Friday, March 21, 2014
Hey Y'all I'm Back!
Well, hello friends. I'm back! It's been awhile. I've missed you. I hope you'll start reading again! Take care and see you soon. Yours truly, Marla
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Perfect Is A Verb, Not An Adjective
According to Merriam Webster's online dictionary, the word perfect in its verb form means to bring to final form; improve or refine. To polish is offered as a synonym. This definition suits me fine. In fact, I plan to adopt perfect as a verb and make a concerted effort to never use perfect as an adjective again. Now let me tell you why.
If Christianity has taught me anything, it has taught me that the gift of life is a journey. I will never be finished with this journey. I will never arrive. There will always be room for improvement, refinement, and polishing. I will be brought into final form, only in God's time.
Our most recent Sunday School discussion started off with a Pandora's box type question: Does God have a purpose for us? This question inevitably leads to another and another: well what is that purpose? Is it one purpose? Is there more than one path to that purpose? Do we know what the plan is? Are we happy with God's purpose for us? If we aren't happy is it because we aren't living His plan for us? You can see where I'm going with this line of questioning. It really is a Pandora's box and it never ends. After hours (seriously hours) of reflection on this series of questions, I have come to the conclusion that this line of questioning will not bring the clarity we as a class were seeking.
I prefer to adopt the premise, that God uses us for His purposes and His purposes are infinite and ever changing and ultimately unknowable. I think there are times, situations, or moments (pick your own label) in earthly time that we feel deep in our gut, soul, or core (pick your own label) that we are "right on" with what we think God's plan is for us. But most of the time we are walking into a never ending sun-filled horizon, bathed in the warmth of the only certainty we can have--God is going to use us, but the who, what, when, where, why, and how will not be revealed to us in our time.
I think you have three choices when it comes to dealing with this certain uncertainty:
1. You can fight it, because you are a control freak. I can say this, because I have spent a great deal of time with this choice. Sometimes I return to this choice without warning. Fighting certain uncertainty puts you at cross purposes with perfect, the verb, because we cannot be brought into final form without allowing "otherness" (God, the Holy Spirit, life events, people, and places) to shape, refine, and improve us.
2. You can be fatalistic about certain uncertainty and use it as an excuse to never look up or out on your journey. I really don't think my idea of certain uncertainty implies we are merely puppets of some big toy maker in the sky. We're more like clay being shaped and molded. Every interaction leaves a fingerprint, an indention, a fissure, a cleft, a crease, a smoothed out place, a rounded edge, a jagged edge, the combinations are endless. You're still on a journey. If you miss the opportunities to be perfected, you'll still be shaped, but instead of improving and refining love you encounter in your life, you'll be wondering where love is .
3. We can accept the invitation of certain uncertainty. We can do and be more, to and for others, than we could ever imagine by yielding to the invitation of grace that is constantly presented to us by God. Allowing God to perfect us in His love is the essence of our purpose. The ways and means of experiencing the essence of our purpose are important, but they aren't the essence. I think that's why deathbed conversions are the same as life long followers of the Way in God's eyes. A dear mentor and friend once described essence as a constant flow of grace. It is pouring over and around us. We have only to reach out and take it. Sometimes it takes our earthly lifetime to find it. All journeys are equal. We all start out the same, completely helpless. Regardless of privilege in order to continue to draw breath and thrive we are completely dependent on someone or something else. It's how we respond to the who, what, when, where, why, and how in our life that perfects us for God. Jesus Christ was a living example of "the essence". He showed us what allowing God to perfect us looks like. In order to have "on earth as it is in heaven" we must submit to perfection.
My journey of purpose doesn't look like your journey and your journey doesn't look like mine. Being on a journey of purpose cannot be validated by social norms or cultural constructs. I don't mean to imply we don't try to follow what we think is a call from God in our life choices, career choices, life changes, or religious practice. For some people part of the journey is a response to a calling that manifests itself in a career choice. But not everyone can fight fires and save lives. Again, it's essence that's important. That's why we as humans are drawn to the underdog. That's why we love a good story of triumph over adversity. That's why we are so amazed at the Mother Theresa's of the world. It was Mother Theresa's essence that made her so special. It was her acceptance and submission to being perfected in love that we are drawn to.We love watching God perfect other people because it gives us hope. Hope is also a verb. We improve. We refine. We perfect. We hope.
Here is my vision of God's purpose for me. Draw a reddish brown, dirt road (no I'm not copying a Brooks and Dunn song; bear with me) stretching across the page towards a horizon emblazoned by a golden sun that is on the horizon. You don't know if the sun is rising or setting because all around it, the world is glittering and bright like that instant in both a sunrise or sunset. Everything touched by the sun is glowing and alive. Now cut away a cross section of that road. There are endless layers to the road. These layers represent different parts of my life--my past, my present, my future. If you were to paint me on this road you would paint me in the act of moving, but you wouldn't be able to tell if I was moving forward, sideways, or backwards--because at any point on this journey I could be moving in any of those directions or all of them at the same time. Barely visible, but always present, like the shimmering of the air in the desert heat, are my opportunities for grace. These opportunities take the form of shimmer because 1) I do not know the who, what, where, when, why, or how of the opportunity before or after it occurs; and 2) These opportunities are interactive. They are both expressive and receptive. You cannot tell exactly when the shimmer begins or ends, because the wavelike motion is infinite. These moments on the journey are as much about the doing as the being done to, the being as the being with, the teaching as the learning from. These waves can be described as my daily interactions with others, the way in which I respond to needs in our community, how I seek out social justice, simple acts of loving kindness between families, neighbors, coworkers, and total strangers. It is in these moments that I am perfected by God for His purpose. My response to God's purpose for me is to say yes to the journey. Yes to grace. Yes to hope, refinement, and improvement. My response to God's purpose for me is to be perfect.
If Christianity has taught me anything, it has taught me that the gift of life is a journey. I will never be finished with this journey. I will never arrive. There will always be room for improvement, refinement, and polishing. I will be brought into final form, only in God's time.
Our most recent Sunday School discussion started off with a Pandora's box type question: Does God have a purpose for us? This question inevitably leads to another and another: well what is that purpose? Is it one purpose? Is there more than one path to that purpose? Do we know what the plan is? Are we happy with God's purpose for us? If we aren't happy is it because we aren't living His plan for us? You can see where I'm going with this line of questioning. It really is a Pandora's box and it never ends. After hours (seriously hours) of reflection on this series of questions, I have come to the conclusion that this line of questioning will not bring the clarity we as a class were seeking.
I prefer to adopt the premise, that God uses us for His purposes and His purposes are infinite and ever changing and ultimately unknowable. I think there are times, situations, or moments (pick your own label) in earthly time that we feel deep in our gut, soul, or core (pick your own label) that we are "right on" with what we think God's plan is for us. But most of the time we are walking into a never ending sun-filled horizon, bathed in the warmth of the only certainty we can have--God is going to use us, but the who, what, when, where, why, and how will not be revealed to us in our time.
I think you have three choices when it comes to dealing with this certain uncertainty:
1. You can fight it, because you are a control freak. I can say this, because I have spent a great deal of time with this choice. Sometimes I return to this choice without warning. Fighting certain uncertainty puts you at cross purposes with perfect, the verb, because we cannot be brought into final form without allowing "otherness" (God, the Holy Spirit, life events, people, and places) to shape, refine, and improve us.
2. You can be fatalistic about certain uncertainty and use it as an excuse to never look up or out on your journey. I really don't think my idea of certain uncertainty implies we are merely puppets of some big toy maker in the sky. We're more like clay being shaped and molded. Every interaction leaves a fingerprint, an indention, a fissure, a cleft, a crease, a smoothed out place, a rounded edge, a jagged edge, the combinations are endless. You're still on a journey. If you miss the opportunities to be perfected, you'll still be shaped, but instead of improving and refining love you encounter in your life, you'll be wondering where love is .
3. We can accept the invitation of certain uncertainty. We can do and be more, to and for others, than we could ever imagine by yielding to the invitation of grace that is constantly presented to us by God. Allowing God to perfect us in His love is the essence of our purpose. The ways and means of experiencing the essence of our purpose are important, but they aren't the essence. I think that's why deathbed conversions are the same as life long followers of the Way in God's eyes. A dear mentor and friend once described essence as a constant flow of grace. It is pouring over and around us. We have only to reach out and take it. Sometimes it takes our earthly lifetime to find it. All journeys are equal. We all start out the same, completely helpless. Regardless of privilege in order to continue to draw breath and thrive we are completely dependent on someone or something else. It's how we respond to the who, what, when, where, why, and how in our life that perfects us for God. Jesus Christ was a living example of "the essence". He showed us what allowing God to perfect us looks like. In order to have "on earth as it is in heaven" we must submit to perfection.
My journey of purpose doesn't look like your journey and your journey doesn't look like mine. Being on a journey of purpose cannot be validated by social norms or cultural constructs. I don't mean to imply we don't try to follow what we think is a call from God in our life choices, career choices, life changes, or religious practice. For some people part of the journey is a response to a calling that manifests itself in a career choice. But not everyone can fight fires and save lives. Again, it's essence that's important. That's why we as humans are drawn to the underdog. That's why we love a good story of triumph over adversity. That's why we are so amazed at the Mother Theresa's of the world. It was Mother Theresa's essence that made her so special. It was her acceptance and submission to being perfected in love that we are drawn to.We love watching God perfect other people because it gives us hope. Hope is also a verb. We improve. We refine. We perfect. We hope.
Here is my vision of God's purpose for me. Draw a reddish brown, dirt road (no I'm not copying a Brooks and Dunn song; bear with me) stretching across the page towards a horizon emblazoned by a golden sun that is on the horizon. You don't know if the sun is rising or setting because all around it, the world is glittering and bright like that instant in both a sunrise or sunset. Everything touched by the sun is glowing and alive. Now cut away a cross section of that road. There are endless layers to the road. These layers represent different parts of my life--my past, my present, my future. If you were to paint me on this road you would paint me in the act of moving, but you wouldn't be able to tell if I was moving forward, sideways, or backwards--because at any point on this journey I could be moving in any of those directions or all of them at the same time. Barely visible, but always present, like the shimmering of the air in the desert heat, are my opportunities for grace. These opportunities take the form of shimmer because 1) I do not know the who, what, where, when, why, or how of the opportunity before or after it occurs; and 2) These opportunities are interactive. They are both expressive and receptive. You cannot tell exactly when the shimmer begins or ends, because the wavelike motion is infinite. These moments on the journey are as much about the doing as the being done to, the being as the being with, the teaching as the learning from. These waves can be described as my daily interactions with others, the way in which I respond to needs in our community, how I seek out social justice, simple acts of loving kindness between families, neighbors, coworkers, and total strangers. It is in these moments that I am perfected by God for His purpose. My response to God's purpose for me is to say yes to the journey. Yes to grace. Yes to hope, refinement, and improvement. My response to God's purpose for me is to be perfect.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
A Message from Marla
Dear Family of Friends,
It's been too long. The year is coming to a close in 11 short days. How many times I've headed for the computer or smart phone intending to dash off a note to you, but I always seem interrupted on the way. It's the story of my life. Goal for the New Year, slow down and smell the two day old tunafish in the garbage disposal--we have a serious lack of roses here. I can't grow anything because either a) Wyatt will pick all the flowers b) Owen swings at the bushes with a bat or golf club just because, or c) our one year old black lab Bo eats it rootball and all. This is a joke, not a lament, just in case you were wondering.
We all decry busy-ness, but secretly we must crave it. After all, no one forces us to sign up for piano lessons and after school activities. There may be pressure to be the grade mom or PTA liaison, but nobody twisted our arm. Incidentally, nobody twisted mine at school this year. My reputation must precede me. Ha! I'm learning to say no to most things so I can say yes to what I truly care about. This is a difficult lesson, and one that is learned in baby-steps.
In our house a year ago, Owen had his two front teeth, we could only understand Wyatt about 60% of the time, Andy has less silver in his hair, and the fine lines in my face, were, well, fine. This year, Owen would like his two front teeth, we understand Wyatt 98% of the time, Andy has a very attractive salt and pepper mane, and my fine lines are now character lines. Ha! Owen is our mathematician and word search extraordinaire. Wyatt is our artist in residence and quite the story teller. Andy continues to make beautiful smiles and is our ever present pillar of assurance and calm. Is it too cliche to say he is the love of my life?
As I sit at my computer to write, I am reflecting on the increasing amounts of community tension that exist this season. I have decided that I am perfectly content to live in a world of confusion and clarity, tension and peace, joy and sorrow, doubt and certainty. I know many people get a little bent out of shape this time of year over what to celebrate or not celebrate, recognize or not recognize. I think that's too bad. Friendship and generosity are not limited to holidays. Come celebrate with me and I'll come celebrate with you. Maybe we'll make a new tradition all together, or revive an old one.
Here is why I choose Christmas (in case you were curious, or just have time to read a lengthy pondering from me):
1. I love decorating my tree. After the tree is inside, the lights are on, and the boys have hung their ornaments, I spend the next couple of hours touching every ornament and remember its story. The year we bought this one in Phoenix to remind us of our trip. The year I bought that one to celebrate baby's first. The year mamma made that one for all of us in the choir. The thumbprint from preschool I made next to the thumb prints from preschool the boys made. It's one of the ways I remember all the good things I have in my life.
2. I love Christmas cards. Facebook is fabulous, but there is nothing like walking to my mailbox every day between the day after Thanksgiving and Epiphany. I can't wait for 2 o'clock when the rural carrier finally comes bringing my 947th Lands End catalog and my stack of cards. I've kept every Christmas card for the last 7 or 8 years. They've moved with me at least 3 and some 4 times. Each year, I put the cards on the mantle in a beautiful silver dish my roommate gave me for a wedding present. The year Andy's Mimi died, we put the cards in her silver bread bowl she left us. This year I put the cards in the center of our Advent wreath. After Christmas, the cards go into a silver tray in my bedroom that I keep on my dresser. I see them every morning and I am blessed by the presence you all maintain in my life. (Side note: I also need to use these beautiful pieces I received as wedding gifts since I obviously don't cook much and our entertaining runs towards backyard weenie roasts and pirate birthday parties at least for the present.)
3. I'm an American and I'm very much into holidays. I love Christmas the way I love Halloween or Valentine's Day or Thanksgiving or the Fourth of July. Christmas is a time to spend thinking of others and myself at the same time (present for all I say), and chowing down on good eats. It's a time to make obligatory phone calls to my family, post cute pictures on Facebook, and relish the homemade goopy gluey glittery works of art my darling boys bring home from school. I enjoy receiving flowers, eating candy, and watching fireworks. I love excuses for dressing up for parties--costume or couture.
I love Santa, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Lucy and her siblings Susan, Edmund, and Peter, Disney World, and Jesus too. I think we can all co-exist. I have no problem celebrating make-believe along side my faith. I don't feel threatened by magic, allegory, fact, fiction, oral history, recorded history, or finding the same story told seven ways to Sunday in seven different faith traditions. We're all human beings and we are all in community with one another.
I have no issue with the fact that many people don't celebrate Christmas. I don't worry about people who don't celebrate Halloween. I imagine lots of students studying abroad and other foreign nationals living in America don't celebrate Thanksgiving or 4th of July because it isn't a holiday celebrated in their home country (I could be wrong there; blanket statements usually are.). I'm okay with non-Halloween school parties. I love fall festivals, scarecrows, apples, and harvest time themes just fine. Corn mazes, candy apples, and hayrides are fun. We can do costumes at home and hit up the neighborhood for candy later on. And, I once dragged two of my girlfriends in Germany to an American army base for a 4th of July celebration because I was desperately homesick. They were kind enough to humor me. Maybe someday I can return the favor to someone else living far from home.
In my home, during the seasons of Advent and Lent we make special time to focus on our faith for a whole month at a time culminating in the two highest holy days on the Christian calendar, the birth and resurrection of Jesus. Hopefully these times build character and provide examples of how to practice our faith all year long and not just during the winter and spring solstice. So I'll be at church on Christmas Eve celebrating one of the great mysteries of the Christian faith, because that is when we celebrate it in our church calendar. On Christmas morning, I'll be in my living room watching my babies rejoice over Santa's visit and the pile of imported plastic. You are welcome to come hang out with us. Andy will make you pancakes and I'll wish you Merry Christmas. If you invite me to come to your house for your holy, holiday, or family traditions, I'll come and relish every moment.
I hope you find joy and peace in the last two weeks of the year 2011. I hope an email or handmade craft warms your heart. I hope a Christmas Card, New Years Card, or Valentine's Family Greetings (I received all of the above last year) puts a smile on your face and a happy tear in your eye.
I cherish each and every one of you today and every day.
Much love,
Marla
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
My Hero, Harry Potter
I feel like it's the end of an era. Tonight I watched the final movie of the Harry Potter series, The Deathly Hallows-2. My love affair with Harry Potter began in Memphis in 2000. On my birthday I received a book, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire from my dad. I called him and said something like, "what's this book? It looks great." And he said something like, "well, it's the best seller of the millennium and I know you like to read." So I started reading it and was hooked. Low and behold, I went to work one morning soon after starting the book and my boss had a picture of Harry and a Snitch taped to his office door. He explained that his son (who was 10 or 11 at the time) had created it. "He likes Harry Potter?" I exclaimed. Soon I was having a cryptic conversation with the young man. He quite plainly directed me to put down book 4 and go get the first three books so that the story would make much more sense (duh).
So off I went that afternoon to the public library to check out the books. There was a THREE month waiting list for them. All of them. I couldn't believe it. Piqued by this wait, I drove straight to the nearest book store and bought all three books. I purchased one and two in paperback, but had to buy book 3 in hardback because the store was out of the newly released paperback version. I have the rest of the books in hardback. All were pre-ordered and purchased on release day after waiting in long lines. I have never missed a movie. I own the first three movies, although I haven't yet purchased the rest. I'm waiting for the 8 disc set due out at Christmas time probably. JK is nothing if not good at amassing Galleons, eh? You probably get a rubber wand or some banging fizzbees if you are one of the first two million people to pre-order your digitally remastered un-cut scenes silver edition. I digress...
I have had many literary heroes and heroines in my life. I was passionate about Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House series for years. I still have the book set given to me by my parents. It is crumbling with age and many of the front covers are torn or missing. I felt like Anne Shirley (aka Anne of Green Gables) was my best friend through all eight books chronicling her life story. Those books are so worn, the spines are completely broken. My sister and I have all 56 original Nancy Drew mysteries by Carolyn Keene. Nancy, Bess, and George were the original triumphant trio before Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Louisa May Alcott's Jo in Little Women, Little Men, and Jo's Boys was beloved. And more recently, I had a brief, but intense love affair with Percy Jackson--you know, the Lightening Thief? (Incidentally, Rick Riordan saddled his wagon to Disney instead of Warner Brothers. I suppose the jury is still out, but I'm thinking JK is going to come out ahead in the long run.)
The reason I love books so much is because I love words. Never underestimate the power of a good story. We have had fables, fairy tales, sonnets, songs, psalms, proverbs, plays, eulogies, mysteries, legends, speeches, and slogans told and retold, written, and rewritten, throughout the course of history from firesides to battlefields, and every place in between. Words transport us to another time, another place, change our perspective, help us find ourselves, call us to action, bring us to despair, and most importantly express our love.
Harry Potter may not be literature in the strictest sense of the word--it hasn't been around long enough. It didn't win a Pulitzer Prize. You probably wouldn't want to write about it in your Advanced Placement English Essay as an example of the hero on the journey. I have it on good authority by someone who grades those exams that you definitely should stick to "The Iliad." However, JK Rowling has achieved something like immortality with Harry Potter. We love her books because they are about the essence of life seen in it's purest form--the eyes of a child. We learn as Harry learns. We mature as Harry matures. And by the time we leave that angst ridden middle/high youth, we have learned the secret of being a true wizard--the answer is there is no right answer, only love.
Is there a greater journey than discovering the value of love and loyalty and honor and truth? Is there a more bittersweet truth than learning that sometimes things are not what they seem? Truth is not as easy as "good magic" and "dark magic." And loyalty for some (namely the Malfoys in the Harry Potter series) does not extend beyond the boundaries of the nuclear family unit. Is that really wrong? Do you blame them for not having the same strength of character as Harry? We can't all be heroes; that's why we read. That's why we sit around campfires and listen to tall tales. Not all of us are brave enough to pull a sword out of a dirty old hat and slice the head off of a snake like Neville, but we want to believe that somebody is.
I think words are the magical glue that keeps humanity human. For every expression of hate there is a counter expression of love. For every call to bear arms against our neighbors there is a call to peace. For every word used to exercise power over the weak, there is another that liberates the oppressed. For the times when there are no words, we all have our own golden snitch with "I open at the close" written on it. Our memories of those who have gone before us are held in our mind by thoughts; their images drawn on our hearts by their words or deeds.
Perhaps I overreach. After all, the Harry Potter series is just a story. It is a huge blockbuster, money minting, never been anything like it success story; some even say it's now a franchise. While all of that is true, to me Harry Potter is as disarming as "Expelliarmus." It is a lovely tale about a scrawny little boy with cowlicks (not unlike my son's) and glasses, living unloved in a closet under the stairs who one day grows up and saves the world from the most evil guy there ever was. This little boy braves unbelievable tasks for the love of his parents that he never met, with the help of his friends, the guidance of loving adults, and the belief in the goodness of others whether house elf, half-giant, goblin, muggle, squib, witch or wizard. Thank you Harry Potter for eleven years of beautiful magic.
So off I went that afternoon to the public library to check out the books. There was a THREE month waiting list for them. All of them. I couldn't believe it. Piqued by this wait, I drove straight to the nearest book store and bought all three books. I purchased one and two in paperback, but had to buy book 3 in hardback because the store was out of the newly released paperback version. I have the rest of the books in hardback. All were pre-ordered and purchased on release day after waiting in long lines. I have never missed a movie. I own the first three movies, although I haven't yet purchased the rest. I'm waiting for the 8 disc set due out at Christmas time probably. JK is nothing if not good at amassing Galleons, eh? You probably get a rubber wand or some banging fizzbees if you are one of the first two million people to pre-order your digitally remastered un-cut scenes silver edition. I digress...
I have had many literary heroes and heroines in my life. I was passionate about Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House series for years. I still have the book set given to me by my parents. It is crumbling with age and many of the front covers are torn or missing. I felt like Anne Shirley (aka Anne of Green Gables) was my best friend through all eight books chronicling her life story. Those books are so worn, the spines are completely broken. My sister and I have all 56 original Nancy Drew mysteries by Carolyn Keene. Nancy, Bess, and George were the original triumphant trio before Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Louisa May Alcott's Jo in Little Women, Little Men, and Jo's Boys was beloved. And more recently, I had a brief, but intense love affair with Percy Jackson--you know, the Lightening Thief? (Incidentally, Rick Riordan saddled his wagon to Disney instead of Warner Brothers. I suppose the jury is still out, but I'm thinking JK is going to come out ahead in the long run.)
The reason I love books so much is because I love words. Never underestimate the power of a good story. We have had fables, fairy tales, sonnets, songs, psalms, proverbs, plays, eulogies, mysteries, legends, speeches, and slogans told and retold, written, and rewritten, throughout the course of history from firesides to battlefields, and every place in between. Words transport us to another time, another place, change our perspective, help us find ourselves, call us to action, bring us to despair, and most importantly express our love.
Harry Potter may not be literature in the strictest sense of the word--it hasn't been around long enough. It didn't win a Pulitzer Prize. You probably wouldn't want to write about it in your Advanced Placement English Essay as an example of the hero on the journey. I have it on good authority by someone who grades those exams that you definitely should stick to "The Iliad." However, JK Rowling has achieved something like immortality with Harry Potter. We love her books because they are about the essence of life seen in it's purest form--the eyes of a child. We learn as Harry learns. We mature as Harry matures. And by the time we leave that angst ridden middle/high youth, we have learned the secret of being a true wizard--the answer is there is no right answer, only love.
Is there a greater journey than discovering the value of love and loyalty and honor and truth? Is there a more bittersweet truth than learning that sometimes things are not what they seem? Truth is not as easy as "good magic" and "dark magic." And loyalty for some (namely the Malfoys in the Harry Potter series) does not extend beyond the boundaries of the nuclear family unit. Is that really wrong? Do you blame them for not having the same strength of character as Harry? We can't all be heroes; that's why we read. That's why we sit around campfires and listen to tall tales. Not all of us are brave enough to pull a sword out of a dirty old hat and slice the head off of a snake like Neville, but we want to believe that somebody is.
I think words are the magical glue that keeps humanity human. For every expression of hate there is a counter expression of love. For every call to bear arms against our neighbors there is a call to peace. For every word used to exercise power over the weak, there is another that liberates the oppressed. For the times when there are no words, we all have our own golden snitch with "I open at the close" written on it. Our memories of those who have gone before us are held in our mind by thoughts; their images drawn on our hearts by their words or deeds.
Perhaps I overreach. After all, the Harry Potter series is just a story. It is a huge blockbuster, money minting, never been anything like it success story; some even say it's now a franchise. While all of that is true, to me Harry Potter is as disarming as "Expelliarmus." It is a lovely tale about a scrawny little boy with cowlicks (not unlike my son's) and glasses, living unloved in a closet under the stairs who one day grows up and saves the world from the most evil guy there ever was. This little boy braves unbelievable tasks for the love of his parents that he never met, with the help of his friends, the guidance of loving adults, and the belief in the goodness of others whether house elf, half-giant, goblin, muggle, squib, witch or wizard. Thank you Harry Potter for eleven years of beautiful magic.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
My Sweet Spot
In my sporadic attendance to my Companions group this spring, I have been learning about the sweet spot. We have been discussing the book, "Longing to Pray" and talking about our friendships and what our relationships tell us about our relationship with God. The sweet spot, is that time in which we set aside for God for prayer, listening, meditation, or conversation. In the interest of full disclosure I will tell you that I do not find my sweet spot every day, nor do I necessarily find it on consecutive tries.
I am most often successful in finding my sweet spot when I am sitting in my special place. Where on earth would a busy mom's special place be? Mine is as simple as my front porch rocker. Oh how quaint. Oh how trite. Oh how southern grandma of me. Oh how like a country song. Oh seriously are you for real? Yes.
I feel the most at peace there in my rocker and I don't go there often without planning to sit there for some time. There is a purposefulness to my rocking. I deliberately go there when the children are asleep, or busy with something else, or at school, or off with their father on an adventure. I like to read there, but mostly I simply be.
I find simply being allows me to experience a full range of emotions about a full range of thoughts. I worry over the children. I take stock of my marriage. I think about my family. I wonder about my friends. I ponder the possibilities. I drink in the scenery and never fail to be grateful for the beauty around me in all four seasons.
Experiencing the four seasons from my rocker is in essence how I channel my inner peace. While peace takes many forms, my inner peace starts with gratitude. And for me, gratitude starts with a clear picture of something for which I am thankful. I am grateful for our beautiful world. I've been many fabulous places and experienced more wonderful things than most people. I appreciate beauty in a multitude of forms. The view from my front porch however, is where I am most grateful for the beauty of the earth. In the winter time I listen to what the wind has to say to me. In the spring I feel more alive somehow. In the summer I appreciate the heat and humidity pressing around me. In the fall, the air seems cleaner and sharper.
Once my channeling is underway a welling up from somewhere deep within me inevitably causes the tears to flow. I am so overcome with thankfulness for my life and everything in it. For it takes everything--good, bad, ugly, pretty, simple, complicated, hurtful, or healing--in my life to make it a beautiful life. Here then, is the sweet spot. Now I am open to God. What does he want me to hear? What does he have to say to me? What in my life is really worth bringing to our joint attention? When I'm in my sweet spot, I seem to know what needs talking about. What I need to bring before God isn't always pretty, and is often ugly behavior on my part. But what is ugly about our actions reminds us what we need to do to make our lives beautiful again. So the tears come. And the repentance, and the forgiveness, and the grace to go on making mistakes.
I encourage you to take the time to find your special place. Where is your sweet spot? Where are you the most alive? The most attentive to the sound of silence? Go there and find your inner peace.
For the Beauty of the Earth
By John Rutter
(I'm writing this from memory...summer of 7th grade, Appalachian State University Choral Camp...so forgive me if I miss a word or two. I'm singing the alto line in my head just now trying to remember it all.)
For the beauty of the earth
For the beauty of the skies
For the love which from our birth
over and around us lies
over and around us lies
Lord of all to thee we raise
This our joyful hymn
of praise.
For the beauty of each hour
of the day and of the night
hill and vale
and tree and flower
sun and moon and stars of night
sun and moon and stars of night
Lord of all to thee we raise
This our joyful hymn of praise.
This our joyful hymn, our hymn of praise.
I am most often successful in finding my sweet spot when I am sitting in my special place. Where on earth would a busy mom's special place be? Mine is as simple as my front porch rocker. Oh how quaint. Oh how trite. Oh how southern grandma of me. Oh how like a country song. Oh seriously are you for real? Yes.
I feel the most at peace there in my rocker and I don't go there often without planning to sit there for some time. There is a purposefulness to my rocking. I deliberately go there when the children are asleep, or busy with something else, or at school, or off with their father on an adventure. I like to read there, but mostly I simply be.
I find simply being allows me to experience a full range of emotions about a full range of thoughts. I worry over the children. I take stock of my marriage. I think about my family. I wonder about my friends. I ponder the possibilities. I drink in the scenery and never fail to be grateful for the beauty around me in all four seasons.
Experiencing the four seasons from my rocker is in essence how I channel my inner peace. While peace takes many forms, my inner peace starts with gratitude. And for me, gratitude starts with a clear picture of something for which I am thankful. I am grateful for our beautiful world. I've been many fabulous places and experienced more wonderful things than most people. I appreciate beauty in a multitude of forms. The view from my front porch however, is where I am most grateful for the beauty of the earth. In the winter time I listen to what the wind has to say to me. In the spring I feel more alive somehow. In the summer I appreciate the heat and humidity pressing around me. In the fall, the air seems cleaner and sharper.
Once my channeling is underway a welling up from somewhere deep within me inevitably causes the tears to flow. I am so overcome with thankfulness for my life and everything in it. For it takes everything--good, bad, ugly, pretty, simple, complicated, hurtful, or healing--in my life to make it a beautiful life. Here then, is the sweet spot. Now I am open to God. What does he want me to hear? What does he have to say to me? What in my life is really worth bringing to our joint attention? When I'm in my sweet spot, I seem to know what needs talking about. What I need to bring before God isn't always pretty, and is often ugly behavior on my part. But what is ugly about our actions reminds us what we need to do to make our lives beautiful again. So the tears come. And the repentance, and the forgiveness, and the grace to go on making mistakes.
I encourage you to take the time to find your special place. Where is your sweet spot? Where are you the most alive? The most attentive to the sound of silence? Go there and find your inner peace.
For the Beauty of the Earth
By John Rutter
(I'm writing this from memory...summer of 7th grade, Appalachian State University Choral Camp...so forgive me if I miss a word or two. I'm singing the alto line in my head just now trying to remember it all.)
For the beauty of the earth
For the beauty of the skies
For the love which from our birth
over and around us lies
over and around us lies
Lord of all to thee we raise
This our joyful hymn
of praise.
For the beauty of each hour
of the day and of the night
hill and vale
and tree and flower
sun and moon and stars of night
sun and moon and stars of night
Lord of all to thee we raise
This our joyful hymn of praise.
This our joyful hymn, our hymn of praise.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Mother's Day
I am disappointed that I couldn't come up with anything profound to send to my friends this Mother's Day. But I'm not disappointed in how I have spent my day. I enjoyed lunch that I didn't have to make or clean up with the two mothers in my life--my own mother and my mother-in-law. I have spent time reading a new book (my favorite activity). I took a nap. I sat in my rocking chair on the front porch and drank in the beauty of the earth around me (until the bees and pollen sent me inside). Now I am typing while my husband makes dinner and the boys are "helping" him by generally being in the way. Not a bad way to celebrate a day that's all about me, right?
I decided that it was okay for me to do these somewhat selfish things because it gave me time to recharge my battery and refill my love tank. When my boys need me I want to fill the need. When my friends call me, I want to help. When the world needs action, I want to be able to heed the call. I cannot do these things if I am empty and used up. Hence the pause today to refill my cup. I am grateful that I have the opportunity in my life to do so and I am thankful to those around me who provided me with the time off--my husband and my father-in-law who so intuitively understand what I need and when I need it. It's uncanny in a man to find that, and I seem to have two men in my life who get it.
So to my family of friends (and my family members), I say with deep gratitude in my heart, Happy Mother's Day. Thank you for mothering me with your care. Thank you for mothering me with your love. Thank you for supporting me in my journey as a mother and helping me mother those around me. Thank you for the example of mothering you have brought into my life. Thank you to all the mothers who have blazed the trail before me and made my path easier. And to all those who love, shelter, and provide for mothers this day and all days, thank you for your devotion to us.
I decided that it was okay for me to do these somewhat selfish things because it gave me time to recharge my battery and refill my love tank. When my boys need me I want to fill the need. When my friends call me, I want to help. When the world needs action, I want to be able to heed the call. I cannot do these things if I am empty and used up. Hence the pause today to refill my cup. I am grateful that I have the opportunity in my life to do so and I am thankful to those around me who provided me with the time off--my husband and my father-in-law who so intuitively understand what I need and when I need it. It's uncanny in a man to find that, and I seem to have two men in my life who get it.
So to my family of friends (and my family members), I say with deep gratitude in my heart, Happy Mother's Day. Thank you for mothering me with your care. Thank you for mothering me with your love. Thank you for supporting me in my journey as a mother and helping me mother those around me. Thank you for the example of mothering you have brought into my life. Thank you to all the mothers who have blazed the trail before me and made my path easier. And to all those who love, shelter, and provide for mothers this day and all days, thank you for your devotion to us.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Abstinence
I haven't blogged in a long time. It seems I'm going to have to return to my old schedule of actually scheduling time to write, because free time doesn't materialize on its own. I've been kicking this topic around for a long time in my head. I've been afraid to write about this subject, because putting it in print seems more daunting than an earnest conversation among friends on somebody's back porch. But I've been known to put myself out there. So here goes...
Abstinence is such a no-no word in our culture and I don't know why. It is the single best piece of common sense I can think of to impart to my children. When you talk about abstinence with your children you can't just say, "Don't do it because it's wrong." Abstinence is a life style choice. Abstinence says, "this is who I am, what I stand for, and where my boundaries are." Abstinence is about so much more than "not doing it" (whatever doing "it" is anymore).
When you teach abstinence you have to explain the concept of self-worth. Believe it or not, as a parent, you've been teaching abstinence your child's entire life. For example, "we don't say shut up in this house." or, "we don't hit our friends." or, "you don't talk to your mother that way." The list goes on. Abstinence, in a broad sense, is refraining from behaviors or actions with which you don't agree, or you find harmful or damaging in some way to yourself and others. For the most part, we as parents don't let our kids do something that could hurt them or their friends do we? (Please note, I do know there are instances where natural consequences come into play--I've told you twenty thousand times not to jump off the fence. I'm not going to tell you anymore and when you break your arm and are out of baseball all summer because you wouldn't listen, you'll learn.)
I'm going to start with sex/intercourse/doing it/shagging--pick a current phrase. I would like to point out that sex is everywhere. Our culture is bombarded with it on almost every level in every medium every hour of the day and night. Sex is important to talk about because sex is so much more than the actual act of copulation. The advent of technology forces us as parents to be even more vigilant. It isn't just "fast girls" or "bad boys" or "provocative dressing" or "bad reputations"anymore. We have sexting and Facebook and YouTube. Taking your clothes off for somebody may not be the act of intercourse, but you are well on your way to the murky choppy waters of sexual behavior. Kids today know six ways to Sunday how to "do stuff that's everything but [intercourse]." That just plain scares the pants off of me. I don't care who you are, how old you are, or how hip you think you are, it should scare you too.
How many times do we hear things like, "I just wanted him/her to love me." "I just wanted to fit in." "Everybody is doing it." Really? Are you going to jump off a bridge too? When you love another person or another person loves you, it is the essence of that person that is loved, not their body. Sex is an expression of love sanctioned by God for the end result of procreation among consenting adults who are usually married. You can take sex out of the picture and still have love and intimacy. If you take love out of the picture, all you've got is a short term athletic event. You can't make someone love you if you don't first love yourself. Loving yourself is the key to self-worth. This is an incredibly difficult thing for young adults to understand. I didn't understand for years. It takes practice and work to figure out how to love yourself.
And for my friends and foes alike who prefer not to put God in the mix when talking about sex, let me offer another explanation. When you love another person or another person loves you, it is the essence of that person that is loved, not their body. Sex is a consensual act between two people who trust each other. Sex is generally seen as an expression of love, but should not be confused with love. Sex is not intimacy. Sex is not proof of identity, or ownership, or relationship.
For others who still grimace at my definitions, I'll give you another reason abstinence is still the best policy: Education. Education. Education. The most reliable way to make sure you have a future is to learn a trade, a skill, or find a career path that will enable self sufficiency. Putting yourself at risk of derailing those plans with an unwanted pregnancy (sex), disease (sex or illicit intravenous drugs), or brain injury (drugs, driving under the influence) is an awfully big gamble. When you lose, you lose big. Again, the concept of self-worth arises. Aren't you worth planning a future for? What do you want to do? Where do you want to go? Who could you be if you thought it was really worth trying for?
Dear readers, please don't think I don't believe in young love. I do actually think love at first sight and high school sweethearts are both real and highly romantic entities. Please don't think I find teenagers to be stupid, vapid, shallow, remorseless, mindless, or just plain dumb. I think teenagers are feisty, creative, independent, curious, interesting, and sometimes quite charming, but also very young, highly inexperienced, prone to impulse, and not well-practiced in self-denial, or patience. Just in case you're wondering, abstinence doesn't apply only to girls--I have two sons. Please don't think I believe pre-marital sex causes life-long damage or leads to a one-way ticket to hell. Not true.
I was once a teenager. I did go to high school--with boys. I was once a college freshman. There were boys and parties and alcohol and drugs in college. I learned a few lessons the hard way. Sometimes learning the hard way is the only way, but that doesn't mean grown-ups should stop trying to teach the lesson. If I can make some of those hard choices easier by preaching abstinence to my children early, I'm absolutely going to do it.
As a young adult, I often said crushing things about my own parents. I thought they were old meanies who didn't want me to have any fun. I thought they didn't understand me. And sometimes, I thought they were more than unreasonable. What I didn't know then, but have appreciated for many years now, is that they gave me the gift of self-worth by helping me keep myself out of trouble. They gave me the gift of a long youth so that I had time to navigate the murky waters of adult behavior. They gave me the gift of boundaries so "just saying no" to impaired driving and experimenting with drugs and staying out of the backseat of cars was an easy choice. They were by no means perfect in this regard, but the message was clear. You don't have to be a hard-ass to make your message clear (although it's probably not a bad idea every now and then). In fact, most experts say flexibility is an unlikely ally here. There are ways to give a little to get a little from your child without compromising your message or the boundaries.
I was by no means perfect, but I did know what I wanted for myself. I believed that a college education was mine for the taking if I wanted it. I believed that the right guy to love on every level would come along someday, but he would want an intelligent person to talk to when we weren't having sex! I believed that drugs was a bad idea period. I believed driving while impaired was just stupid and that if and when I chose to drink under age, I was going to have to be responsible for the risks I was taking. I believed all those things because I had a sense of self-worth. I believed my life was meaningful and I had something to offer other people. Incidentally, I still believe my life is meaningful. I still believe I have something to offer people. And I still believe that if and when I choose to drink, the alcohol is not responsible for my actions, I am.
Believing your life is meaningful and that you have something to offer is basically the bottom line when you talk about abstinence. I don't understand why we aren't preaching these ideas from the front of every middle/high school gymnasium and auditorium in the country. I don't understand how handing out condoms and explaining how birth control pills work to teenagers replaces the idea that keeping your eyes on the prize will keep you out of trouble.
The accepted lamentation of "well they're just going to do it anyway and we might keep a few unwanted pregnancies from happening" is pathetic. It's a poor excuse. It's a lazy thought process and it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. We as a culture make a huge mistake and thoroughly under-mind our children's self-worth when we only preach "safer sex." The concept of safe sex implies sex is inherently unsafe. Wow, what a mixed message to send to a child. Let's make sex even harder to figure out. Where is the frank discussion of the emotional toll on your health and well-being? Where is the open dialogue to help our kids navigate their feelings and their fears and their questions? Why is it socially acceptable to talk about safe sex physically but not emotionally?
Do I support wearing condoms among sexually active people--teenagers or adults? Absolutely. Am I going to give condoms to my teenage son with a "just in case buddy" and walk out of the room? Hell no. Am I going to sit him down at the kitchen table for a long and very uncomfortable talk about the responsibilities of unzipping his jeans? You're damned right. Am I going to tell him that girls will interrupt his college dreams? Yes. Will we talk about birth control and disease? Of course. Am I going to preach against any and all drugs? Every single solitary time. Am I going to enforce the legal drinking age in my home? You betcha. I'm his parent. That's my job. Am I going to be understanding and try my best to help him navigate true loves and false loves and just plain hormones? Yes, yes, yes. Why will I do all this heart-wrenching, gut-busting, terrifying, hard to talk about stuff? Because I believe in his worth as an individual.
Self-worth is one of the greatest gifts we can instill in our children. We have to plant the seeds during their youth and hope that as they mature into adults, they become masters of their own self-worth. I believe self-worth begins with abstinence. Abstinence is not a dirty word. It's not old-fashioned. It's not frigid, naive, or unhealthy. Abstinence is the freedom to say, "this is where I draw my boundaries" on any activity from sky diving to sexting. Abstinence is about believing that you, not pop culture, not your friends, not the crowd, choose the who, what, when, where, why, and how of your behavior. Abstinence is about so much more than "not doing it."
Abstinence is such a no-no word in our culture and I don't know why. It is the single best piece of common sense I can think of to impart to my children. When you talk about abstinence with your children you can't just say, "Don't do it because it's wrong." Abstinence is a life style choice. Abstinence says, "this is who I am, what I stand for, and where my boundaries are." Abstinence is about so much more than "not doing it" (whatever doing "it" is anymore).
When you teach abstinence you have to explain the concept of self-worth. Believe it or not, as a parent, you've been teaching abstinence your child's entire life. For example, "we don't say shut up in this house." or, "we don't hit our friends." or, "you don't talk to your mother that way." The list goes on. Abstinence, in a broad sense, is refraining from behaviors or actions with which you don't agree, or you find harmful or damaging in some way to yourself and others. For the most part, we as parents don't let our kids do something that could hurt them or their friends do we? (Please note, I do know there are instances where natural consequences come into play--I've told you twenty thousand times not to jump off the fence. I'm not going to tell you anymore and when you break your arm and are out of baseball all summer because you wouldn't listen, you'll learn.)
I'm going to start with sex/intercourse/doing it/shagging--pick a current phrase. I would like to point out that sex is everywhere. Our culture is bombarded with it on almost every level in every medium every hour of the day and night. Sex is important to talk about because sex is so much more than the actual act of copulation. The advent of technology forces us as parents to be even more vigilant. It isn't just "fast girls" or "bad boys" or "provocative dressing" or "bad reputations"anymore. We have sexting and Facebook and YouTube. Taking your clothes off for somebody may not be the act of intercourse, but you are well on your way to the murky choppy waters of sexual behavior. Kids today know six ways to Sunday how to "do stuff that's everything but [intercourse]." That just plain scares the pants off of me. I don't care who you are, how old you are, or how hip you think you are, it should scare you too.
How many times do we hear things like, "I just wanted him/her to love me." "I just wanted to fit in." "Everybody is doing it." Really? Are you going to jump off a bridge too? When you love another person or another person loves you, it is the essence of that person that is loved, not their body. Sex is an expression of love sanctioned by God for the end result of procreation among consenting adults who are usually married. You can take sex out of the picture and still have love and intimacy. If you take love out of the picture, all you've got is a short term athletic event. You can't make someone love you if you don't first love yourself. Loving yourself is the key to self-worth. This is an incredibly difficult thing for young adults to understand. I didn't understand for years. It takes practice and work to figure out how to love yourself.
And for my friends and foes alike who prefer not to put God in the mix when talking about sex, let me offer another explanation. When you love another person or another person loves you, it is the essence of that person that is loved, not their body. Sex is a consensual act between two people who trust each other. Sex is generally seen as an expression of love, but should not be confused with love. Sex is not intimacy. Sex is not proof of identity, or ownership, or relationship.
For others who still grimace at my definitions, I'll give you another reason abstinence is still the best policy: Education. Education. Education. The most reliable way to make sure you have a future is to learn a trade, a skill, or find a career path that will enable self sufficiency. Putting yourself at risk of derailing those plans with an unwanted pregnancy (sex), disease (sex or illicit intravenous drugs), or brain injury (drugs, driving under the influence) is an awfully big gamble. When you lose, you lose big. Again, the concept of self-worth arises. Aren't you worth planning a future for? What do you want to do? Where do you want to go? Who could you be if you thought it was really worth trying for?
Dear readers, please don't think I don't believe in young love. I do actually think love at first sight and high school sweethearts are both real and highly romantic entities. Please don't think I find teenagers to be stupid, vapid, shallow, remorseless, mindless, or just plain dumb. I think teenagers are feisty, creative, independent, curious, interesting, and sometimes quite charming, but also very young, highly inexperienced, prone to impulse, and not well-practiced in self-denial, or patience. Just in case you're wondering, abstinence doesn't apply only to girls--I have two sons. Please don't think I believe pre-marital sex causes life-long damage or leads to a one-way ticket to hell. Not true.
I was once a teenager. I did go to high school--with boys. I was once a college freshman. There were boys and parties and alcohol and drugs in college. I learned a few lessons the hard way. Sometimes learning the hard way is the only way, but that doesn't mean grown-ups should stop trying to teach the lesson. If I can make some of those hard choices easier by preaching abstinence to my children early, I'm absolutely going to do it.
As a young adult, I often said crushing things about my own parents. I thought they were old meanies who didn't want me to have any fun. I thought they didn't understand me. And sometimes, I thought they were more than unreasonable. What I didn't know then, but have appreciated for many years now, is that they gave me the gift of self-worth by helping me keep myself out of trouble. They gave me the gift of a long youth so that I had time to navigate the murky waters of adult behavior. They gave me the gift of boundaries so "just saying no" to impaired driving and experimenting with drugs and staying out of the backseat of cars was an easy choice. They were by no means perfect in this regard, but the message was clear. You don't have to be a hard-ass to make your message clear (although it's probably not a bad idea every now and then). In fact, most experts say flexibility is an unlikely ally here. There are ways to give a little to get a little from your child without compromising your message or the boundaries.
I was by no means perfect, but I did know what I wanted for myself. I believed that a college education was mine for the taking if I wanted it. I believed that the right guy to love on every level would come along someday, but he would want an intelligent person to talk to when we weren't having sex! I believed that drugs was a bad idea period. I believed driving while impaired was just stupid and that if and when I chose to drink under age, I was going to have to be responsible for the risks I was taking. I believed all those things because I had a sense of self-worth. I believed my life was meaningful and I had something to offer other people. Incidentally, I still believe my life is meaningful. I still believe I have something to offer people. And I still believe that if and when I choose to drink, the alcohol is not responsible for my actions, I am.
Believing your life is meaningful and that you have something to offer is basically the bottom line when you talk about abstinence. I don't understand why we aren't preaching these ideas from the front of every middle/high school gymnasium and auditorium in the country. I don't understand how handing out condoms and explaining how birth control pills work to teenagers replaces the idea that keeping your eyes on the prize will keep you out of trouble.
The accepted lamentation of "well they're just going to do it anyway and we might keep a few unwanted pregnancies from happening" is pathetic. It's a poor excuse. It's a lazy thought process and it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. We as a culture make a huge mistake and thoroughly under-mind our children's self-worth when we only preach "safer sex." The concept of safe sex implies sex is inherently unsafe. Wow, what a mixed message to send to a child. Let's make sex even harder to figure out. Where is the frank discussion of the emotional toll on your health and well-being? Where is the open dialogue to help our kids navigate their feelings and their fears and their questions? Why is it socially acceptable to talk about safe sex physically but not emotionally?
Do I support wearing condoms among sexually active people--teenagers or adults? Absolutely. Am I going to give condoms to my teenage son with a "just in case buddy" and walk out of the room? Hell no. Am I going to sit him down at the kitchen table for a long and very uncomfortable talk about the responsibilities of unzipping his jeans? You're damned right. Am I going to tell him that girls will interrupt his college dreams? Yes. Will we talk about birth control and disease? Of course. Am I going to preach against any and all drugs? Every single solitary time. Am I going to enforce the legal drinking age in my home? You betcha. I'm his parent. That's my job. Am I going to be understanding and try my best to help him navigate true loves and false loves and just plain hormones? Yes, yes, yes. Why will I do all this heart-wrenching, gut-busting, terrifying, hard to talk about stuff? Because I believe in his worth as an individual.
Self-worth is one of the greatest gifts we can instill in our children. We have to plant the seeds during their youth and hope that as they mature into adults, they become masters of their own self-worth. I believe self-worth begins with abstinence. Abstinence is not a dirty word. It's not old-fashioned. It's not frigid, naive, or unhealthy. Abstinence is the freedom to say, "this is where I draw my boundaries" on any activity from sky diving to sexting. Abstinence is about believing that you, not pop culture, not your friends, not the crowd, choose the who, what, when, where, why, and how of your behavior. Abstinence is about so much more than "not doing it."
Sunday, December 5, 2010
A Year Round Advent
Sometimes I wish Advent was year round. The children get so excited. Right now it's all about the stickers on the calendar and who gets to blow out the candles after our meal. But someday I hope they will think about the traditions we have created and find their own excitement during the season.
Christmas day is always lovely, as is the full 12 days after Christmas right through to Epiphany. But once Epiphany has come and gone there is a lull in the calendar until Lent. And while Lent is critically important spiritually, it doesn't have the same panache as Advent. Easter is a beautiful, mysterious, wondrous renewal of faith. But again, once Easter tide has come and gone, it seems forever before Advent returns. I suppose my real searching if I get down to it is where can I find the desire to search and wait and wonder during the rest of the year that I find during Advent and to some extent Lent? Would I be watering down the joy and passion of these two seasons were I to find a way to recreate them year round?
My Companions group's final meeting is tomorrow. We are discussing our rule of life. In researching our rule of life we are to determine the spiritual practices that will provide the most comfort, direction, growth, and meaning in our lives and add them in proportionate doses to our current spiritual lives. Seems like a tall order and it is. However I find myself excited about the potential for a new spiritual practice to help with the breadth and depth of my journey. I have decided to not act quickly--following the advice of our study author, but instead use the rest of Advent to wait for God to show me the way. I'm not much on waiting, nor am I good at it. This in and of itself will be a practice! I hope by the end of Christmastide that an Epiphany will await me and I will find a new direction in which to grow.
A blessed Advent to all of you. Peace be with you.
Friday, December 3, 2010
O Christmas Tree
Sometimes I feel like a Victorian Christmas tree trapped in a Farside cartoon. I am the sentimental female in a house full of males who would rather use the garland for swinging from the ceiling fan than dress the Christmas tree. I am the one working on "a place for every ornament and every ornament in its place" long after the boys are in bed and my husband has moved on to drinking beer on the couch. I can't help myself. There are few things that say Christmas to me with pure unbridled joy and affection than my Christmas tree. As soon as we get the lights on, I turn all the other lights off so I can bathe in the glow of non-LED white and colored lights. I do keep a flashlight nearby in case I need to find a missing hook.
The main reason I love my Christmas tree? The ornaments. And it isn't that I have beautiful ornaments--I do, but it's the stories attached to the ornaments. I spend a couple of hours (yes truly) unwrapping each and every ornament. There are a few that don't make the cut, but I still look at them and remember the story attached to them. My Christmas tree and the memories I relive while decorating it, suspend me in a perfect moment of love and harmony and happiness that I don't experience at any other time through the year.
Here is a list of some of my favorites (if I get technology savvy maybe I can eventually add pictures).
1. My green thumbprint turtle from 1980 that I made in preschool. I don't actually remember making this one, but it has had a prominent place on every tree I've ever had since 1980 so it's worth listing.
2. My green bead wreath I made in primary Sunday School class with Bonnie Whitley.
3. My clothespin Rudolph I made at our first lake house on Badin Lake with my friends in Children's Hour from church. He's missing a google eye now, but otherwise Rudolph is in good health.
4. My Raggedy Anne ornament sewed by our neighbor Meredith in 1980 for me for Christmas.
5. My NC Zoo Ornament with a picture of the first gorilla ever born at the zoo.
6. "Merry Christmas Mar" ornament from my freshman college roommate Mo.
7. My "Christmas GSW 93" ornament made by my friend from Governor's School, Leslie.
8. My "First Christmas" ornament given to me by my sophomore college roommate, Catherine at my wedding.
9. The ornament my students made me from my first school in Chattanooga. Thanks Mrs. Hayes' class at East Side!
10. My SPCC ornament given to us during our inaugural season of the Southern Piedmont Children's Choir.
There are many, many more including the ornaments I have bought for my boys each year. Their baby's first ornaments were purchased with so much love and hope. Every time I watch the boys hang them I go back to that place when I carried them inside me and remember how precious that time was. My mother also finds beautiful ornaments to give them. Each year as we put them away, I pull out a sharpie and label them so there is no argument for the following year! I have ornaments from our vacations--Phoenix, Disney, Steamboat. I have all the ornaments from our first year (1999) as a married couple. Getting married the Saturday after Thanksgiving opens the door for many such gifts. I cherish every one of them too.
This year my boys were old enough to "help." They each have a box of their own ornaments and are allowed to hang them each year with help. This year they just kept going and helped me hang most of the ornaments. It was our first family tree affair, which is special in its own way. My boys kept going "oooooh" and "LOOK!" and "that's funny." But my favorite was, "mom, tell me about this one." I tried not to get choked up, because it was a time of joy and I didn't want to confuse the boys with my tears. My husband is also quite good at sending me off to the kitchen for something when I start getting too uptight about where the ornaments go and why the boys are trying to hang them without hooks and keep dropping them. "You can move them later," he reminds me. Good man.
I was just blowing off steam earlier today about not being in the Christmas spirit. Nothing like our Christmas tree to give me a right change of heart. Bring on the season, I'm ready now. My heart is full of gratefulness and grace. Thank you God for beautiful memories of good times and for my yearly Christmas tree. I have been to my special place and I'm ready to make space for the grace of the season. Peace be among you during the holidays and always.
The main reason I love my Christmas tree? The ornaments. And it isn't that I have beautiful ornaments--I do, but it's the stories attached to the ornaments. I spend a couple of hours (yes truly) unwrapping each and every ornament. There are a few that don't make the cut, but I still look at them and remember the story attached to them. My Christmas tree and the memories I relive while decorating it, suspend me in a perfect moment of love and harmony and happiness that I don't experience at any other time through the year.
Here is a list of some of my favorites (if I get technology savvy maybe I can eventually add pictures).
1. My green thumbprint turtle from 1980 that I made in preschool. I don't actually remember making this one, but it has had a prominent place on every tree I've ever had since 1980 so it's worth listing.
2. My green bead wreath I made in primary Sunday School class with Bonnie Whitley.
3. My clothespin Rudolph I made at our first lake house on Badin Lake with my friends in Children's Hour from church. He's missing a google eye now, but otherwise Rudolph is in good health.
4. My Raggedy Anne ornament sewed by our neighbor Meredith in 1980 for me for Christmas.
5. My NC Zoo Ornament with a picture of the first gorilla ever born at the zoo.
6. "Merry Christmas Mar" ornament from my freshman college roommate Mo.
7. My "Christmas GSW 93" ornament made by my friend from Governor's School, Leslie.
8. My "First Christmas" ornament given to me by my sophomore college roommate, Catherine at my wedding.
9. The ornament my students made me from my first school in Chattanooga. Thanks Mrs. Hayes' class at East Side!
10. My SPCC ornament given to us during our inaugural season of the Southern Piedmont Children's Choir.
There are many, many more including the ornaments I have bought for my boys each year. Their baby's first ornaments were purchased with so much love and hope. Every time I watch the boys hang them I go back to that place when I carried them inside me and remember how precious that time was. My mother also finds beautiful ornaments to give them. Each year as we put them away, I pull out a sharpie and label them so there is no argument for the following year! I have ornaments from our vacations--Phoenix, Disney, Steamboat. I have all the ornaments from our first year (1999) as a married couple. Getting married the Saturday after Thanksgiving opens the door for many such gifts. I cherish every one of them too.
This year my boys were old enough to "help." They each have a box of their own ornaments and are allowed to hang them each year with help. This year they just kept going and helped me hang most of the ornaments. It was our first family tree affair, which is special in its own way. My boys kept going "oooooh" and "LOOK!" and "that's funny." But my favorite was, "mom, tell me about this one." I tried not to get choked up, because it was a time of joy and I didn't want to confuse the boys with my tears. My husband is also quite good at sending me off to the kitchen for something when I start getting too uptight about where the ornaments go and why the boys are trying to hang them without hooks and keep dropping them. "You can move them later," he reminds me. Good man.
I was just blowing off steam earlier today about not being in the Christmas spirit. Nothing like our Christmas tree to give me a right change of heart. Bring on the season, I'm ready now. My heart is full of gratefulness and grace. Thank you God for beautiful memories of good times and for my yearly Christmas tree. I have been to my special place and I'm ready to make space for the grace of the season. Peace be among you during the holidays and always.
Monday, September 13, 2010
The "Life-Brary"
My three year old son and I have been visiting the library lately. His older brother has started kindergarten and goes to the school library once a week. This weekly visit made a great impression on my younger son. He is enthralled with the library. He likes going up the big staircase (it's a lot dark and a little spooky) to the children's floor. He likes the child-sized computers with colored keyboards that link him to some very fun games (Sesame Street and the like). He likes finding new Curious George books to check out. He likes the dated displays in the glass cases. He likes climbing on the step stools in the adult section and jumping off of them. He likes taking the hard back books off the shelves he can reach just for fun. I don't know if I'm raising a reader or just a curious tornado of energy.
My favorite thing about the library is that he calls it, the "life-brary". I cannot get him to say library. However, upon reflection, I think the "life-brary" is quite appropriate. I've been going to the library all my life.
I remember with great nostalgia all the wonderful opportunities I had at the Asheboro/Randolph County Public Library growing up. My first piano recital was held there. The children's section was well stocked. The Randolph Room held interesting facts that I used for my fourth grade N.C. History project. I spent two years on the Battle of the Books team reading Newberry Medal Winners and participating in a quiz bowl type program (Incidentally, Farmer Elementary School wiped the floor with the city schools for several years. In fact, I'm not sure we ever lost before the program was cut, but we might have.) I remember going to the library with my mother and sister once a week checking out seven books at a time (the maximum), one for each day. I spent many hours learning to research at the public library back before computers when the magazines had to be checked out and the card catalog was more than a dusty row of boxed cards. How many 3x5 index cards did I go through researching information on great American and British authors for my research papers in middle and high school? After about two years in high school, I graduated to the Randolph Community College Library because they had other research materials I couldn't get at the public library.
Later in my college life, the library became even more than a pit stop for books. I spent many hours copying reserve reading to take elsewhere to read (ditto for graduate school). I spent many nights trolling the study carols for a cute guy from my political science class to ask a stupid yet relevant question in the hopes he might talk to me for five minutes. I learned how to use theInternet at the E.H. Little Library. I even walked to the Georgetown University library from my basement bedroom in a row house in Georgetown to check my email, because I didn't have a computer. It's amazing how many significant (and literary) opportunities I have had at the library.
And after college, the library remained a significant part of my life. I spent many Sunday afternoons and rainy days at the main library in Memphis (back when it was right off of Union behind the Walgreens before moving to its new and beautiful location on Poplar in East Memphis). Then when we moved to Iowa City, one of the first things I did was visit the library and get my library card. I spent many many mornings and afternoons and evenings rolling my older son in the stroller up and down the aisles of popular adult fiction and seven day check out looking for something to read. So of course when we settled in Chattanooga, I went to the library and got my library card right away.
I park in my husband's old office building lot and walk two blocks to Nirvana. Okay, Nirvana is a little strong--the library is unfortunately in serious need of refurbishing, but the book selection remains strong, and the people who work there are quite lovely and helpful. I have yet to leave the library empty handed. Today Wyatt and I left with H.A. Rey's Curious George Rides a Bike, Lois Ehlert's Growing Vegetable Soup, Phillipa Gregory's The Red Queen, Aldous Huxley's, Brave New World, and the first in the Magic Tree House series for big brother. Our front porch swing remains a favorite spot to read besides mommy's bed.
My boys love Barnes and Noble and Books a Million. So do I. And we spend quite a bit of time there too. After all they have a train table, new releases that don't require a hold or a long wait time, and a bakery. But the feeling just isn't the same. The library is an exercise in patience--waiting on that new release or popular author makes the book that much better. And if you don't like a book, you don't feel disappointed that you paid 27.95 for it. In fact, these days I go online and look up all the new releases and make myself a list. Then I go shopping--at the library. When they don't have it "in-stock" I ask to be put on the waiting list. If only everything were so simple.
The library is also an exercise in cherishing and taking care of intellectual property that doesn't belong to us. You start simple, "This isn't our book, you can't draw on the faces with purple crayon." Then you graduate to, "Turn in the book on time or you have to pay a fine (Even though it's only 25 cents a day, it adds up, believe me, I've been late often)." Learning to reference and cite works in your papers correctly is not only required for the assignment, it's the right thing to do. Finding the actual source of quoted information instead of quoting a quote is challenging and also good practice in checking your sources.
So thanks little Wyatt for your innocent insight into a wonderful tradition. The public library really is a "life-brary". I love sharing this special experience with you. I hope that our libraries never become obsolete. In light of the crunch for public funds and the pervasiveness of the Internet, I am going to investigate how to support our public library and start donating (beyond my late fees) because the library has been a part of my life that I have long taken for granted. It would be a real shame to let such a unique institution become extinct. Next time you're downtown, hug your librarian and go check out life at the "life-brary"!
Friday, August 6, 2010
New Beginnings
I can't believe I haven't posted since February. I suppose that shows me how busy my life has been. Either that or my creativity has dried up considerably. I still compose semi-monthly emails to friends and family, but alas I have become enamored of the 501 character posts on Facebook. Call it an exercise in pith--or perhaps an incredible waste of time considering I post sometimes 3 times a day.
So on to new beginnings. A new school year seems like as good a time as any to make new resolutions and goals. My calendar year has always started in August and ended in May. This year is no exception. I now have a kindergartener and a preschooler. Babes no more. Can I get a hallelujah? I haven't yet had that "oh" moment when I realize we're closing a chapter--the pre-3 years are forever gone. So far, I'm okay with that. My three year old (as of yesterday at 12:22pm) is still chubby cheeked and round like little ones are. My six year old still hugs and kisses me as if I've been gone a million years. So I suppose I haven't missed the hanging on and neediness I've grown accustomed to because it hasn't yet gone away. But I am beginning to notice that I've become more of a referee and less of a playmate.
I enjoy the newer types of play--reading real books and stories (chapter books, science books, books about something), playing real games (board games, bigger puzzles, jenga, etc), and watching various and sundry puppet shows, dance-offs, band jams, and the like. I don't enjoy getting playdough out of the carpet, stepping on legos, trying to wash marker out of the comforters on the beds, and stinky shoes.
I suppose there will be new beginnings for me this year too. Grade mom responsibilities, carpool etiquette, flag football mom (baseball mom was kinda scary--I had to pull myself off the dug out chain link fence a time or two), and homework supervisor (kindergarten? you ask--yes apparently there are spelling words, reading assignments, and some math, WOW).
There will be some reruns, but with a different cast. Preschool is old hat by now, but with a new main character. And the baby (which he isn't anymore) is a completely different child. It will be an interesting dynamic to watch. New teachers, new toys, new building, and new friends await us at the old preschool.
To entertain my readers, I've decided to list a few of the statements I've heard lately that remind me of my new phase in life. While I'm still in the trenches of child-rearing, I can no longer complain about baby stuff, because my three year old uses sentences longer than his body and my six year old's vocabulary scares me.
"I'm not a baby, I'm a big boy, look at my legs."
"I'm pretty sure moths are nocturnal creatures."
"Hey wait for me. Don't leave yet."
"Hey mommy, I'm going to take a break from this playing."
"Mom, don't you want to watch me read?"
"Mom, are we going the direction of Northwest or Northeast?"
"Hey I can read that sign."
"Don't you think I'll be big enough once I'm 7 or 8?"
"I not hold your hand. I walk beside you."
"Are you disgusted with me or just mad?"
"Mom, I'm gonna push your buttons."
"Mom, you're my best friend."
Watch out world! Here we come.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Doing the right thing is more than just doing the right thing
My small group began meeting again in January and this time we are reading, "Soul Feast" by Marjorie Thompson. It's a fabulous read--meaty, generous, and written with a gentle open-minded spirit. Last month our group was discussing one of the study questions and as often happens, a totally different question was raised for which I am still formulating an answer. Our group was talking about "good works" (community involvement, mission work, whatever you want to call it) and someone asked the question, "Where does the Christianity piece come in to doing good? Even Atheists do the right thing." And then someone asked, "does it really matter?" My gut reaction was "Christianity absolutely matters" but after some careful examination I couldn't support my gut reaction with any useful reasons. What a serious pause for my faith journey! Why on earth is it important to call myself a Christian and why is being a Christian important? If we're all doing the right thing and we're all following a similar moral order and we're all helping each other in the name of humanity is Christianity obsolete?
Then I thought about another idea we were kicking around in small group--the loss of the mystery of faith. The practice of Christianity was stripped down in the Reformation to the point where many of the rituals and traditions of faith were removed and have been almost lost. There are many saints and followers teachings and writings that have been marginalized or lost or ostracized. We have lost the ability to believe in the mystery and wonder of Christ in our age of reason, science, and post-enlightenment. I wonder if we have such difficulty with our beliefs because they cannot be easily explained and sound to us like some far-fetched fairy tale.
I write these first two paragraphs to set the context of my answer. This question of does it matter if I'm a Christian as long as I'm a good person, is a big deal to me. I'm raising two children in the Christian faith and I'm trying to live a life based on a belief system I think is worthy, and all of a sudden I'm being confronted by a crisis of faith. I haven't given up on Jesus, but if he can't be more than just a good guy, then for me the mystery and power of my faith is lost. I've known lots of good guys in my life. I've had many role models. I've even known some true believers who inspired me to make life better. But I have to tell you there are very few people out there who have emulated the truly sacrificial nature of what perfect love looks like.
We are all skeptics in this great big rational world of ours. Even I've looked pained when people begin sharing how God was speaking to them this morning. Many of us find the outspoken among the "born-again" to be tiresome. However, I must say the lukewarm feelings rarely shared by main-line Christians makes me wonder if we believe anything at all. To be blunt, people get really uncomfortable talking about "being saved." Well, I understand that. It's a hard thing to talk about. How on earth do you explain the moment you were touched by God? How do rationalize how you came to know and feel the presence of Jesus in your heart whether or not your mind understands it? It doesn't always happen all at once. For many of us (self included) it's a longer journey. A painful shying away of a call that just won't go away. Some of us grow up in a church, with Christians all around us and don't have a clue what salvation really means until one day, you just know.
Pondering how God is willing to include every single human ever created, because of his immense, all powerful love that obliterates every single moment of human suffering, wrong doing, unkindness (the list is endless) is overwhelming. The idea that God created an atonement so perfect and so complete that all wrongs are made right is more than I can wrap my judgmental heart around. There are simply no words to describe such a gift. There are often no words to explain how accepting this gift changes your life. Those changes may be so subtle that you won't even know it until you lived with it a while. The beauty of the mystery of faith is that it is a mystery. We try to put words and rules and belief systems around the mystery of a perfect incarnate God and call it faith and discipline and righteousness. We've been trying to describe the same mystery for centuries and we're no better at it now (and perhaps much worse) than we were then.
The closest thing that comes to describing the essence of Christianity is a true understanding of what it means to sacrifice for someone else. To lay down one's life for one's friends--notice I didn't say for something you believe in, or for war, or for an idea--but for another human being. There are many types of relationships that emulate this idea of self-sacrifice: parents and children, brothers and sisters, soldiers who share a foxhole, young love, soul mates, kindred spirits. There isn't a lack of stories about the nature of ultimate goodness that does exist in this world. What there is a serious lack of is day to day commitment to making all people matter. God's love extends to all people in all religions, in all walks of live, in every corner of this beautiful earth that we are so intent on destroying for our own purposes. Christianity is about sacrifice and love, and yes saving ourselves from the hells that we have created out of some misguided notion of "fill-in-the-blank." Our commitment to His kingdom has to include all people, because our claim on His love is no stronger than the love we have for all people.
So that's why I think when we're doing "good works" the Christianity part is important. When we're doing the good works, we're learning about the person we're helping. We learning about ourselves and how our own lives rely on the generosity and willingness of someone else. We're engaging in a relationship that may one day call on us to make a supreme sacrifice. It may not mean laying down our life, but it may mean challenging the social order. It may mean working for justice. It may mean standing up for something or someone unpopular. It may mean shutting up and listening so we can learn something. It may mean learning just how vain and self satisfied we are. It may mean following a call that we don't want to follow. When we offer our time to share with another person (whether helping, healing, or hoping with them), we are saying you are worth my time. You are equally as important to me as anything or anyone else I was going to engage with today. You have an equal claim to the kingdom of God. You have an equal portion of His love and His grace and His abundance in whatever way you wish to take it. Let's claim our portion together in the name of friendship so that when the day comes when we are to lay down our lives for one another we will do so with love and a willing spirit.
We are all skeptics in this great big rational world of ours. Even I've looked pained when people begin sharing how God was speaking to them this morning. Many of us find the outspoken among the "born-again" to be tiresome. However, I must say the lukewarm feelings rarely shared by main-line Christians makes me wonder if we believe anything at all. To be blunt, people get really uncomfortable talking about "being saved." Well, I understand that. It's a hard thing to talk about. How on earth do you explain the moment you were touched by God? How do rationalize how you came to know and feel the presence of Jesus in your heart whether or not your mind understands it? It doesn't always happen all at once. For many of us (self included) it's a longer journey. A painful shying away of a call that just won't go away. Some of us grow up in a church, with Christians all around us and don't have a clue what salvation really means until one day, you just know.
Pondering how God is willing to include every single human ever created, because of his immense, all powerful love that obliterates every single moment of human suffering, wrong doing, unkindness (the list is endless) is overwhelming. The idea that God created an atonement so perfect and so complete that all wrongs are made right is more than I can wrap my judgmental heart around. There are simply no words to describe such a gift. There are often no words to explain how accepting this gift changes your life. Those changes may be so subtle that you won't even know it until you lived with it a while. The beauty of the mystery of faith is that it is a mystery. We try to put words and rules and belief systems around the mystery of a perfect incarnate God and call it faith and discipline and righteousness. We've been trying to describe the same mystery for centuries and we're no better at it now (and perhaps much worse) than we were then.
The closest thing that comes to describing the essence of Christianity is a true understanding of what it means to sacrifice for someone else. To lay down one's life for one's friends--notice I didn't say for something you believe in, or for war, or for an idea--but for another human being. There are many types of relationships that emulate this idea of self-sacrifice: parents and children, brothers and sisters, soldiers who share a foxhole, young love, soul mates, kindred spirits. There isn't a lack of stories about the nature of ultimate goodness that does exist in this world. What there is a serious lack of is day to day commitment to making all people matter. God's love extends to all people in all religions, in all walks of live, in every corner of this beautiful earth that we are so intent on destroying for our own purposes. Christianity is about sacrifice and love, and yes saving ourselves from the hells that we have created out of some misguided notion of "fill-in-the-blank." Our commitment to His kingdom has to include all people, because our claim on His love is no stronger than the love we have for all people.
So that's why I think when we're doing "good works" the Christianity part is important. When we're doing the good works, we're learning about the person we're helping. We learning about ourselves and how our own lives rely on the generosity and willingness of someone else. We're engaging in a relationship that may one day call on us to make a supreme sacrifice. It may not mean laying down our life, but it may mean challenging the social order. It may mean working for justice. It may mean standing up for something or someone unpopular. It may mean shutting up and listening so we can learn something. It may mean learning just how vain and self satisfied we are. It may mean following a call that we don't want to follow. When we offer our time to share with another person (whether helping, healing, or hoping with them), we are saying you are worth my time. You are equally as important to me as anything or anyone else I was going to engage with today. You have an equal claim to the kingdom of God. You have an equal portion of His love and His grace and His abundance in whatever way you wish to take it. Let's claim our portion together in the name of friendship so that when the day comes when we are to lay down our lives for one another we will do so with love and a willing spirit.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The Gift of Giving
We've been discussing giving in Sunday School over the last several weeks. It's an interesting topic on many levels. Who and when and how much and for what are just the basic questions. The deeper questions behind giving involve the why.
I don't know when I decided to structure my giving around the membership pledge at church, but that's essentially my personal framework. When you join as a member of the United Methodist Church, you pledge to support the church with your prayers, your presence, your gifts, your service, (and recently added) your witness.
When I do sit down to ponder my relationship with God and giving, I find this framework mentioned above useful. I pray for my church. Sometimes it's for members, sometimes it's for the minister, sometimes it's for my Bible study group, sometimes it's for a current project (like upcoming VBS). I should commit to praying for my whole church, and the Christian church in general throughout the world everywhere every day. Note to self, do that.
I support the church through my presence. When we are in town, we go to church. Even if our kids are sick, we generally take turns. One of us goes with the well child and the other stays home with the sick one. We attempt to go to as many opportunities at church that appeal to us--Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, special services for Lent or Christmas, Wednesday night speakers that interest us, church committee meetings, and so forth.
I guess if I were to truly examine what presence means, it might look differently. Do I change my vacation schedule so that we can be back in church on Sunday morning? Do we attend services at other places when we are traveling? Do we visit other churches to give our children exposure to the many different types of worship there are in the world? I have a feeling supporting the church by our presence means more than just showing up on Sunday for the 11 o'clock service. But that's a good place to start.
We support the church through our gifts. Now most people would assume that "gifts" is a euphemism for money. I don't know why we don't just say, "by our tithe" but we don't. There are other forms of monetary giving that fall outside of tithing I suppose, so the church didn't want to miss out on those opportunities I guess. (I'm joking gently I hope.) We give towards camp scholarships, Christmas giving for the needy, sponsorships of families who need assistance, etc. In our house, this type of giving while through the church comes in addition to our attempts at tithing.
I also consider gifts in a more spiritual way. Sometimes gifts and service bleed into one another. Some people are gifted in teaching, so they give of their time teaching Sunday School. Some people are gifted with singing, so they sing in the choir every Sunday. This donation of time is more than just a service opportunity for the church. These people are sacrificially giving of their time to something greater than themselves. Sacrificial giving is really what God has in mind.
God meant for gifts to mean, whatever spiritual talents you have use them for the glory of God. Which is of course where service comes in. I think we're all fairly well acquainted with service. Remember all those dinners in the fellowship hall growing up? The church ladies back there warming up casseroles and pouring tea behind the long church tables? There are of course, a multitude of other ways to serve your church--hospital visitations, shut-in visitations, the alter guild, the parsonage committee. You name it, your church will have a committee for it. Just say yes to one thing, and your phone will ring off the hook for about three years. I'd say we have the service part down--as long as we're glorifying God, and not just our skills in multi-tasking.
Then there is that new component of witness. I'm not a shy person. I'm not particularly challenged in the sharing department in any way shape or form. I am however, terrible at evangelism. Upon further reflection, perhaps witness has multiple components? If we live our lives so that others will know Christ is active in our lives, do we not witness to others? Good deeds and good works that come from true believers are more likely to have positive witness results than all the street corner preaching in all the corners of the world. I'm rather Methodist in this regard. Our church missions tend to be oriented in the model of work first, share faith when asked. And I think that's how it should be. I think a true conversion experience will always have a component of, I saw how others lived and believed and wanted to know what that was like. Like I said, I'm a little uncomfortable in this area, so I tend to cherry pick my evangelism opportunities and pray to be enlightened as I go.
I happen to think these principles can be found in all organized religions. The Christian church doesn't expect us to be perfect at giving. The church says give because Christ gave to you. Religious-based or not, you can practice these five basic principles when giving to local charities, global charities, and other institutional giving (like your college or university). I've been inspired over the outpouring of love, concern, and giving to foundations and charities around the world that base their organizations on these five basic principles of prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness.
You can also practice these five basic principles when giving to people in your life. Your prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness to them--and them to you is the foundation of lasting community and relationship in this world. The world would be a bleak and lonely place without the gift of giving. So I give. I give because it is the "right thing to do". I give because I want what I do to matter to someone. I give because I'm inspired by others making sacrifices in order to make the world better. I give because I yearn for relationship and community with people. I give, ultimately, because Christ gave to me.
I don't know when I decided to structure my giving around the membership pledge at church, but that's essentially my personal framework. When you join as a member of the United Methodist Church, you pledge to support the church with your prayers, your presence, your gifts, your service, (and recently added) your witness.
When I do sit down to ponder my relationship with God and giving, I find this framework mentioned above useful. I pray for my church. Sometimes it's for members, sometimes it's for the minister, sometimes it's for my Bible study group, sometimes it's for a current project (like upcoming VBS). I should commit to praying for my whole church, and the Christian church in general throughout the world everywhere every day. Note to self, do that.
I support the church through my presence. When we are in town, we go to church. Even if our kids are sick, we generally take turns. One of us goes with the well child and the other stays home with the sick one. We attempt to go to as many opportunities at church that appeal to us--Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, special services for Lent or Christmas, Wednesday night speakers that interest us, church committee meetings, and so forth.
I guess if I were to truly examine what presence means, it might look differently. Do I change my vacation schedule so that we can be back in church on Sunday morning? Do we attend services at other places when we are traveling? Do we visit other churches to give our children exposure to the many different types of worship there are in the world? I have a feeling supporting the church by our presence means more than just showing up on Sunday for the 11 o'clock service. But that's a good place to start.
We support the church through our gifts. Now most people would assume that "gifts" is a euphemism for money. I don't know why we don't just say, "by our tithe" but we don't. There are other forms of monetary giving that fall outside of tithing I suppose, so the church didn't want to miss out on those opportunities I guess. (I'm joking gently I hope.) We give towards camp scholarships, Christmas giving for the needy, sponsorships of families who need assistance, etc. In our house, this type of giving while through the church comes in addition to our attempts at tithing.
I also consider gifts in a more spiritual way. Sometimes gifts and service bleed into one another. Some people are gifted in teaching, so they give of their time teaching Sunday School. Some people are gifted with singing, so they sing in the choir every Sunday. This donation of time is more than just a service opportunity for the church. These people are sacrificially giving of their time to something greater than themselves. Sacrificial giving is really what God has in mind.
God meant for gifts to mean, whatever spiritual talents you have use them for the glory of God. Which is of course where service comes in. I think we're all fairly well acquainted with service. Remember all those dinners in the fellowship hall growing up? The church ladies back there warming up casseroles and pouring tea behind the long church tables? There are of course, a multitude of other ways to serve your church--hospital visitations, shut-in visitations, the alter guild, the parsonage committee. You name it, your church will have a committee for it. Just say yes to one thing, and your phone will ring off the hook for about three years. I'd say we have the service part down--as long as we're glorifying God, and not just our skills in multi-tasking.
Then there is that new component of witness. I'm not a shy person. I'm not particularly challenged in the sharing department in any way shape or form. I am however, terrible at evangelism. Upon further reflection, perhaps witness has multiple components? If we live our lives so that others will know Christ is active in our lives, do we not witness to others? Good deeds and good works that come from true believers are more likely to have positive witness results than all the street corner preaching in all the corners of the world. I'm rather Methodist in this regard. Our church missions tend to be oriented in the model of work first, share faith when asked. And I think that's how it should be. I think a true conversion experience will always have a component of, I saw how others lived and believed and wanted to know what that was like. Like I said, I'm a little uncomfortable in this area, so I tend to cherry pick my evangelism opportunities and pray to be enlightened as I go.
I happen to think these principles can be found in all organized religions. The Christian church doesn't expect us to be perfect at giving. The church says give because Christ gave to you. Religious-based or not, you can practice these five basic principles when giving to local charities, global charities, and other institutional giving (like your college or university). I've been inspired over the outpouring of love, concern, and giving to foundations and charities around the world that base their organizations on these five basic principles of prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness.
You can also practice these five basic principles when giving to people in your life. Your prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness to them--and them to you is the foundation of lasting community and relationship in this world. The world would be a bleak and lonely place without the gift of giving. So I give. I give because it is the "right thing to do". I give because I want what I do to matter to someone. I give because I'm inspired by others making sacrifices in order to make the world better. I give because I yearn for relationship and community with people. I give, ultimately, because Christ gave to me.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Life and the Ski Slopes
Life is like the ski slopes. When you are starting out you ski the easy green slopes, beginner slopes they are called. These are usually very crowded, not very steep, and actually more dangerous than the more difficult slopes because of the number of people who have no idea what they're doing. Then as you get more confident with the way things are going you bump yourself up to the blue cruisers. Some places put mogels (snow bumps) on their blue slopes and still call them blues, so occasionally you get bumps in the road on the blue cruisers. These slopes, are not terribly difficult, but a slope you might not choose to do again. If you haven't yet guessed, I'm a blue cruiser. I prefer corduroy runs on sunny days with no wind. Yeah, how many of those do we really get in life, I mean, in a season?
Finally when you feel ready (and often when you aren't) you hit the black diamonds. There are degrees of black diamonds--the wide open really fast ones, the ones with bumps on purpose, the double black diamond chutes through the trees, and the narrow, bumpy, fast ones. I don't mind black diamond slopes, in fact I routinely do a couple when I ski just to make it interesting. Sometimes I get in over my head and I cuss, sing, or cry my way down. Sometimes I find out that I am having a good time even though the going is difficult. Once I realized I could never repeat my particular path because it would never be the same again. Isn't life alot like that?
For example, green slope: Every day routine chores, watching/listening to your children play well together, getting that coveted parking spot right in front of BiLo.
Normal Blue slope: Taking your kid to the doctor and learning it's just a virus, driving in a downpour, holding your babies during a thunderstorm.
Perfect weather, groomed blue slope: Nothing actually compares to that, so think of the best day you ever had.
Black slope: well, you know, bad stuff.
Anyway, I don't know where I was going with this post, except to say what you do with your life is like choosing how to get down the mountain. Some of us are more cautious, we make tight turns and always ski in control. Some of us just point the sticks downward and go. Others of us take the cat track down. I had just come very close to flying off a very fast, very fun black diamond--and I was smiling about it--when my brother-in-law gave me some sage advice (he's one of those point the sticks down and go guys). He said, "Marla, you spend your whole life living in control. It's okay to get out of control once in a while. Flying is fun."
So, here's to 2010, maybe I'll find myself letting loose once in a while, after all, those double black diamonds can sometimes be fun.
Finally when you feel ready (and often when you aren't) you hit the black diamonds. There are degrees of black diamonds--the wide open really fast ones, the ones with bumps on purpose, the double black diamond chutes through the trees, and the narrow, bumpy, fast ones. I don't mind black diamond slopes, in fact I routinely do a couple when I ski just to make it interesting. Sometimes I get in over my head and I cuss, sing, or cry my way down. Sometimes I find out that I am having a good time even though the going is difficult. Once I realized I could never repeat my particular path because it would never be the same again. Isn't life alot like that?
For example, green slope: Every day routine chores, watching/listening to your children play well together, getting that coveted parking spot right in front of BiLo.
Normal Blue slope: Taking your kid to the doctor and learning it's just a virus, driving in a downpour, holding your babies during a thunderstorm.
Perfect weather, groomed blue slope: Nothing actually compares to that, so think of the best day you ever had.
Black slope: well, you know, bad stuff.
Anyway, I don't know where I was going with this post, except to say what you do with your life is like choosing how to get down the mountain. Some of us are more cautious, we make tight turns and always ski in control. Some of us just point the sticks downward and go. Others of us take the cat track down. I had just come very close to flying off a very fast, very fun black diamond--and I was smiling about it--when my brother-in-law gave me some sage advice (he's one of those point the sticks down and go guys). He said, "Marla, you spend your whole life living in control. It's okay to get out of control once in a while. Flying is fun."
So, here's to 2010, maybe I'll find myself letting loose once in a while, after all, those double black diamonds can sometimes be fun.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
A Thanksgiving's Pause
Thanksgiving is obviously, a time to be thankful. This year for me, it's more than being grateful for blessings, it's also about being aware and being present. This morning while I was feeding my kids, my little one asked for more milk. As I poured him more milk, I stood there thinking about all the mothers in the world who couldn't even give their children a cup of clean water. Later, after the kids had breakfast and were cleaned up, I sat down to eat a quick bite. Again, my little one toddled through the kitchen and asked for a bite. As I relinquished half of my breakfast to those chubby little hands, I thought of all the mothers who had to chose between food for themselves and food for their children. Hunger even in my own backyard of Tennessee is a desperate situation for so many people. I have never known it. My children have never known it. And I would venture to say my parents never really knew hunger. They may have known want or even tight circumstances for periods of their lives, but true hunger, I doubt it. I hope we never do.
So today, as I put the finishing touches on the casserole and brownies that I'm taking to my in-laws, I pause and give thanks for uber-blessings, clean water, clean air, warmth, food, family, and friends. May none of us ever know hunger or thirst. May we strive to meet the needs of those who do, not only during the holidays but all the time. Blessings and peace to you today and always.
So today, as I put the finishing touches on the casserole and brownies that I'm taking to my in-laws, I pause and give thanks for uber-blessings, clean water, clean air, warmth, food, family, and friends. May none of us ever know hunger or thirst. May we strive to meet the needs of those who do, not only during the holidays but all the time. Blessings and peace to you today and always.
Monday, November 9, 2009
In Community II
To continue the thread from yesterday's posting, I wanted to take a moment to share with my readers the infinite blessings I receive from being in community with others. The term synergy comes to mind. When many people are acting in one accord, it is amazing what can happen!
Living in community with my sisters (and brothers, but mostly sisters) has strengthened me in so many ways. For example, there is something powerful and holy about knowing you are prayed for by others--particularly in those moments when you just can't pray for yourself anymore. You can truly feel yourself being carried on a wave of caring, love, and communion with God. It is amazing to me how a note from a friend in my mailbox lifts me up. I find it mood altering to spend an evening in good company with good conversation and good wine making plans and discussing life's problems. It is energizing to do practical "good deeds." Not only does useful work get done, but the end result brings people together in ways that create a positive, non-threatening, and interesting atmosphere.
Being in community with others also keeps me humble, honest, and focused. It isn't about others being grateful, it is about my own personal gratitude. Is my heart in the right place? Are my motives selfless or selfish? Is my participation a help or a hindrance? In the event I do get on my high horse every now and then, I have honest friends available to call me to account. What a blessing I have so many beacons of light on my journey. There is nothing more valuable on earth than a good, honest, and true friend to call you out.
Have you ever participated in a recipe exchange "chain" email? Well, group participation is kind of like that. You post two recipes and you get 20 in your inbox. Putting yourself in the stream of God's grace and allowing Him to bless others through you, is like being a ripple on a pond. The chain reaction of events goes on and on and circles back to you again and again and again. I have been so blessed by the wonderful women in my life. We have created many wonderful moments in the last year that have left lasting impressions on us as well as our communities. Every time we get together for work or for play, our own lives are enriched just by being present.
I close with a quote from a piece of fiction I am currently reading: "Mr. Simpless, my parson friend thinks [Grace means] that if one cares deeply about someone or something new, one throws a kind of energy out into the world, and "fruitfulness" is drawn in." (p. 116, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows)
Living in community with my sisters (and brothers, but mostly sisters) has strengthened me in so many ways. For example, there is something powerful and holy about knowing you are prayed for by others--particularly in those moments when you just can't pray for yourself anymore. You can truly feel yourself being carried on a wave of caring, love, and communion with God. It is amazing to me how a note from a friend in my mailbox lifts me up. I find it mood altering to spend an evening in good company with good conversation and good wine making plans and discussing life's problems. It is energizing to do practical "good deeds." Not only does useful work get done, but the end result brings people together in ways that create a positive, non-threatening, and interesting atmosphere.
Being in community with others also keeps me humble, honest, and focused. It isn't about others being grateful, it is about my own personal gratitude. Is my heart in the right place? Are my motives selfless or selfish? Is my participation a help or a hindrance? In the event I do get on my high horse every now and then, I have honest friends available to call me to account. What a blessing I have so many beacons of light on my journey. There is nothing more valuable on earth than a good, honest, and true friend to call you out.
Have you ever participated in a recipe exchange "chain" email? Well, group participation is kind of like that. You post two recipes and you get 20 in your inbox. Putting yourself in the stream of God's grace and allowing Him to bless others through you, is like being a ripple on a pond. The chain reaction of events goes on and on and circles back to you again and again and again. I have been so blessed by the wonderful women in my life. We have created many wonderful moments in the last year that have left lasting impressions on us as well as our communities. Every time we get together for work or for play, our own lives are enriched just by being present.
I close with a quote from a piece of fiction I am currently reading: "Mr. Simpless, my parson friend thinks [Grace means] that if one cares deeply about someone or something new, one throws a kind of energy out into the world, and "fruitfulness" is drawn in." (p. 116, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows)
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Living In Community
We Davidsonians tend to be civic minded people. You know, often times when I read all the alumni news, after the surge of pride and interest, a little self-doubt and insignificance begins to creep in. But I've been working on those feelings and in the last year I've developed a new perspective about what a civic minded Davidsonian (who no longer lives on campus) looks like. Perhaps it's all the Facebook time I've been logging. Catching up with everyone and their families and what they're doing with their lives has helped me look at my own life with clearer eyes. Perhaps it's staying connected with a dear friend whose daily life is its own challenge. She uses her own limitations to change those around her through sharing her very personal story in a weekly blog. Perhaps it's spending time with former Davidsonians and their own children and watching how they engage in their own communities on a daily basis.
I probably won't ever do anything spectacular or world changing. I had the audacity once, to tell my English teacher I wanted to be an ambassador. Well, it turns out I am an ambassador, just not to a foreign country. Instead I reach out and proffer olive branches, world peace, and mutually beneficial trade propositions in small ways. I hold little hands in parking lots and crossing the street. I try to help two small boys and their friends who come and go through my house reign in aggression and curiosity and channel that energy into productive play and participation in preschool, Sunday School, and with our neighbors at the playground. I lead a circle of friends by helping us all stay connected through emails, phone calls, food, and friendship. I support another Davidsonian in her quest to revitalize and reshape a children's ministry in our church by participating in as many opportunities as my schedule allows. I facilitate a Bible study gathering of women that spans three generations. None of these activities is particularly earth shattering, but each of these activities shares a common thread--community engagement.
Community participation is so critical to our well being as human beings. In all our ways (big and small) we seek to better the lives of those around us as well as bettering ourselves by pursuing a life lived in community with one another. While none of my current pursuits fall under the banner of social justice or economic development or political change, all of my activities help me stay connected with other women. I am so fortunate to know so many who when hearing the call: take dinner to a friend in need, pick up a child at school for a mom who has an emergency, organize a family service project that exposes their children to those who make it work with less, collect school supplies, coats, backpacks, bedding, clothing, and linens for families who have sustained losses, are starting over, or need help bridging the gaps. We take care of each other and collectively work to take care of others.
In my current stage in life as caretaker of small children it makes sense to use my time and energy wisely doing what I am able and not hankering for CNN news headlines. Since so many Davidsonians actually make CNN with big picture decisions, it is sometimes hard for me to remind myself that even my small little life is important in big ways to others around me. So I do my part with a cheerful countenance and with joy in my heart (most days). I never know when doing a small thing like taking dinner to a friend will have a big impact. Maybe that rotisserie chicken I picked up at BiLo to go with the green bean casserole I made will free up enough time for her to finish that presentation she was doing before the crisis hit that prompted me to bring dinner--and her idea revolutionizes how we manage health care. Who knows? Maybe I'm teaching a child who will grow up to cure cancer. Maybe my friends' daughters and sons, having been raised in homes where love for neighbor is a way of life, grow up to start foundations that change lives.
Engaging in community and working towards sustaining community through friendship, service, work, and play is really an extension of my youthful desire to make a difference in the world. Making a difference isn't always about the big things. Often times, it's about the small things--a note to a friend suffering a loss, a thank you note to a friend for their empathy and help, an intentional word of kindness to someone difficult to get along with. God is in the big and the small. If I can take care of some of the small, maybe it will give Him more time to do the big. So I think I do make a difference these days--one playdate, carpool, or casserole at a time.
I probably won't ever do anything spectacular or world changing. I had the audacity once, to tell my English teacher I wanted to be an ambassador. Well, it turns out I am an ambassador, just not to a foreign country. Instead I reach out and proffer olive branches, world peace, and mutually beneficial trade propositions in small ways. I hold little hands in parking lots and crossing the street. I try to help two small boys and their friends who come and go through my house reign in aggression and curiosity and channel that energy into productive play and participation in preschool, Sunday School, and with our neighbors at the playground. I lead a circle of friends by helping us all stay connected through emails, phone calls, food, and friendship. I support another Davidsonian in her quest to revitalize and reshape a children's ministry in our church by participating in as many opportunities as my schedule allows. I facilitate a Bible study gathering of women that spans three generations. None of these activities is particularly earth shattering, but each of these activities shares a common thread--community engagement.
Community participation is so critical to our well being as human beings. In all our ways (big and small) we seek to better the lives of those around us as well as bettering ourselves by pursuing a life lived in community with one another. While none of my current pursuits fall under the banner of social justice or economic development or political change, all of my activities help me stay connected with other women. I am so fortunate to know so many who when hearing the call: take dinner to a friend in need, pick up a child at school for a mom who has an emergency, organize a family service project that exposes their children to those who make it work with less, collect school supplies, coats, backpacks, bedding, clothing, and linens for families who have sustained losses, are starting over, or need help bridging the gaps. We take care of each other and collectively work to take care of others.
In my current stage in life as caretaker of small children it makes sense to use my time and energy wisely doing what I am able and not hankering for CNN news headlines. Since so many Davidsonians actually make CNN with big picture decisions, it is sometimes hard for me to remind myself that even my small little life is important in big ways to others around me. So I do my part with a cheerful countenance and with joy in my heart (most days). I never know when doing a small thing like taking dinner to a friend will have a big impact. Maybe that rotisserie chicken I picked up at BiLo to go with the green bean casserole I made will free up enough time for her to finish that presentation she was doing before the crisis hit that prompted me to bring dinner--and her idea revolutionizes how we manage health care. Who knows? Maybe I'm teaching a child who will grow up to cure cancer. Maybe my friends' daughters and sons, having been raised in homes where love for neighbor is a way of life, grow up to start foundations that change lives.
Engaging in community and working towards sustaining community through friendship, service, work, and play is really an extension of my youthful desire to make a difference in the world. Making a difference isn't always about the big things. Often times, it's about the small things--a note to a friend suffering a loss, a thank you note to a friend for their empathy and help, an intentional word of kindness to someone difficult to get along with. God is in the big and the small. If I can take care of some of the small, maybe it will give Him more time to do the big. So I think I do make a difference these days--one playdate, carpool, or casserole at a time.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Making Connections
How do you teach empathy? I try to model it when I can. I try to explain it when the opportunity arises. But interestingly enough, whenever I try to be a "good parent" and do all that talking and explaining, my kids up and kick me in the teeth. I even try to keep it short and sweet and in easy words. No dice. I guess empathy is not something you can teach, but something that must be experienced. I remain hopeful, after all, my son is only five.
It is unnerving to see him tease his brother unmercifully, laugh when someone gets hurt or when someone else gets in trouble, and simply not care that he has made a poor choice. I can't decide if he is hiding his true feelings and pretending not to care, or he doesn't get it, or he simply doesn't care. Maybe it's because I'm female and males have totally different reactions--even at this young age? My husband doesn't seem overly concerned about any of this. Maybe I'm over-reading it. I don't know, but I'm concerned.
Anyway, tonight I found part of my son's medicine regime (he takes 3 or 4 things right now for allergies and wheezing) crushed up under the table. Now I know this isn't an accident because it happens to be the tablet that tastes the worst and that my son complains about the most. I also know it is his, because no one else in the house takes it. I called him into the kitchen and we talked about a) hiding medicine is just like telling a lie, b) not taking medicine keeps us from getting well, and c) how mommy understands exactly how he feels about taking medicine. We pretty much got part b down, but the rest of it? Well I guess we'll see.
The reason I am so upset about the medicine under the table is, I happen to know a little girl about my son's age who used to hide her asthma medication. I also remember getting in trouble many times for hiding it, flushing it, spitting it out, etc. I also remember how frustrated my parents were by it because a) I was lying, b) I wasn't getting better because I wouldn't take it, and c) it was very expensive medicine. Looking back, I suppose I'm as guilty as my child, because it is obvious to me now (as an adult) that I didn't care very much about a, b, or c. I got caught at least 3 times in my recollection. These were not pleasant moments.
I hurt for my son. I hurt for him that he has to take this medicine to stay well enough to play outside and go to school. I hurt for him that I have to give him bad tasting yucky stuff. I feel like the bad guy, even though I'm the good guy. The reason it is so hard for me to play nurse is that I KNOW how frustrating it is to have to keep taking this stuff every time he gets sick. I was that kid. I missed more recess than I played. I stayed inside almost every day between October and June for more years than I can remember.
My son loves to hear me tell stories about when I was little. He loves to hear about the time I fell off a scooter at my friend Jennifer's house and scraped my knee really really badly. I told him that one, when he fell off his bike the first time. He begs to hear about the time my sister and I saw Santa Claus by hiding under the dining room table and watching him walk through our house to find the living room when we were 3 and 4. I told him that one when he was four, to keep him in his bed at night.
So I tried to share my story with him tonight about how I used to hide my medicine. I didn't go into details for fear of giving him ideas--but I did share with him just how much I understood his dislike for medicine, why he was driven to hide it, and why I wasn't mad at him for doing it. I did however tell him that I was very upset about the lie he told and we reviewed what a lie is and what it means. I don't guess this story was nearly as interesting because he didn't seem to care. Maybe in the morning when it's medicine time, he'll ask me to tell him the story again.
I feel let down on a couple of levels. I didn't make an important connection with him on of all things, honesty and empathy. He didn't appreciate my story (well that's my problem, but it still didn't feel good). And he still lied and wasn't sorry. I feel like I'm getting it all wrong. Fortunately, tomorrow is another day for me and for my son. We can only try again. I have a hunch this won't be the last time I tell him the story of hiding my asthma medicine, after all, I hid it many, many times.
It is unnerving to see him tease his brother unmercifully, laugh when someone gets hurt or when someone else gets in trouble, and simply not care that he has made a poor choice. I can't decide if he is hiding his true feelings and pretending not to care, or he doesn't get it, or he simply doesn't care. Maybe it's because I'm female and males have totally different reactions--even at this young age? My husband doesn't seem overly concerned about any of this. Maybe I'm over-reading it. I don't know, but I'm concerned.
Anyway, tonight I found part of my son's medicine regime (he takes 3 or 4 things right now for allergies and wheezing) crushed up under the table. Now I know this isn't an accident because it happens to be the tablet that tastes the worst and that my son complains about the most. I also know it is his, because no one else in the house takes it. I called him into the kitchen and we talked about a) hiding medicine is just like telling a lie, b) not taking medicine keeps us from getting well, and c) how mommy understands exactly how he feels about taking medicine. We pretty much got part b down, but the rest of it? Well I guess we'll see.
The reason I am so upset about the medicine under the table is, I happen to know a little girl about my son's age who used to hide her asthma medication. I also remember getting in trouble many times for hiding it, flushing it, spitting it out, etc. I also remember how frustrated my parents were by it because a) I was lying, b) I wasn't getting better because I wouldn't take it, and c) it was very expensive medicine. Looking back, I suppose I'm as guilty as my child, because it is obvious to me now (as an adult) that I didn't care very much about a, b, or c. I got caught at least 3 times in my recollection. These were not pleasant moments.
I hurt for my son. I hurt for him that he has to take this medicine to stay well enough to play outside and go to school. I hurt for him that I have to give him bad tasting yucky stuff. I feel like the bad guy, even though I'm the good guy. The reason it is so hard for me to play nurse is that I KNOW how frustrating it is to have to keep taking this stuff every time he gets sick. I was that kid. I missed more recess than I played. I stayed inside almost every day between October and June for more years than I can remember.
My son loves to hear me tell stories about when I was little. He loves to hear about the time I fell off a scooter at my friend Jennifer's house and scraped my knee really really badly. I told him that one, when he fell off his bike the first time. He begs to hear about the time my sister and I saw Santa Claus by hiding under the dining room table and watching him walk through our house to find the living room when we were 3 and 4. I told him that one when he was four, to keep him in his bed at night.
So I tried to share my story with him tonight about how I used to hide my medicine. I didn't go into details for fear of giving him ideas--but I did share with him just how much I understood his dislike for medicine, why he was driven to hide it, and why I wasn't mad at him for doing it. I did however tell him that I was very upset about the lie he told and we reviewed what a lie is and what it means. I don't guess this story was nearly as interesting because he didn't seem to care. Maybe in the morning when it's medicine time, he'll ask me to tell him the story again.
I feel let down on a couple of levels. I didn't make an important connection with him on of all things, honesty and empathy. He didn't appreciate my story (well that's my problem, but it still didn't feel good). And he still lied and wasn't sorry. I feel like I'm getting it all wrong. Fortunately, tomorrow is another day for me and for my son. We can only try again. I have a hunch this won't be the last time I tell him the story of hiding my asthma medicine, after all, I hid it many, many times.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Seeing with New Eyes
Living with a 5 year old is an interesting experience. My son meets the world with fresh eyes each morning. We recently went on a trip to Chicago and it was as if I had never been before. It amazes me how little it takes to impress a child. I am constantly in awe of how enthusiastic my son is about life. Everything is important. Everything is interesting.
My son loves airports. He loves going through the security gate. My normally shy guy (borderline recalcitrant to adults), just grins at the folks in uniform. He hands the security guard his boarding pass, grinning the whole way, gives the guy a high five, and bounds up to the end of the x-ray machine to watch his plastic bin holding his backpack and shoes come through the machine. "Did you put your bag in there too mom?" "Why do we have to take our shoes off?" "They won't lose my transformer will they?" "Can you tie my shoes?"
Then we proceed to the terminal. My son bumps into people the whole way because he is incapable of looking where he is walking. And man o man if we have a people mover or escalator before we get there, we have arrived in airport heaven. If I said it once, I said nine thousand times, "Pay attention to where you are walking. You are in the way of other people. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me or I will have to hold your hand. Walk with me. Walk right here beside me. Son. Son. SON--right here, NOW." Who knew reading off the gate letter/numbers, watching all the tvs, looking at the airplane models hanging from the ceiling, reading off the fast food marquees, and going down the up escalators full of people trying to go up was so intensely satisfying?
The plane ride itself just thrills him. "Oh, we're taking off now mom!" "Look at the clouds mom. What are clouds made of?" "Is that the man who is driving talking?" "What's in that cart?" "What's this button for mom?" "Help me play Leapster mom." "Let's go mom, we've landed." "On to the next plane." All of these comments and many more at top volume. Inside voice does not translate for him. He has not the executive functioning skills yet to monitor his volume, much to my chagrin. My mother would call this payback for surviving years of the same from me. Of course, she thinks I still have volume control issues, but that's another topic entirely.
Downtown Chicago was just over the top. We all had a wonderful day sight seeing. We spent a long time at the Museum of Science and Industry, and then we went to the Sears Tower. At the end of the day, my son says, "I got two toys, a movie, two escalator rides, a train ride, AND a water bottle out of the machine. Man I'm a really lucky boy mom."
And later when we traveled to Iowa City for his father's alumni meeting, it was just my son and me. We went out to lunch. "Hey will you draw this maze with me (on the kids' menu)?" We went to the antique car museum. "Wow look at all these cars. Do you think they have our car in here?" We went for ice cream. "Thanks for my ice cream mom, would you like a taste?" I just wanted to bottle the day and take it home with me.
There are other day to day reminders that he is just as easily enthusiastic about life at home as anywhere else. Getting stickers from the Walmart lady. Getting a sucker from the bank teller. Riding the escalator at the mall. Getting a balloon at the end of lunch at Chick-fil-A. Having a snack if he finishes his lunch at school. Going by an ambulance or fire truck with the siren on. Practicing piano together just because it's fun to sit together and do something while little brother naps. I want to absorb all these sweet precious things. One, because it reminds me how little he still is. And two, someday when he's a teenager and I think he has been inhabited by aliens, I want to remember that once I could rock his world with a popsicle and a kiss. It also helps me keep a lid on my frustration when I arrive at a teachable moment and blow it.
Taking my son on this little excursion to Chicago was like signing a new lease on our relationship. I forgot what it was like to have just one child (little brother stayed home). I had recently forgotten how much fun and how funny and truly insightful my 5 year old can be. I am so very blessed to have the opportunity to travel at all. To make memories like these with my son is extra-special. I hope someday he'll be able to remember this trip. Maybe he won't, but I know I will. So, "Thanks son, I'm really a lucky mom."
My son loves airports. He loves going through the security gate. My normally shy guy (borderline recalcitrant to adults), just grins at the folks in uniform. He hands the security guard his boarding pass, grinning the whole way, gives the guy a high five, and bounds up to the end of the x-ray machine to watch his plastic bin holding his backpack and shoes come through the machine. "Did you put your bag in there too mom?" "Why do we have to take our shoes off?" "They won't lose my transformer will they?" "Can you tie my shoes?"
Then we proceed to the terminal. My son bumps into people the whole way because he is incapable of looking where he is walking. And man o man if we have a people mover or escalator before we get there, we have arrived in airport heaven. If I said it once, I said nine thousand times, "Pay attention to where you are walking. You are in the way of other people. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me or I will have to hold your hand. Walk with me. Walk right here beside me. Son. Son. SON--right here, NOW." Who knew reading off the gate letter/numbers, watching all the tvs, looking at the airplane models hanging from the ceiling, reading off the fast food marquees, and going down the up escalators full of people trying to go up was so intensely satisfying?
The plane ride itself just thrills him. "Oh, we're taking off now mom!" "Look at the clouds mom. What are clouds made of?" "Is that the man who is driving talking?" "What's in that cart?" "What's this button for mom?" "Help me play Leapster mom." "Let's go mom, we've landed." "On to the next plane." All of these comments and many more at top volume. Inside voice does not translate for him. He has not the executive functioning skills yet to monitor his volume, much to my chagrin. My mother would call this payback for surviving years of the same from me. Of course, she thinks I still have volume control issues, but that's another topic entirely.
Downtown Chicago was just over the top. We all had a wonderful day sight seeing. We spent a long time at the Museum of Science and Industry, and then we went to the Sears Tower. At the end of the day, my son says, "I got two toys, a movie, two escalator rides, a train ride, AND a water bottle out of the machine. Man I'm a really lucky boy mom."
And later when we traveled to Iowa City for his father's alumni meeting, it was just my son and me. We went out to lunch. "Hey will you draw this maze with me (on the kids' menu)?" We went to the antique car museum. "Wow look at all these cars. Do you think they have our car in here?" We went for ice cream. "Thanks for my ice cream mom, would you like a taste?" I just wanted to bottle the day and take it home with me.
There are other day to day reminders that he is just as easily enthusiastic about life at home as anywhere else. Getting stickers from the Walmart lady. Getting a sucker from the bank teller. Riding the escalator at the mall. Getting a balloon at the end of lunch at Chick-fil-A. Having a snack if he finishes his lunch at school. Going by an ambulance or fire truck with the siren on. Practicing piano together just because it's fun to sit together and do something while little brother naps. I want to absorb all these sweet precious things. One, because it reminds me how little he still is. And two, someday when he's a teenager and I think he has been inhabited by aliens, I want to remember that once I could rock his world with a popsicle and a kiss. It also helps me keep a lid on my frustration when I arrive at a teachable moment and blow it.
Taking my son on this little excursion to Chicago was like signing a new lease on our relationship. I forgot what it was like to have just one child (little brother stayed home). I had recently forgotten how much fun and how funny and truly insightful my 5 year old can be. I am so very blessed to have the opportunity to travel at all. To make memories like these with my son is extra-special. I hope someday he'll be able to remember this trip. Maybe he won't, but I know I will. So, "Thanks son, I'm really a lucky mom."
Friday, August 21, 2009
School Days
I haven't blogged in a month. I'm sorely out of practice. I've been fairly busy with life, like back to school and all that jazz. Did I mention I was terribly unprepared?
After wishing for school to start since early July, I was surprised and slightly panicked that I was not ready. I forgot how hard it is to leave my children in the mornings. And let's not forget all the drama that goes into getting them into the car to drive to our destination. I forgot how the 2 year old's chubby little arms squeeze the breath out of me. Those crocodile tears over my leaving make me cry real ones. I forgot how proud I am on the outside at the casual over-the-shoulder "bye mom" from my 5 year old. On the inside I want to go to pieces, because I feel insignificant and not nearly cool enough. I forgot how much I love picking them up from school. They both come running as if I've been gone 20 years instead of a couple of hours. I forgot how little they will tell me about their day. They'd much they'd rather watch a movie, eat a snack, or try to kill each other with spatula swords. So yes, I was caught short when my emotional meter went from frazzled stay at home summer mom to tearful school year mom of preschoolers.
I remind myself of a sage piece of advice another mom once gave me. She relayed a statement her mom told her. She said, "Think about how blessed you are that your child is ready and able to go to the next level. Think how different your life would be if they couldn't." So my tears are really tears of joy. My sadness is really shock over a new state of "need less of you today, mom."
Monday through Thursday and before too long Monday through Friday, I'll put on my drop off armor and go forward. A kiss if they'll take it. A quick "I love you." And a promise to always come back after nap. I shall walk down those hallways and not look back. They need to know I know they can do it. It's going to be a good year.
After wishing for school to start since early July, I was surprised and slightly panicked that I was not ready. I forgot how hard it is to leave my children in the mornings. And let's not forget all the drama that goes into getting them into the car to drive to our destination. I forgot how the 2 year old's chubby little arms squeeze the breath out of me. Those crocodile tears over my leaving make me cry real ones. I forgot how proud I am on the outside at the casual over-the-shoulder "bye mom" from my 5 year old. On the inside I want to go to pieces, because I feel insignificant and not nearly cool enough. I forgot how much I love picking them up from school. They both come running as if I've been gone 20 years instead of a couple of hours. I forgot how little they will tell me about their day. They'd much they'd rather watch a movie, eat a snack, or try to kill each other with spatula swords. So yes, I was caught short when my emotional meter went from frazzled stay at home summer mom to tearful school year mom of preschoolers.
I remind myself of a sage piece of advice another mom once gave me. She relayed a statement her mom told her. She said, "Think about how blessed you are that your child is ready and able to go to the next level. Think how different your life would be if they couldn't." So my tears are really tears of joy. My sadness is really shock over a new state of "need less of you today, mom."
Monday through Thursday and before too long Monday through Friday, I'll put on my drop off armor and go forward. A kiss if they'll take it. A quick "I love you." And a promise to always come back after nap. I shall walk down those hallways and not look back. They need to know I know they can do it. It's going to be a good year.
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