Archive | May, 2018

NBA Finals: Game One Recap, Cavs 114 Warriors 124

31 May

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I love LeBron James.

I love how he muscled 51 points on a bloody eye and made it look effortless. I love how even Rihanna, the girl who regularly turns down DRAKE, is after him. I love how he can rattle off every turnover he made in a game like he’s in a movie about a basketball savant.

Maybe most of all I love that he campaigned for Hilary Clinton.

That the undoubtedly best player in one of the most macho professions in the world stomped for a 70-year-old grandma running for president.

Because it was the right thing to do.

Oh yes. And I love this tweet.

IMG_3051This tweet alone would make me love LeBron if I already didn’t love him.

But you see, I already loved LeBron.

Did I mention that?

Game one was painful to watch. So painful. In overtime I left the room to go tweeze random hairs off my face in panic and anger. Not after the 51 points! Not after the bloody eye! He didn’t deserve this!

Golden State makes it worse, of course. They show up half trying. Durant always looks like a petulant teen mad his parents forced him to play.

Listen to me and listen to me close, Rihanna. If we’re going to win this thing we need you back on the first row trolling Kevin. He loves you like he loves no one else and you love LeBron like I love LeBron.

Together, we’ll love LeBron to victory.

I don’t really know how the finals MVP trophy is handed out. It feels like anytime LeBron plays he’s a the best player on the court so why isn’t he always winning everything?

But I do know this.

If the series looks like tonight and Golden State wins despite their entitled “we stacked a team of All Stars and now don’t need to play” attitude, then LeBron sure as EVERYTHING better win the MVP of this series.

He outplayed everyone, a hundred times over. He outplayed them, and he wanted it more than any Warrior on that court.

And I loved him today, like I love him always.

I love LeBron James.

I think I may have mentioned that.

Letters From Grace

24 May

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Once upon a time, my therapist suggested I start writing letters to myself from grace.

It makes sense.

I am a words person. A words of affirmation person. A words-are-the-best-thing-in-life person.

It makes sense I should be writing to myself.

Grace is a very new second language to me. It is unnatural and uncomfortable and sometimes I forget I ever started to learn it in the first place.

And so I practice with words.

April 20th

Hey there.

Wow.

OK.

You know that was beyond you, right?

Like, that was a tsunami. An earthquake.

And you are human. You were swallowed whole.

Be gentle with yourself in the aftermath. Treat yourself like a friend who survived something tough.

What do you need?

What can you give yourself right now?

Even some kind words like

I still like you

or

I still love you, too

You’re doing WAY better than you think you are.

xo

Grace

I don’t know how to transition this part of the blog post.

I’ve tried.

Again and again and again.

I’ve tried so hard that I started to wonder what grace would say about it. Would it tell me to just publish the mess and give myself grace?

Or would it tell me to set it aside and that itself is an act of grace?

Both are potentially right answers.

Both sound like grace.

April 22nd

Hi there. Me again.

Yes, you need me twice this week.

I’ll let you in on a secret:

You actually need me FAR more often than that.

And guess what? That’s totally normal. Totally human.

This sensitivity you have isn’t a curse or a weakness, it’s a wonder.

You’re a wonder.

It’s true!

That whole list you have, of everything wrong, everything so far away from where you’d like it–your health, bank account, career–there’s also another list. The other side of things, the things you do have — health, bank account, career (LOVE).

You’ve got this.

xo

Grace

The creators of Harry Potter and the Sacred Text are doing a Little Women & Writing as a Sacred Practice retreat.

It’s the sort of thing I would go to immediately if money weren’t an object.

The description of the event says:

We will spend three days asking ourselves one key question; what role do we want writing to play in our lives?

We will ask this question of ourselves, of each other, and of Louisa May Alcott’s classic work of genius, Little Women.

The thesis of this trip is that writing can be a form of prayer. This trip is not about writing for publication, but writing as spiritual technology that we can use to live full, actualized, joyful lives.

I’ve read and reread that description a few times, feeling myself shift through the words alone. Grow a little more solid.

Writing as a sacred practice

These letters from grace are exactly that.

A form of prayer.

To myself. To the universe. To a God.

Let it be so.

Let me treat myself better.

Please, let there be grace.

A few weeks ago, out of the blue, I got a text from my friend Bailey.

It said this:

Hey Jillo,

SUP?

Hey gurl guess what? Today’s a free day.

I mean, I know you have to work, but beyond that free day!

What does that mean? It means you can have all the cups of tea you want. Until you start to shake then maybe step it back and switch to fizzy water.

AND THEN! You get to go home and see Dolly and Robby! <3

And then it’s weekend time. Even if you have responsibilities this weekend, let’s not think about that right now. Let’s just be like, “Hey it’s Friday. Not Monday, not Wednesday. Friday. Almost Saturday. Holla.”

OK I gotta make sure your fellow sisters and brothers are showing themselves grace, so off I go. Call if you need me.

Love,

Grace

(It spread.

My letters from grace spread.)

It’s Thursday night.

Maybe write yourself a note from grace?

Maybe start it out with something like

You’re doing way better than you think you are

or

I like you

and

I love you

Maybe start wherever you are?

That’s always a nice place to start.

A few breaths for transition?

xoxo

Jill

I Am Not Exempt From Life

11 May

IMG_2827Rob Bell talked about The Rock’s Rolling Stone interview on his podcast.

Apparently, at the beginning of the interview, The Rock recounted a story. How he finished work at 2AM and was exhausted. How there was a strange noise coming from his hotel room. How no one could identify it and after an hour of trying everything (including earplugs) he had to move rooms at 3AM.

“It was a whole thing,” Dwayne said.

Rob laughed as he recounted it.

No one is exempt from life.

No one is exempt from life. From those 3AM inconveniences, those mystery noises. You can be The Rock, the highest paid movie star in the world, and you still have to do life.

No one is exempt.

The past few days I’ve had annoying life problems pop up. Paperwork. Unexpected bills. You know.

You really know.

And for the past few days I’ve had a bad attitude about them. An “Are you kidding me?” “What a nightmare!” “Why me?” attitude.

Today I was able to take a deep breath. Begin what will likely be a long process of figuring them out.

Take a step.

Today I was able to say, this is life. I’m not exempt.

Rob Bell continued. He said that, to him, people who are successful generally are people who

Keep going

Pay attention

Are open

I like that.

It’s not completely on topic, but it’s not off either, really, is it?

I am not exempt from life.

Keep going.

It’s going to be a whole thing.

Life Lately

8 May

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Life lately is a lot of Dolly Purrton.

Our little

cinnamon bun

toasted marshmallow

cappuccino of a cat

with a pink heart nose and cotton ball puffs for paws.

Dolly Purrton who is gentle and talkative, whose favorite spot to snuggle is the bend in my knee, who follows us everywhere because she wants to be in the room where it happens.

Our little croissant who runs to the door to greet us when we come home from work.

Our baby.

Life lately is missing Utah in unexpected ways. In going to 7-Eleven and feeling a hole in my heart that can only be filled by a chocolate chocolate Dunford Donut.

In wanting a really good, really full Diet Coke with fresh lime and settling for a mediocre-at-best Subway bleh.

A friend told me she misses the flowers of her hometown. It’s crazy, she said. I’m in LA. We’re full of flowers.

But there’s nothing like your mother’s lilac tree in the spring.

There’s nothing like a Utah Diet Coke.

Life lately is going to bed at 11, 10, 9. At finally giving in and saying OK. If this is my schedule I can no longer be a night owl. OK, sacrifices must be made.

And so I go to sleep early.

I go to sleep early and that whole part of me of me, the part that people could rely on to be up at 3AM, has shifted.

That identity is asleep.

For now.

Life lately is creating boundaries with church service (a girl can only do so much).

(And there is so much to do.)

It’s wearing pink tassled slippers and loud, crazy sunglasses. It’s ordering lunch ahead so I don’t have to pack anything in the mornings, and realizing that that is worth it. Not having the stress of making a lunch is worth it all.

Life lately is thank you notes on Beyonce stationary.

It’s less TV, not on purpose, just because.

(Because I’m sleeping, most likely.)

Life lately is a lot of Dolly Purrton

Did I mention our baby?

Here In Your Pain

7 May

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Years ago I went through a breakup.

I should say, years ago I went through many breakups with the same person, a sort of Groundhog Day nightmare I feel lucky to have made it out of partly intact.

But heartbreak it was.

On one of these occasions I showed up at my friend’s house. I had told her what happened and when I arrived she stood at the door with a notebook.

She handed me a pen.

Would you like to talk? was written on the first page.

I checked the box for NO

Would you like food?

I checked the box for YES

And down the flow chart we went. Without saying a word I communicated what I needed right then. We got food. We were there together.

I don’t know what else we did. But I’ll always remember that flow chart. That notebook. That response.

I’m here.

I’m here in your pain.

In the book Love Warrior, Glennon Doyle says

We think our job as humans is to avoid pain, our job as parents is to protect our children from pain, and our job as friends is to fix each other’s pain. Maybe that’s why we all feel like failures so often–because we all have the wrong job description for love. What my friends didn’t know about me and I didn’t know about Amma is that people who are hurting don’t need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain.

A couple of months ago my grandfather passed away.

It was sudden and shocking and a very difficult for me. For my family.

The day before my grandfather’s funeral, a friend texted me. “Hey, me and B are coming to the funeral. We’ll watch any young kids so people can be there for the service.”

I didn’t ask them to do this. I didn’t even know they planned on it. They got babysitters for their own kids. They took their personal days off of work for a man they met only briefly.

They did it for me.

After the service I stood with them among wooden blocks and plastic trucks and let some of it out and they listened and they said

No problem

Of course

I’m here in your pain.

I’ve been working on inviting my pain to the table. Witnessing it, if you will.

When I feel something uncomfortable I slow down.

Hello there anger

Sadness

Jealousy

Fear

Shame

Regret

Come on in. Here’s a seat. What kind of tea would you like?

Would you like to talk? Check for YES

I’m here

I’m here in your pain.

(I’ve learned from the best.)