just 5 minutes
When I first joined Hope*Writers two years ago I was drawn in by their motto, “we build benches, not platforms”. I think the reason I identified with that motto was because the places that I felt most safe and heard were the conversations I’d had with other mamas on park benches. I know it sounds silly, but there’s a story-I promise and pinky swear.
Today is Hope*Writers day. In celebration of this day, they sent members a super cute lapel pin. When I first opened the gift, I wondered if I should even put it on. I held it in my hand, just staring. There are some pretty bigwig names in the writing world in the group and I’m learning daily from these writers-but, when it comes down to it, I’m a mom that wants to sit on a bench next to you and cheer you on. Hope*Writers is a part of teaching me how to do that better. That’s when it clicked. This pin isn’t mine; this pin is yours.
You’ll notice I write a lot about nature. There’s a reason why.
In 2012, I read a blog post that shared the physical and emotional benefits of being outside in fresh open air. The post was moving and convincing. At the end of the post, the author challenged to go outside for five minutes, that it could change my life. That was it. Just five minutes.
Those five minutes did indeed change my life and the lives of my children as well.
I’d been indoors for two weeks straight the day that I read that post. The freshest air we’d breathed had been through cracked windows, letting crisp October air creep in. We were in a new neighborhood, in a new town, with the new responsibility of 24/7 care for toddler with a life-altering neurological illness. Something as simple as leaving his sight induced panic ridden meltdowns, the kind the neighbors peeked their heads out of windows to watch but darted their eyes when I looked their way. And how does a mama explain that she can’t soothe her baby and the doctors were calling this our new normal. So, I’d stayed safe inside of our four walls, boxed so tightly into a self-made cocoon that there was no room to grow or spread wings..
That evening after my husband got home, I went outside. I set my watch for five minutes, gifting myself a brief respite in time. My mind raced at first, remembering all the responsibilities that would still be there when I returned. The racing slowed with each step. Each breath pushed out worry and inhaled in slivers of peace. My watch beeped. I looked up across the water and could see how safe and held we were. I could see fresh flickers of hope in each lap of water that went by.
The next day, I determined to start easing our boy outside too. I desperately wanted him to feel fresh life breathed into him, to give him a yearning for oxygenated freedom. It wasn’t easy. It took close to a month to work him up and work his fears out to five minutes; his brothers rode bikes and ran circles of delight around us. It would take another year before he could walk. But those five minutes were a gift into seeing all the possibility that was ahead of us.
It was a slow, steady, often messy transformation, but it started with five minutes outdoors, someone challenging me.
This is what you’ll see here, lots of encouragement to dwell outdoors with your children.
I’ll beg you to delight in the warmth of the sun, to sit and hear the chirping of birds and the steady bumbles buzz.
Like you, sometimes I’m serious, sometimes I’m silly, sometimes I’m just humbly stunned by my wild blessings. Most of all, I want to offer you a space on a bench, a place you feel welcome and encouraged and seen.
On the days you feel your heart has been tugged through weeds and thorns, I’ll beg you to pull the weeds, stand strong against the thorns, your children want your presence while they blossom. May you blossom as well.
