Less Boxes, More Bending

On the work of being human, plus a collection of delights for October

Photo by charlesdeluvio on Unsplash

I sprint over the damp leaves, giving my body what it wants, what it needs—the slap of cold, autumn air and the chance to move myself back into my skin, to finally feel the things I’ve been tucking under the surface.

Kate Bowler speaks into my earbuds, her voice warm and comforting. She tells N.T. Wright of her own experience of suffering and walking with others who suffer, when “Scripture often became a weapon in the hands of the very certain.”

All the air leaves my lungs, and I stumble to a walk. I am stunned at the way she summarizes in a single sentence what I have carried in my bones for months, if not years. Leaning over the bridge to watch the Creek carry gold and crimson leaves underneath, I listen to Kate compare her certainty in her early twenties to a sealed-up Tupperware—all of her ideas about faith and life fully integrated, neatly tucked away inside. She, like me not so long ago, felt certain that everything would always fit into this preconceived framework: a neat and tidy box, a perfectly sealed container.

“And then life,” she says.¹

I laugh out loud.

“Tell me about it,” I whisper to Kate as if she can hear me, or to the rushing current below, or to nobody at all.

//

On a frigid October morning, I sip my coffee at the kitchen counter while rain pelts the windows. My five-year-old kneels on her chair, hunching over her math lesson at the table, while my toddler plays with ponies in front of the fireplace.

Today’s kindergarten math lesson is simple. My oldest must sort index cards with different types of lines into two distinct piles. In one pile, she carefully stacks cards with rigid stripes—vertical, horizontal, diagonal. In the other, she piles up cards with curves, bends, and arcs.

In a few minutes, she will be ready for me to teach her about shapes. In a few minutes, I will put down my coffee and teach her all the ways to use the lines in front of her. I will say things like, “See this square. See how it has four sides and four corners. See how its edges are straight and even and neat.” I will say things like, “See this circle. See how it has no sides or corners. See how it is made with a single, curved line.”

In a few years, she will be ready for me to teach her more things about shapes. In a few years, I will put down my coffee and tell her how satisfying it feels to fit everything into neat boxes, how four strong sides feel safer, more contained, more definite. I will tell her how some boxes are helpful, but most boxes back others into a corner more than anything else; most boxes keep others out more than they keep anything in. I will tell her how someday, she may need to take the lid off the proverbial Tupperware. Someday, love may demand that she hold things more loosely, that she remain tender in order to remain human, that she remember how even circles know how to bend around a strong, inner center.

I will tell her: Less boxes, more bending.

She interrupts my thoughts with a gasp, holding up a card with a curved line. “Mom, look!” she says. “This one kinda looks like a heart!”

I smile at her over my coffee mug.

“It really does,” I say.

//

I have one hundred things to do: a mountain of dirty clothes sits on our laundry room floor, a pound of chicken thighs rests in the fridge, waiting to be cooked and shredded for soup, and a rainbow of colored pencils and construction paper cover the dining room table.

Despite everything, I shove the mess to one side of the table with my forearm and gingerly lay a dozen delicate autumn leaves onto a sheet of wax paper. I begin sealing them with a paintbrush and Mod Podge when my husband walks into the room.

“Listen,” I say, feeling my defenses going up. “This feels urgent, okay?”

I do not look up. I do not believe he’ll understand why I am doing this.

To be honest, I do not even really understand why I am doing this.

Maybe it’s because I need to create something that reminds me that letting go—of things I used to feel certain about, of having all the answers—is also beautiful and necessary.

Maybe it’s because I need to find a way to honor my faith in the here and now—the kind of faith that is learning to feel safe letting some things fall to the ground and maybe, at the same time, growing more vibrant than it was before.

Or maybe this is simply how I am choosing to remain tender to the world, these days. Maybe this is how I am choosing to bend, to stay soft, to do the work of being human, to allow myself to—as James Crews writes—remain “willing to be molded, be reshaped by the rough and tender hands of the world.”

My husband stands behind me, watching me preserve each individual leaf. I touch the tip of a maple leaf as big as my palm, wondering if it too, knows what it is to carry a hundred iterations of itself in its own fragile veins. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head.

“You’re right,” he says, to my surprise. “I think this is the most urgent work of all.”

“Tell me about it,” I whisper to the leaf as if it can hear me, or to my husband, or to nobody at all.

//

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life with littles

A snapshot of what the girls and I are doing together in our day-to-day:

October is a family favorite around here. We spent this month getting ready for Halloween, going apple-picking, playing math games with candy corn, hanging with friends almost every day, and going on lots of fall walks. Also, we caught colds—lots and lots of colds.

This month, my kindergartner wanted more books to read, so I snagged this nature early reader and these animal early readers. They’re perfect for kiddos who are beginning to read independently but are still not ready for more difficult “early readers” that are less phonics-based. They’ve been a huge hit.

We also finished our first read-aloud of the year, Charlotte’s Web, and then had a Charlotte’s Web movie night to celebrate.

Here are some snapshots from our month:

beautiful words

In no particular order, here are some words I read this month that resonated with me:

-This poem, by Ellen Bass, is always a favorite. I stumbled upon it again this month. It’s especially timely for all of us carrying so much grief right now. Also: This poem by Danusha Laméris, this one by Amy Kay, and this one by Laura Wifler.

-Connie Schultz’s piece on womanly ambition really struck a chord with me as a fellow mother and writer who spends most of her day caretaking and teaching.

-An Atlantic article on attachment theory and friendship? Don’t mind if I do.

books / podcasts / shows

A list of things playing in my ears, sitting on my nightstand, or streaming on my tv:

-Am I watching The Golden Bachelor and Love Is Blind? SURE AM. The Golden Bachelor is a lot more wholesome this season, given that he and the women are all in their 60’s and 70’s and I am here for it. Love is Blind is as bonkers as usual. Lydia and Milton are my fave, and if anybody would like to talk with me about Stacy and her dad, I’ll just leave this *giant red flag* right here…

-I finally watched Painkiller, which details the rise of the Opioid crisis and the greed and horrors of Purdue Pharma and Oxycontin (hello, please remind me to not watch things that are this triggering when I am already triggered in my real life, k thanks). Obviously, a lot of the fictionalized elements were added for entertainment, but the basic gist of the story was eye-opening, alarming, maddening, and informative. (CW: addiction, substance abuse, sexual assault).

-I guess I’m on a Kate Bowler kick now, because this conversation between Kate Bowler and David Brooks was phenomenal and a true, timely breath of fresh air on truly seeing others and being seen, which is kind of my passion project in life.

-I finished another fantastic book of essays by the one and only Megan Stielstra. I’m also reading The School for Good Mothers which is extremely difficult to put down every time I pick it up, but also one of those books that I need to put down to take deep breaths and check on my sleeping children, ya know? It’s excellent in a haunting kind of way (again, with the triggering entertainment…why?)

feeding the fam

Here’s a rundown of some of the family favorites that showed up on our table this month:

-I don’t know what is happening to me, but I have made these chocolate chip cookies in the last month more times than I ever have in my life. It’s our family thing now: chocolate chip cookies and Spot-It before flashlight reading and bedtime.

-I made butternut squash minestrone from this cookbook and it was sooo good. Here’s a similar version of the recipe if you don’t want to snag the book.

-Crockpot cinnamon applesauce. Full stop.

the little things

A list of some little things I’ve been loving:

-When my friend Shannon posted in her IG stories about these Hexbugs, I was enthralled. They’re like…little, inexpensive robotic “bugs” that move on their own using some sort of vibration technology? I don’t really get it, but my kids have been making tunnels and tracks for them with Magnatiles alll month.

-I am loving Sissy Goff’s resources for girls (and their parents!) who struggle with anxiety. I bought this book for future use and have this one in my cart right now. (If you have boys, David Thomas has written similar resources).

-This long-sleeve henley and basically everything they sell. 100% my style. Sometimes I feel like I dress like I’m 3 decades older than I actually am, but I’m kind of okay with that.

words I’ve written

Here are some of my own words put to paper this month:

-Part-Time Poets released their special Halloween issue this month in three volumes! It was open to guest submissions, as well. I had a lot of fun contributing to this one in Volume I. The theme for this issue was “masks”. You can read all three parts here.

Why, Mr. Rogers? Certainly this clown mask was also creepy 30 years ago?!

-ICYMI: An essay on what, if anything, can keep a family together over a lifetime and a willow tree Haiku. As you can see, a bit of everything here.

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Thanks for reading, friends. Here’s to staying open and tender—to doing the work of being human.

Tell me what’s reminding you to stay soft these days?

xo

Krista

1. From the podcast episode transcript:

“And I have this idea about…how the earth was made and what we’re for. And then I have this view of how bad we are and what kind of intervention is necessary. And then when I look at the whole thing, I feel the integration of it and I feel sort of hermetically sealed. 

And here we are, the great Tupperware of life has been closed. And it’s a great feeling—there is a closedness. You feel like, oh I just get to fill up this sealed container with all these incredible facts and stories and all things will confirm this feeling. 

And then life.”