs employ
While fields and floods
Rocks, hills and plains
Repeat the sounding joy
Repeat the sounding joy
Repeat, repeat the sounding joy

No more let sin and sorrows grow
Nor thorns infest the ground
He comes to make his blessings flow
Far as the curse is found
Far as the curse is found
Far as, far as, the curse is found.

amen.

a letter to a friend - on pregnancy

I have a couple of friends who are expecting their first babies soon. One wrote to me asking for advice and opinions on baby gear and maternity clothes. This is what I wrote instead because this is what I have to say (barely edited, unpolished). She said it should be published so I'm posting it here. Maybe you need to hear the words, too.

Oh my dear friend,

Pregnancy is super fun isn't it? I hope you let yourself feel EVERYTHING that you feel and don't listen to anyone's nonsense of how it's supposed to be. Don't let anyone make you feel like this pregnancy erases the pain of your last. Actually, don't listen to anyone at all.

I loved being pregnant with Anna when I didn't hate it. Less so with Etta. And there's all the stress and worry and disappointment when you're trying and then the fear amplifies when you're finally pregnant and simply explodes when your baby is born.

It's all crazy.

And so SO hard.

BUT.

Through all the terrible parts of it: the illness, the loss of control and autonomy, the mourning of a closing of a chapter, and all the crazy hormones there is still this... a baby. And no matter what happens, just as it was the first time but surely with a happier ending this time, your life will be forever changed. And I would say that it's always hard and never easy but oh my goodness, so profoundly incredible.

As far as pregnancy and baby advice I mean it when I say don't listen to anyone. Seriously. Other than this: don't be an a**hole - vaccinate your kids. Also, you need LESS stuff than you think. Way less. But most of all, in pregnancy, in motherhood, in all things - GRACE. Give yourself some grace. If you're like you'll feel like a huge screw up all the time and convinced you have ruined your kids forever. You'll look at these most beautiful, awe-inspiring creatures and think that you have taken all the good in them and tarnished it will all your terrible parenting and you will torture yourself with regret and good intentions. So try to remember the wise words of Glennon Doyle Melton and 'don't be so busy trying to raise a good kid that you forget you HAVE a good kid.' You will love your kid well so you have already won this war. Plus you have your husband and he's amazing. A husband who is truly your partner in this and a dad who will really be a parent. And you are strong - so strong and level, grounded. So remember that. Don't forget who you are.

And there's this. I still tell Anna every night that I love her more than anyone has ever loved anything ever before. I know it's not true, but I feel like it is. And every time I say it I feel a bit heretical knowing a God whose love is so much greater than any I can comprehend. But I say it because caveats are confusing, but I remember that there IS that caveat and am grateful to my toes for it. I don't feel God's love the way I feel the all-consuming love for my kids and there is guilt with that for sure. But I'm learning and understanding God's love in an all new way. I never knew I could love something so much, and it just blows me away to fathom a love greater than this. And to share that with my kids, to have them feel secure and grounded in all this Love, well how incredible is that?! By extension I'm understanding how loved I am a little better, too.

This is the bad news... the fear, the knowing better - that doesn't go away. And sadly for you, you know all too well the reasons we have to fear. And I don't know how things will be for you. I don't know if your loss will highlight your gratitude or shadow it, or more likely, both. But I know that being a parent is the most gut-wrenching, terrifying, disorienting experience I can imagine. And there is so much fear. I don't know how to cope with it other than living with it but I do know that the joy that is found in the present is stronger than the fear that lies in the future. Most of the time. Minute by minute, the little undeniable joys of parenthood make the fear and the uncertainty worth it somehow. It's only in letting myself feel the joy (and there is so much) that I am starting to combat the ever persistent fear. It's hard to do, wanting instead to to hedge against my fear so there isn't so much to lose (God forbid) but when I let myself enjoy all I have, oh my goodness, what joy there is. Learn to embrace the joy.

So... I've answered none of your questions and rambled about nothing but for today that is what I have.

Feel all the feels.
Give yourself some grace.
Vaccinate your kids.

I love you, I really do. You are one of the good ones.

xo,

Sheri

Merry Christmas Card - 2015

Merry Christmas from the Johnsons!

Our 2015 was filled with love, laughter and a whole lot of fun. Anna (5) and Etta (1.5) bring us so much joy with their silly, sassy and sweet selves. We kept busy this year traveling to visit family and making memories of our own in our beloved Seattle.

We're grateful for you and miss you. Please come visit!

Praying that peace, goodwill with all abide this Holy Christmastide,

Adam, Sheri, Anna & Etta Johnson

hard conversations

The other morning at breakfast Anna and I were reviewing safety drills: what to do if there is a fire, an earthquake, a gun.

I had a stomach ache the whole time we were talking and she was crawling around on her knees, looking for a safe spot to wait out the imaginary earthquake. My anxiety is bad enough. I don't need help imagining all the horrific things that could happen to our daughters. I hate these conversations. I hate this reality.

Later that day I faced another not-so-fun conversation as Anna headed off to a new friend's house for a playdate: the ever-awkward 'do you have a gun in your house' talk. It's great preschool drop-off chit chat. 'Is your daughter feeling better? Nice to have a break from the rain, isn't it?  Do you have a (unsecured) gun in the house?'

It's not my favorite conversation. I'd really rather skip it.

But I didn't skip it. And the other mom thanked me for it. She's new to this country and she's terrified of the guns, too. She was glad to know that others asked. She wants to ask. These hard conversations may be the least we can do but at least they are something we can do.

This all makes me so mad. I hate that we have to have these conversations. I'm furious this is our reality. And I'm so very, very angry at my inability to do anything about it. It's bad enough that the earth beneath us could start shaking at any moment and literally bring everything around us crumbling to the ground. But guns? Terrorists? Violence? She's going to Kindergarten next year and there she will learn what to do if someone comes into her classroom and starts shooting. They have to teach that now, just like stop, drop and roll. And she has to learn it because, oh God, because.

I don't know how to keep her safe. I can't keep her safe. It's the most unfair and horrible part of parenting. It's enough to paralyze me. I don't know what to do other than have the hard conversations.

I write

I have something to say and if I don't say it now I worry I might never.

I write.

Not necessarily well, and maybe never professionally. I will likely never get paid, and it doesn't really matter to me if others read my words.

What matters to me is that I write.

I wrote an email response to a friend today. I typed the words that were on my heart without edit or caveat. I let the words come naturally and fully. Not what I had planned on writing but what was truly on my heart. Just that simple act, an email, and my heart felt lighter, more settled because writing, as it turns out, is my catharsis.

And there are so many reasons why I haven't written, and why I may not still. But for today, I write.

I write because I want my girls to find their voices and to use them. I owe it to them to do the same.

I write because I am learning to say 'yes'.  Out of self preservation I default to 'no'  but I have been discovering the freedom that can come in saying 'yes'.

I write because in writing I make sense of my thoughts, my fears, my world. It connects me to myself, grounds me, calms me. It's the cheapest and most effective therapy I know.

I write because I do it anyway, all the time. Even though I rarely get them down, I formulate my thoughts into words constantly: in the shower, at night when I lay awake, in the car while I'm driving. And I wish I had them all recorded, all those thoughts, because for me writing is my living archive - the best way I know to process and preserve what is important to me. I write to my girls privately, sharing with them as honestly and openly and without any reservation what my heart longs for them to know, what I fear I've failed to express, what I desperately need them to remember. God forbid something happens to me, the biggest gift I can leave my girls are my words because in reading my words they will know my heart. And my heart is really all I have to give.

I write because of a few words of encouragement I've recently received. The kind of words that mean something from a voice that doesn't placate. Unsolicited, measured, premeditated, and heartfelt words that will give me life should I let them. Words that ought to be taken to heart.

I write because that voice in my head that reminds me that there are millions of better writers out there so why should I bother is a lie. I write so that I may name that lie. I write to fight its power. I write because my voice might not be a great one, but it is uniquely mine.

I write because life is short but it's never too late.

And I write because of that fire in my bones, simmering always there under the surface. Because when I write I can feel the warmth of the flames.

Roots and Wings and learning to walk

I'm changing Etta's diaper this morning kissing her belly, listening to her sweet coos, feeling her soft hands on my face, heart full and overflowing with gratitude and joy. And I can't help but think: it's only days now, really. Just days.

It will be days until she's walking and crawling will be a thing of the past. The delight we get in watching her bum sway from side to side as she quickly scoots across the room will be no more. It'll be days too until she's using more and more 'real' words, less baby talk, less cooing. Days until she's fully toddler and not so much baby. One of these days she won't throw herself on the ground and roll around in ecstasies of delight and soon she'll stop crawling over to us just to give a hug, complete with a pat pat on the back. She might stop saying MUAH as she generously gives us 'almost' all the kisses we ask for. She might even stop giving us kisses. She might not nod her head in the same way, or say no so cutely and shake her head so violently that it makes us laugh for much longer. One of these days she won't giggle the same way and her buck tooth grin will give way to a smile full of teeth. Her perfectly plump legs will continue to thin out until what was 3 rolls becomes none at all. She'll find more words and stop using 'dis!' for everything she wants and 'mama' for everything she loves. She'll stop grinning and kissing everything and sticking her bottom lip out and crying when we say no.

And I know, I know that there will be new things. New moments. New delights. Better ones even.

But still. As we all know, it goes by SO fast.

And so I think about my ultimate parenting goal. The motto that hung on a plaque in my grandparents home. One that struck me even from a young age:

There are two gifts we should give our children: one is roots and the other is wings.

Roots and wings, eh?

Simple and impossible at the same time. One can't have both roots and wings! And yet that's what we do in this thing called parenting. This is what we try to equip them with. This is it. Really! Roots and wings.

Roots that go deep so they know they are safe, secure, loved, accepted. Family and friends and community and traditions that allow their roots to grow deep and strong. So they know who they are, whose they are, where they belong. Roots that help them weather the storms that will come their way. Roots that give them strength and nourishment to grow tall. Roots that anchor them tight as year after year they stretch to the skies and grow. To reach for the sun - the light that nourishes. Roots? Yes, I want to give them roots.

And wings. Wings to fly? Do I really want them to fly? Away from me and the relative safety I fool myself into thinking I provide? The answer is yes. A resounding and begrudging yes. I want to give them wings - their very own pair that will look nothing like mine. Wings that will take them where they want to go. Wings that will scare and excite with their speed and strength. Wings that will push their limits and open their horizons. Wings that will overwhelm with the thrill and promise of freedom. Wings that will let them explore and soar. Wings that will let them be who they are created to be. Wings that will let them live. Wings? Yes, I want to give them wings as much as I might be tempted to clip them.

So Etta's learning to walk. She's in that stage where she can stand on her own and could take a step if she dared but she seems set on building her stability first. Practice, practice, practice. She's not sure she trusts her legs yet. She knows what she wants, but she's intent on the process right now. She's showing more restraint and patience than we have come to expect from her. She wants to walk, you can see the desperation in her eyes, but for now she wants to hold my hand. She wants the guidance and stability I give her, but the freedom her own feet provide. She stands on her own and holds position, huge grin on her face, looking around for applause, encouragement. And then back to crawling because it's what she knows. Little by little. Day by day. She's learning to walk. She's scared. She's excited. She wants to hold her Mama's hand. I'm scared. I'm excited. I don't ever want her to let go.

She's learning to walk and all I can think about are roots and wings.