Careful

... but not in that way

“Careful”… but not in the way I say (shout) it to my 8 year old standing on a branch too thin, too high. Not the way my 5 year old hears it as she chases her brother on her bike or slides around corners in our home. Not in the critiquing way I say it with a sideways glance as we fill glasses too full with milk or load the dishwasher without looking.

Sometimes when I say “careful” I’m saying “control.”

No, I don’t mean it in a “please-just-be-safer-way.” Perhaps, the opposite, even.

Maybe keep doing the hard thing you are doing, but be really full-of-care as you go.

I mean it more as a gentle and intentional mindset, a lens for myself. A reminder to pause and approach this exact-only-moment-we-are-in with care. Slow your breath, calm your voice, be more gentle, be more loving. Hold yourself carefully. Check your tone. Feel your pulse. I don’t have to respond perfectly, I just need to be careful. Not controlling it, but giving care.

The dictionary claims the word careful can also mean something, “done with showing thought and attention.”

Careful is my word for this next year. I think these words choose us, not the other way around.

In a vulnerable skinned-knees-and-elbows-sorta-way, last year’s word was “authentic.” Embracing “authentic” eventually landed me home this past summer in North Carolina playing in creeks behind my childhood home with our kids and sleeping under familiar skylights. Sitting with dogs on the porch in the morning and dangling legs off counter tops while talking with parents in the kitchen. Precious, necessary, sacred time. A reset, a reconnect, a re-everything. Sometimes, you just need to hear yourself think. Thinking for me, is done best with cicadas and frogs and bubbling streams and muddy toes and under the canopy of trees I grew up with. Authenticity wasn’t pretty, but it was really really important. Some would say, critical.

The goal this year is to just sprinkle in more care to the authentic. To recognize needs and slow down instead of power through. Lord knows we can power through. Lord knows we need care.

It’s a way to approach running-behind-schedule-moments, tired mornings and tucked away thoughts that get louder at 3am. A reminder to be full of care when kids are speaking (again)(constantly)(always). When the plan goes out the window. A practice of being careful when something breaks or slips or spills because when has being harsh ever helped anyone, ever. A breath prayer of “Sara, be full of care.”

A way to care-full-y notice the good parts, too. Savoring the extra just-because-hug before he grins and skips off towards his 3rd grade class. Noticing the way her hair gets curlier by the day. Carefully displaying another 3 year old masterpiece on the fridge with her favorite magnet. The care required for learning new (joyful) knitting hobbies and practicing the looping through-up-wrap-around-down-and-off every time so as to make steady progress. A care-full when I make mistakes.

A carefulness to not miss the life giving things that are here for the taking. Never ever again ever skipping the chance to stand in the sun when she shows up in winter. The kids now cheer and yell for me to come chase the sun. Let everything glow pink behind our eyes as we face these bodies toward the light. An awareness of how temporary we all are and how being outside normally fixes some (most) of it. A carefulness to journal instead of overthink. Leaning in, instead of figuring it out myself.

Careful, knowing there can almost always be more room for grace and breath and reset.

Full of care, because at the end of the day it just makes it all a little bit better in a world that is drowning in its lack of care for others. Learning how to (somehow) hold care for hard moments, devastating headlines and daily challenges and still make space for post-dinner-dance-parties all at the same time.

With care,

Sara