Hello all who have followed this blog. I have been absent for a few reasons. The two main ones are that I moved to a new town and I've been working on a new project. You might remember when I posted some letters about my Grandfather, Opa. Well now with the help and support of my family, it has turned into a brand new blog project. Please visit and follow me there! Hopefully I will have some time to do some pieces unrelated to the project here, but in the meantime- support my project, comment and tell me what you think!
Here is the link: We're Not in Kansas Anymore
thank you,
Sarah
Friday, November 16, 2012
Monday, May 14, 2012
Join the Grace Party
I preached on Mother's Day at my husband's church- I thought I'd share the scripture and my sermon.
John 15:9-17
As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete. "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.
Psalm 98
O sing to the LORD a new song, for he has done marvelous things. His right hand and his holy arm have gotten him victory. The LORD has made known his victory; he has revealed his vindication in the sight of the nations. He has remembered his steadfast love and faithfulness to the house of Israel. All the ends of the earth have seen the victory of our God. Make a joyful noise to the LORD, all the earth; break forth into joyous song and sing praises. Sing praises to the LORD with the lyre, with the lyre and the sound of melody. With trumpets and the sound of the horn make a joyful noise before the King, the LORD. Let the sea roar, and all that fills it; the world and those who live in it.
Let the floods clap their hands; let the hills sing together for joy at the presence of the LORD, for he is coming to judge the earth. He will judge the world with righteousness, and the peoples with equity.
Graceful Last Words
This is likely the last time I will preach here at this church as Jason and I prepare to move in June to a new church community. I have thought many times about what I would like to say to this community, a way of expressing my deepest gratitude for the community of love that this church has been for us. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to express it all. I have been in this season of transitions, grieving, celebrating, closing and planning. It was only appropriate when I looked at the scriptures for this Sunday that they would contain the joyous Psalm of praise and some of Jesus’ parting words to his disciples. I find myself standing here in front of this community of faith- wanting to say something profound and new... but these scripture passages tell me that the good news, the message, the gospel to be proclaimed is the same. Jesus’ command is: Love one another as I have loved you.
I was talking to a friend from seminary about this scripture and we sort of laughed about how this simple, central piece of what God is asking of humanity is so hard. We really struggle to love one another, don’t we? We struggle even to love ourselves. We compete, judge, isolate, condemn, fight, frustrate and just outright ignore one another.
Many controversial topics have hit the news nerve in this politically tense season. If you want to feel horrific about humanity- just read the comments section of any online news article. ANY. Guaranteed there is someone attacking someone else. The inability for people to walk even a few steps in another’s shoes is heartbreaking. It makes me wonder sometimes if the earth will crack open and swallow all of us with the hate and bile that gets so casually thrown around. But guess what- we all do this. I do this. I judge. I talk about being open and honest and fair and all this junk but when I see some Mom walk in the preschool with her work-out clothes and perky personality- I jump right down her throat. In my mind of course. I think- she must be on drugs to be so happy in the morning and now she gets to go work out?! Alone?! She probably has no IDEA how lucky she is! Good Lord I judge. And I know better. We all do. But we do it! WHY?
I judged the Mom because I judge myself. She is something that I am not. She is something that challenges what I am and what I wish I could be. Her very existence makes me question my own goodness, because I can’t seem to be as perky in the morning. Never was a morning person. So instead of accepting her sunny morning disposition and accepting my more subtle and coffee-driven morning personality- I judge her. So I can feel better about my own downfalls. It’s ridiculous! I refuse to offer myself grace and as a result I am quick to snatch grace from someone else. Why do you judge people? Maybe you are like I seem to be- riddled with insecurities and stingy with grace for yourself first and others as a result. Maybe you judge people because you do things well and can’t imagine why other people struggle to keep it together? If you can do it- why can’t they? You don’t *need* grace, so why should anyone else need it? Maybe you judge people because you were taught that they were less than you? You are God’s chosen one, but they certainly are not. Maybe you’re even grumpier in the morning than I am! I don’t know why we do what we do- the fact is that we all do it.
We judge one another - and yet we can’t live without each other.
As humans, we are particularly crafted with the capacity and craving for connection. We need to connect. Soul to soul. If you have no one to share with about your day - chances are you are hurting. It is astounding how many people are deeply lonely. Loneliness is not created by an absence of people or solved with a presence of friends. Loneliness is the result of a life that lacks connection. I think all of us experience loneliness at some point for different reasons. All of us know the experience of feeling odd, outcast and alone. We crave a kindred spirit. This deep desire to relate with one another is powerfully human and divinely charged. It is what I believe produces the best and worst sides of humanity. In our effort to find connection, we band together over common beliefs, common goals, common values. This can be a beautiful thing. During times of chaos and disaster- people who never spoke to each other or had anything in common are bonded by the goal of survival and the will to overcome. On the other side of the coin is when we become so infatuated with what binds us that we reject and ridicule those who disagree or flat out don’t understand. We reject the un-enlightened. We reject the political view that opposes ours. We reject the parents that discipline differently. We do worse than this- we move beyond rejecting the ideas to attacking the person for their opposing stance. We forget that the substance of real and authentic connection -what we’re going for- is a love that does not depend on an idea or policy or viewpoint. We forget that we don’t need our principles as much as we need each other. We lose sight of the very thing we are craving: to love one another as God loves us. We create a community of self-rightness and sacrifice a chance at a community of grace.
How can we begin to be a community of grace? Both of the scripture readings we read today assume a community of faith. A grouping of loved ones. The Psalmist is writing with a nation of God’s chosen children in mind. The gospel text is a man’s documentation of Christ’s parting words to his dearest friends. God has purposely created a universe that functions on the hinges of relationship. We live in God’s galaxy of connectedness. Every living thing has need for another, none can survive alone. My 3 year old son Hunter came home from preschool with a tree to be planted. I asked him what it was for and he said repeatedly: it’s a TINY tree. We have to PLANT it! He had honed in on the need for us to put this little plant in the ground and water it and watch it grow. But we know that these little plants grow to become larger than ourselves, providing the very air we breathe. We are all connected. I was thinking about the creation story and wondered if the big sin of Adam and Eve was not the act of eating the fruit of the forbidden tree, but rather the pointed fingers to the only mate they had, and worse yet, hiding from God. Our greatest sin is not believing the wrong things or doing the wrong things, but hiding from one another and God. We create a community of grace by dropping the title of judge and standing before one another and God as we are.
In the psalm text you hear the voice of a poet calling on the community to praise God- use your voices, your instruments, even the earth will join in the song. For “God will judge the world with righteousness, and the peoples with equity.” Praise be to God! The message I found in this scripture passages is that God has taken the Judge role from our tightly clenched hands and filled the courts with grace. Overflowing, to the brim, ridiculous grace. God has made love the central theme. Forgiveness the byproducts. Grace the norm. And we can join this grace party anytime or we can live a life of pestilence and feel rotten about ourselves and everyone around us. I really really want to go to the grace party. God has told us time and again, you do not need to hide from me, I love you. And if we do not need to hide from God- than we should not hide from each other, especially not from behind a pointed finger.
This is good news for a community like us. For a grouping of people who judge. We have the freedom to let that judgment go, to accept God’s unconditional agape love for all of us. In the scripture from the gospel of John, every time love is mentioned- it is agape love. Agape love is the real deal. This is no warm feeling in your heart. It is rock solid- not just being kind- but loving every nook and cranny of our being- whole-heartedly- without reservation and with pleasure! Can we accept that God really, REALLY does love us that much? Can we embrace that and then move forward- trying to live out the command to love others in the same way?
I keep hearing this refrain in my head: “grace, grace, God’s grace. Grace that is greater than all my sin.” This is what we lack. We don’t believe that God’s grace really covers our struggle to get out of bed in the morning. We think God is annoyed with us. Does God really love that fat roll? Doesn’t God know that we could have a better attitude? Isn’t God ashamed of us when we make mistakes? We don’t believe that God’s love is really greater than all our sin. We look for the punishment, cower under our own judgment and attack others and hope that no one sees us for who we really are. Because then the love will leave. The grace will deflate. We believe that grace and love are fragile feelings and will run away from the thorns of our realities. I’m here to say that I believe, though I struggle to practice... that grace is not fragile or weak. Love - agape - unconditional- lay down your life- love- is not *struggling* to like us- it delights to envelope us. Every day. We struggle to believe it. We struggle to embrace it. But it is there. God is there. God is not a small person dispensing portions of love to the deserving. God *is* love. And God- love- is everywhere, all encompassing, always present, never leaving, unconditional and available.
If you have a hard time with religion... If you have a hard time with all the controversial topics swarming the news feed... If you judge others and save the worse judgment for yourself... If you just want to know how to get through today... I want to focus it down to just this: Jesus said: love one another as I have loved you. Just let that be the word that sits in your heart each day. Love one another as Christ has loved you. Join the grace party- God’s unconditional love means that we are ALL invited to the party. Join the party and find a way to connect with one another in grace. God’s grace. Grace that is greater than everything. Grace that allows us to connect, not to hide. Grace that leads us to love and frees us to feel loved. Amen.
John 15:9-17
As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete. "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.
Psalm 98
O sing to the LORD a new song, for he has done marvelous things. His right hand and his holy arm have gotten him victory. The LORD has made known his victory; he has revealed his vindication in the sight of the nations. He has remembered his steadfast love and faithfulness to the house of Israel. All the ends of the earth have seen the victory of our God. Make a joyful noise to the LORD, all the earth; break forth into joyous song and sing praises. Sing praises to the LORD with the lyre, with the lyre and the sound of melody. With trumpets and the sound of the horn make a joyful noise before the King, the LORD. Let the sea roar, and all that fills it; the world and those who live in it.
Let the floods clap their hands; let the hills sing together for joy at the presence of the LORD, for he is coming to judge the earth. He will judge the world with righteousness, and the peoples with equity.
Graceful Last Words
This is likely the last time I will preach here at this church as Jason and I prepare to move in June to a new church community. I have thought many times about what I would like to say to this community, a way of expressing my deepest gratitude for the community of love that this church has been for us. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to express it all. I have been in this season of transitions, grieving, celebrating, closing and planning. It was only appropriate when I looked at the scriptures for this Sunday that they would contain the joyous Psalm of praise and some of Jesus’ parting words to his disciples. I find myself standing here in front of this community of faith- wanting to say something profound and new... but these scripture passages tell me that the good news, the message, the gospel to be proclaimed is the same. Jesus’ command is: Love one another as I have loved you.
I was talking to a friend from seminary about this scripture and we sort of laughed about how this simple, central piece of what God is asking of humanity is so hard. We really struggle to love one another, don’t we? We struggle even to love ourselves. We compete, judge, isolate, condemn, fight, frustrate and just outright ignore one another.
Many controversial topics have hit the news nerve in this politically tense season. If you want to feel horrific about humanity- just read the comments section of any online news article. ANY. Guaranteed there is someone attacking someone else. The inability for people to walk even a few steps in another’s shoes is heartbreaking. It makes me wonder sometimes if the earth will crack open and swallow all of us with the hate and bile that gets so casually thrown around. But guess what- we all do this. I do this. I judge. I talk about being open and honest and fair and all this junk but when I see some Mom walk in the preschool with her work-out clothes and perky personality- I jump right down her throat. In my mind of course. I think- she must be on drugs to be so happy in the morning and now she gets to go work out?! Alone?! She probably has no IDEA how lucky she is! Good Lord I judge. And I know better. We all do. But we do it! WHY?
I judged the Mom because I judge myself. She is something that I am not. She is something that challenges what I am and what I wish I could be. Her very existence makes me question my own goodness, because I can’t seem to be as perky in the morning. Never was a morning person. So instead of accepting her sunny morning disposition and accepting my more subtle and coffee-driven morning personality- I judge her. So I can feel better about my own downfalls. It’s ridiculous! I refuse to offer myself grace and as a result I am quick to snatch grace from someone else. Why do you judge people? Maybe you are like I seem to be- riddled with insecurities and stingy with grace for yourself first and others as a result. Maybe you judge people because you do things well and can’t imagine why other people struggle to keep it together? If you can do it- why can’t they? You don’t *need* grace, so why should anyone else need it? Maybe you judge people because you were taught that they were less than you? You are God’s chosen one, but they certainly are not. Maybe you’re even grumpier in the morning than I am! I don’t know why we do what we do- the fact is that we all do it.
We judge one another - and yet we can’t live without each other.
As humans, we are particularly crafted with the capacity and craving for connection. We need to connect. Soul to soul. If you have no one to share with about your day - chances are you are hurting. It is astounding how many people are deeply lonely. Loneliness is not created by an absence of people or solved with a presence of friends. Loneliness is the result of a life that lacks connection. I think all of us experience loneliness at some point for different reasons. All of us know the experience of feeling odd, outcast and alone. We crave a kindred spirit. This deep desire to relate with one another is powerfully human and divinely charged. It is what I believe produces the best and worst sides of humanity. In our effort to find connection, we band together over common beliefs, common goals, common values. This can be a beautiful thing. During times of chaos and disaster- people who never spoke to each other or had anything in common are bonded by the goal of survival and the will to overcome. On the other side of the coin is when we become so infatuated with what binds us that we reject and ridicule those who disagree or flat out don’t understand. We reject the un-enlightened. We reject the political view that opposes ours. We reject the parents that discipline differently. We do worse than this- we move beyond rejecting the ideas to attacking the person for their opposing stance. We forget that the substance of real and authentic connection -what we’re going for- is a love that does not depend on an idea or policy or viewpoint. We forget that we don’t need our principles as much as we need each other. We lose sight of the very thing we are craving: to love one another as God loves us. We create a community of self-rightness and sacrifice a chance at a community of grace.
How can we begin to be a community of grace? Both of the scripture readings we read today assume a community of faith. A grouping of loved ones. The Psalmist is writing with a nation of God’s chosen children in mind. The gospel text is a man’s documentation of Christ’s parting words to his dearest friends. God has purposely created a universe that functions on the hinges of relationship. We live in God’s galaxy of connectedness. Every living thing has need for another, none can survive alone. My 3 year old son Hunter came home from preschool with a tree to be planted. I asked him what it was for and he said repeatedly: it’s a TINY tree. We have to PLANT it! He had honed in on the need for us to put this little plant in the ground and water it and watch it grow. But we know that these little plants grow to become larger than ourselves, providing the very air we breathe. We are all connected. I was thinking about the creation story and wondered if the big sin of Adam and Eve was not the act of eating the fruit of the forbidden tree, but rather the pointed fingers to the only mate they had, and worse yet, hiding from God. Our greatest sin is not believing the wrong things or doing the wrong things, but hiding from one another and God. We create a community of grace by dropping the title of judge and standing before one another and God as we are.
In the psalm text you hear the voice of a poet calling on the community to praise God- use your voices, your instruments, even the earth will join in the song. For “God will judge the world with righteousness, and the peoples with equity.” Praise be to God! The message I found in this scripture passages is that God has taken the Judge role from our tightly clenched hands and filled the courts with grace. Overflowing, to the brim, ridiculous grace. God has made love the central theme. Forgiveness the byproducts. Grace the norm. And we can join this grace party anytime or we can live a life of pestilence and feel rotten about ourselves and everyone around us. I really really want to go to the grace party. God has told us time and again, you do not need to hide from me, I love you. And if we do not need to hide from God- than we should not hide from each other, especially not from behind a pointed finger.
This is good news for a community like us. For a grouping of people who judge. We have the freedom to let that judgment go, to accept God’s unconditional agape love for all of us. In the scripture from the gospel of John, every time love is mentioned- it is agape love. Agape love is the real deal. This is no warm feeling in your heart. It is rock solid- not just being kind- but loving every nook and cranny of our being- whole-heartedly- without reservation and with pleasure! Can we accept that God really, REALLY does love us that much? Can we embrace that and then move forward- trying to live out the command to love others in the same way?
I keep hearing this refrain in my head: “grace, grace, God’s grace. Grace that is greater than all my sin.” This is what we lack. We don’t believe that God’s grace really covers our struggle to get out of bed in the morning. We think God is annoyed with us. Does God really love that fat roll? Doesn’t God know that we could have a better attitude? Isn’t God ashamed of us when we make mistakes? We don’t believe that God’s love is really greater than all our sin. We look for the punishment, cower under our own judgment and attack others and hope that no one sees us for who we really are. Because then the love will leave. The grace will deflate. We believe that grace and love are fragile feelings and will run away from the thorns of our realities. I’m here to say that I believe, though I struggle to practice... that grace is not fragile or weak. Love - agape - unconditional- lay down your life- love- is not *struggling* to like us- it delights to envelope us. Every day. We struggle to believe it. We struggle to embrace it. But it is there. God is there. God is not a small person dispensing portions of love to the deserving. God *is* love. And God- love- is everywhere, all encompassing, always present, never leaving, unconditional and available.
If you have a hard time with religion... If you have a hard time with all the controversial topics swarming the news feed... If you judge others and save the worse judgment for yourself... If you just want to know how to get through today... I want to focus it down to just this: Jesus said: love one another as I have loved you. Just let that be the word that sits in your heart each day. Love one another as Christ has loved you. Join the grace party- God’s unconditional love means that we are ALL invited to the party. Join the party and find a way to connect with one another in grace. God’s grace. Grace that is greater than everything. Grace that allows us to connect, not to hide. Grace that leads us to love and frees us to feel loved. Amen.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Third Generation Revolutionary
I started writing this blog a week ago- so the details are a little behind and it's a little jumbled....
I am back from a ridiculously silly feat of traveling with two children, by myself, to Nashville and Birmingham and back again. Not surprisingly, I became ridiculously silly sick on the final day of travel and needed my loving husband to drive the 2 hours to Harrisonburg (where I crashed at my brother and sister-in- law's) to get our children. Because I couldn't sit up straight. I may tell that story another time, but for now- know that I have been burdened with hours of travel time to think. I should say privileged, because I LOVE thinking time. But it is making me a little crazy in the head. I haven't had this much time to think in years. Years. I get into trouble when I think. It's what makes me me....but it's the me that doesn't fit in with the rest of the world.
SO I blog. This blog actually comes from a culmination of my alone-thought-time and a conversation I had with my husband the other night (who is, by the way, getting over being ridiculously silly sick. Of course.). I was feeling overwhelmed with the whole we're moving, we're parenting, we're sick, there are strange folks in and out of my house to remodel the parsonage bathrooms (because now is an awesome time for that). Jason and I were talking a little about what we wanted to get done. I was talking about my travels and witnessing the different ways my friends function in their marriages and as women in the world. No one is alike. Not even a little. Then we started talking about the social expectations and realities of women and men and their roles- in and out of the family context, but mostly in the context of a family with children. Let me define society as the voices of the mass. The comments people, the news people, the advertising slogans, the facebook posts, the Mom's group, the church coffee hour conversations, etc.
I hit on a thought that I want to share. I believe that women have an abnormal amount of varied expectations placed upon them. We not only have expectations on what we should *do* (as men do), but we have an added element of expectations on how we should *feel* about it. I don't see this emotional expectation on men, if nothing, we expect men to be fairly stoic. So men with extra emotion are really abnormalities in the eyes of society. This overwhelming and varied societal expectation is a result of the double-edged sword that is women making progress in this world. Don't misread me, I think women should indeed progress and I am scared of the backlash against women's rights and basic needs in current political maneuvers. However, looking at the big picture, I think women are dealing the results of chaotic transition. We are not yet released from the past and yet we are encouraged, even pushed and shoved, to grab hold of the opportunities that have been "won" for us through revolution. We have inherited the expectations of the 50s housewife, with the added bonus of the "new and improved" business Barbie. Plus men still can't have babies.
Women are expected to have it all AND love it. We have progressed, fought for our rights and have our feet firmly planted in the new century. So we can have careers! But we should also have children! If you're not married and over 30- you are a freak of nature (why, we're not sure, but you should at least be miserable to be in your state- as you probably are if you listen to society). If you're a lesbian- maybe at least they'll leave you alone? Probably not- I can't even imagine the messed up societal expectations that you tackle. Women with children: those careers better be worth it- and we better love the ever-loving bejeebus out of our jobs. And make a ton of cash. Even when equal pay and rights legislation are being knocked down. Because if we don't make money and love our job- then we should stay home with the kids, or get a better job so we can afford an awesome nanny (and be judged by all those who can't or stay at home with their kids). Here's the honest truth- I believe this. I don't- but I do. I didn't have a job that paid enough or was out of this world fantastic every loving day. With children, you don't have the luxury of having crappy jobs to fund your search for your calling. As a woman, the responsibility of childcare is, by society standards, on you. In a logical world, it really did make sense for me to stay home. I'm not denying that decision and its authenticity- I still stand by it. But man, were my expectations for the job high. When people ask me what I do, I say sheepishly- I stay home with the kids. Not because I believe that to be a sheepish thing- but because the mantra "You can do anything!" is ringing behind my ears with a panorama of my undergraduate and graduate diplomas- mocking me in their seeming futility. I feel guilty for not using them. Guilty for wanting to use them. Mixed Expectations. You better use that education. Don't you appreciate that your husband's career allows you to stay at home?
We are also expected to love every minute of parenting. Get high off the cuteness of our children. Whether you are spending 6 hours or 24 hours with them. If you are a good mother- you post things on facebook like: "how could my kids be any cuter?" And if you think I'm judging- don't worry- I have posted such things, and I do tend to think my kids are the most adorable hunks of babies on the planet. But I don't think this all the time. And if I posted about selling my child on the black market, I will instantly get responses like: "oh no, never, I will buy him- I LOVE him!" Most moms get it- kids aren't always sugar and sunshine. But we have a hard time admitting that it can be hard on us. So- women- have a career- love it, but not as much as you love your kids- in fact- it would be good if you lamented how you wish you could stay home with your kids. Have kids- love every minute of raising them, bask in the 3 am moon glow. Especially if you work- you better cherish every second you see that child since you leave them daily.
But use that degree. It's really very confusing to be what I like to call a "Third Generation Revolutionary." We are daughters of the revolution- our Grandparents conformed to the gender roles and division of labor along gender lines- but our Grandmothers were not stupid. A lot of them worked before kids and maybe after. They treated their jobs at home with respect and gained respect for them- they knew how to do stuff: garden, sew, cook, childhood psychology. A lot of them instilled some of the independence in our mother's hearts that caused the revolution of gender. Our parents struggled, mostly playing the gender roles along divided lines but then many of our mothers embraced careers after children. I know multiple women in my parents' generation who went back to school, started careers and are now the primary workers in the family, with the man retired. This generation has a tinge of bitterness. I've heard it, seen it. They raised the kids and now they are at the bottom of the totem pole in their newfound calling. They finally are doing a job they love but they are tired. They see men like my husband who are active in their kids' lives and pick up a broom to help. They wonder if they should've asked for more help. They tell us- my generation- I would never take back the time I had with my kids- but man I wish I had started looking for my calling a little earlier. So my generation thinks we can have it all. We can't. But we think we can. Mixed Expectations.
Women are expected to marry. I grew up with Disney movies- loved them. One of my favorite movies was Beauty and the Beast, it came out in 1991- I was 10- prime princess time. I SO related to Belle. She was book smart, not impressed by the machismo of the local Gaston with his inflated head. She wanted to run in the field and read books all day. She wanted adventure. She wanted MORE than this... provencial life. You can feel the fire in the passion of freedom and independence. The hope for more. The OK that you are the weird book girl. But here's where Beauty and the Beast confuses the shit out of girls like me. She's drop-dead gorgeous. And everyone is sort of obsessed with her. Of course she's got options- she's kind of the unwitting queen of the town. She doesn't like her village's options- but her village is allowing her beauty to overcome her bookiness. The story goes that she searches for her father who has been captured by an ornery beast-cursed-prince. She sees the good in the beast and eventually falls in love with him and her love changes him and he becomes a better person and then she kisses him. He turns into a hunk of a prince and she gets to live her adventure happily ever after with a prince who has baggage and lives walking distance from her village. But damn, she has a fantastic library provided for her. I love this story- and it really is a classic story. But wow. How confusing to my 10 year old self. My great adventure would be to find the right man, in beast form, change him by my stunning beauty and love, and magically get a prince. I did happen to find the best man on the planet- but I got super duper duper lucky. I married WAY better than the beast- and I didn't have to change him- we sharpen each other. My 10 year old self got robbed thinking that the beast could be my adventure. Be a smart girl, but change a man to be suitable for you... Mixed Expectations.
I would bet that women on average feel more responsibility for the appearance of the home, from decor to cleanliness. It certainly isn't a far shot for me to assume that based on almost every conversation (harmless or not) that I have had about decorating or cleanliness- always a female in the center of the story-line. Even when someone is trying to make me feel better.... "Oh yes, pastor so-and-so's wife was great, she had kids so she didn't even fool with keeping a spotless house, but she had a trick where she put a vacuum cleaner in the middle of the room so that any time someone from the church would stop in, they thought she was in the middle of cleaning!" This is a true story- or at least it is true that this story was told to me. The intent was of course kind and I appreciated it, but there is alive and well a pervasive assumption that the house is the woman's responsibility. Men may now "help," but how many cleaning supply commercials have you seen with a man as the central cleaning person? We are also supposed to love decorating (which some of us do) and be efficient and methodical about our cleaning (which I am certainly not).
I feel this burden. Jason is no slack man- he does A LOT around the house. And here's the kicker- because we are progressive and sharing kind of people- we BOTH feel the burden of the home. In this case it kind of makes sense why the typical 50s roles worked to an extent. Man works and brings home bacon. Woman cleans and raises children. Men bond over work issues. Women bond over home issues. In a kind marriage, man and woman have things to talk about and share and care about the other person's problems. But they are just that - the other person's problem. Woman doesn't have to fuss with the big presentation worries. Man doesn't have to worry about which discipline method to use. Both bow to the other in their realm of influence. The problem with this situation is that not every woman wants to worry about the house and discipline issues for their entire existence. And the labor of being a housewife/mom is on average more burdensome than the labor of a working man. Not every man wants the pressure of primary breadwinner on their shoulders.
I do think that is the expectation society has for men. Have a good job. Period. It's why so many men fall apart when they lose their job or retire. They lose their ability to fulfill their obligation to society and family. What the hell else are they good for? You get brownie points for being a good Dad and helping out at home- but you have one job. Men are defined by their vocation and often even by their salary.
So women are expected to have, do, and be it all- and LOVE it. Women are to be bleeding nurses. Men are expected to work and provide, period. Men are to be functional robots who have evolved to have empathy. The lines have been favorably blurred through progress, but now there is a state of confusion. We are living in the transition of "not there yet." Some long for the comfort and security of the old rules. Some want to strip all expectations and are afraid to do anything traditional- even marriage and children are threats. Then there are the rest of us third generation revolutionaries who are stuck in the middle. Trying to please all corners of our brain- the history of expectations taught to us. We do this in a grace-void world.
It is hard. I want to fast forward through this transition in history- but I don't think we'll ever be done growing. I know that the only thing that can help us all: men and women- in these times of confusion- is to grab a handful of grace. Hoard it. Stash it in corners. Give it away as party favors. It is sorely needed.
I am back from a ridiculously silly feat of traveling with two children, by myself, to Nashville and Birmingham and back again. Not surprisingly, I became ridiculously silly sick on the final day of travel and needed my loving husband to drive the 2 hours to Harrisonburg (where I crashed at my brother and sister-in- law's) to get our children. Because I couldn't sit up straight. I may tell that story another time, but for now- know that I have been burdened with hours of travel time to think. I should say privileged, because I LOVE thinking time. But it is making me a little crazy in the head. I haven't had this much time to think in years. Years. I get into trouble when I think. It's what makes me me....but it's the me that doesn't fit in with the rest of the world.
SO I blog. This blog actually comes from a culmination of my alone-thought-time and a conversation I had with my husband the other night (who is, by the way, getting over being ridiculously silly sick. Of course.). I was feeling overwhelmed with the whole we're moving, we're parenting, we're sick, there are strange folks in and out of my house to remodel the parsonage bathrooms (because now is an awesome time for that). Jason and I were talking a little about what we wanted to get done. I was talking about my travels and witnessing the different ways my friends function in their marriages and as women in the world. No one is alike. Not even a little. Then we started talking about the social expectations and realities of women and men and their roles- in and out of the family context, but mostly in the context of a family with children. Let me define society as the voices of the mass. The comments people, the news people, the advertising slogans, the facebook posts, the Mom's group, the church coffee hour conversations, etc.
I hit on a thought that I want to share. I believe that women have an abnormal amount of varied expectations placed upon them. We not only have expectations on what we should *do* (as men do), but we have an added element of expectations on how we should *feel* about it. I don't see this emotional expectation on men, if nothing, we expect men to be fairly stoic. So men with extra emotion are really abnormalities in the eyes of society. This overwhelming and varied societal expectation is a result of the double-edged sword that is women making progress in this world. Don't misread me, I think women should indeed progress and I am scared of the backlash against women's rights and basic needs in current political maneuvers. However, looking at the big picture, I think women are dealing the results of chaotic transition. We are not yet released from the past and yet we are encouraged, even pushed and shoved, to grab hold of the opportunities that have been "won" for us through revolution. We have inherited the expectations of the 50s housewife, with the added bonus of the "new and improved" business Barbie. Plus men still can't have babies.
Women are expected to have it all AND love it. We have progressed, fought for our rights and have our feet firmly planted in the new century. So we can have careers! But we should also have children! If you're not married and over 30- you are a freak of nature (why, we're not sure, but you should at least be miserable to be in your state- as you probably are if you listen to society). If you're a lesbian- maybe at least they'll leave you alone? Probably not- I can't even imagine the messed up societal expectations that you tackle. Women with children: those careers better be worth it- and we better love the ever-loving bejeebus out of our jobs. And make a ton of cash. Even when equal pay and rights legislation are being knocked down. Because if we don't make money and love our job- then we should stay home with the kids, or get a better job so we can afford an awesome nanny (and be judged by all those who can't or stay at home with their kids). Here's the honest truth- I believe this. I don't- but I do. I didn't have a job that paid enough or was out of this world fantastic every loving day. With children, you don't have the luxury of having crappy jobs to fund your search for your calling. As a woman, the responsibility of childcare is, by society standards, on you. In a logical world, it really did make sense for me to stay home. I'm not denying that decision and its authenticity- I still stand by it. But man, were my expectations for the job high. When people ask me what I do, I say sheepishly- I stay home with the kids. Not because I believe that to be a sheepish thing- but because the mantra "You can do anything!" is ringing behind my ears with a panorama of my undergraduate and graduate diplomas- mocking me in their seeming futility. I feel guilty for not using them. Guilty for wanting to use them. Mixed Expectations. You better use that education. Don't you appreciate that your husband's career allows you to stay at home?
We are also expected to love every minute of parenting. Get high off the cuteness of our children. Whether you are spending 6 hours or 24 hours with them. If you are a good mother- you post things on facebook like: "how could my kids be any cuter?" And if you think I'm judging- don't worry- I have posted such things, and I do tend to think my kids are the most adorable hunks of babies on the planet. But I don't think this all the time. And if I posted about selling my child on the black market, I will instantly get responses like: "oh no, never, I will buy him- I LOVE him!" Most moms get it- kids aren't always sugar and sunshine. But we have a hard time admitting that it can be hard on us. So- women- have a career- love it, but not as much as you love your kids- in fact- it would be good if you lamented how you wish you could stay home with your kids. Have kids- love every minute of raising them, bask in the 3 am moon glow. Especially if you work- you better cherish every second you see that child since you leave them daily.
But use that degree. It's really very confusing to be what I like to call a "Third Generation Revolutionary." We are daughters of the revolution- our Grandparents conformed to the gender roles and division of labor along gender lines- but our Grandmothers were not stupid. A lot of them worked before kids and maybe after. They treated their jobs at home with respect and gained respect for them- they knew how to do stuff: garden, sew, cook, childhood psychology. A lot of them instilled some of the independence in our mother's hearts that caused the revolution of gender. Our parents struggled, mostly playing the gender roles along divided lines but then many of our mothers embraced careers after children. I know multiple women in my parents' generation who went back to school, started careers and are now the primary workers in the family, with the man retired. This generation has a tinge of bitterness. I've heard it, seen it. They raised the kids and now they are at the bottom of the totem pole in their newfound calling. They finally are doing a job they love but they are tired. They see men like my husband who are active in their kids' lives and pick up a broom to help. They wonder if they should've asked for more help. They tell us- my generation- I would never take back the time I had with my kids- but man I wish I had started looking for my calling a little earlier. So my generation thinks we can have it all. We can't. But we think we can. Mixed Expectations.
Women are expected to marry. I grew up with Disney movies- loved them. One of my favorite movies was Beauty and the Beast, it came out in 1991- I was 10- prime princess time. I SO related to Belle. She was book smart, not impressed by the machismo of the local Gaston with his inflated head. She wanted to run in the field and read books all day. She wanted adventure. She wanted MORE than this... provencial life. You can feel the fire in the passion of freedom and independence. The hope for more. The OK that you are the weird book girl. But here's where Beauty and the Beast confuses the shit out of girls like me. She's drop-dead gorgeous. And everyone is sort of obsessed with her. Of course she's got options- she's kind of the unwitting queen of the town. She doesn't like her village's options- but her village is allowing her beauty to overcome her bookiness. The story goes that she searches for her father who has been captured by an ornery beast-cursed-prince. She sees the good in the beast and eventually falls in love with him and her love changes him and he becomes a better person and then she kisses him. He turns into a hunk of a prince and she gets to live her adventure happily ever after with a prince who has baggage and lives walking distance from her village. But damn, she has a fantastic library provided for her. I love this story- and it really is a classic story. But wow. How confusing to my 10 year old self. My great adventure would be to find the right man, in beast form, change him by my stunning beauty and love, and magically get a prince. I did happen to find the best man on the planet- but I got super duper duper lucky. I married WAY better than the beast- and I didn't have to change him- we sharpen each other. My 10 year old self got robbed thinking that the beast could be my adventure. Be a smart girl, but change a man to be suitable for you... Mixed Expectations.
I would bet that women on average feel more responsibility for the appearance of the home, from decor to cleanliness. It certainly isn't a far shot for me to assume that based on almost every conversation (harmless or not) that I have had about decorating or cleanliness- always a female in the center of the story-line. Even when someone is trying to make me feel better.... "Oh yes, pastor so-and-so's wife was great, she had kids so she didn't even fool with keeping a spotless house, but she had a trick where she put a vacuum cleaner in the middle of the room so that any time someone from the church would stop in, they thought she was in the middle of cleaning!" This is a true story- or at least it is true that this story was told to me. The intent was of course kind and I appreciated it, but there is alive and well a pervasive assumption that the house is the woman's responsibility. Men may now "help," but how many cleaning supply commercials have you seen with a man as the central cleaning person? We are also supposed to love decorating (which some of us do) and be efficient and methodical about our cleaning (which I am certainly not).
I feel this burden. Jason is no slack man- he does A LOT around the house. And here's the kicker- because we are progressive and sharing kind of people- we BOTH feel the burden of the home. In this case it kind of makes sense why the typical 50s roles worked to an extent. Man works and brings home bacon. Woman cleans and raises children. Men bond over work issues. Women bond over home issues. In a kind marriage, man and woman have things to talk about and share and care about the other person's problems. But they are just that - the other person's problem. Woman doesn't have to fuss with the big presentation worries. Man doesn't have to worry about which discipline method to use. Both bow to the other in their realm of influence. The problem with this situation is that not every woman wants to worry about the house and discipline issues for their entire existence. And the labor of being a housewife/mom is on average more burdensome than the labor of a working man. Not every man wants the pressure of primary breadwinner on their shoulders.
I do think that is the expectation society has for men. Have a good job. Period. It's why so many men fall apart when they lose their job or retire. They lose their ability to fulfill their obligation to society and family. What the hell else are they good for? You get brownie points for being a good Dad and helping out at home- but you have one job. Men are defined by their vocation and often even by their salary.
So women are expected to have, do, and be it all- and LOVE it. Women are to be bleeding nurses. Men are expected to work and provide, period. Men are to be functional robots who have evolved to have empathy. The lines have been favorably blurred through progress, but now there is a state of confusion. We are living in the transition of "not there yet." Some long for the comfort and security of the old rules. Some want to strip all expectations and are afraid to do anything traditional- even marriage and children are threats. Then there are the rest of us third generation revolutionaries who are stuck in the middle. Trying to please all corners of our brain- the history of expectations taught to us. We do this in a grace-void world.
It is hard. I want to fast forward through this transition in history- but I don't think we'll ever be done growing. I know that the only thing that can help us all: men and women- in these times of confusion- is to grab a handful of grace. Hoard it. Stash it in corners. Give it away as party favors. It is sorely needed.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Good Friday
Well, as I have my Grandmother's funeral post sitting in editing in my blog archives... I come to the computer with a new grief story. I wish I was holy enough to be mourning Jesus right now- but frankly I kinda forgot it was holy week.
We have to put our St. Bernard, Bruno, down tomorrow. I say "have to." It makes it easier to say it that way. Actually, it doesn't make it easier- but it does make it sound like it was easier to make the decision. It was ridiculously hard to make the decision. My head and heart were tearing each other apart these last few weeks.
It started over Thanksgiving when we were out of town for about 10 days and came home to a ridiculous dog. Bruno peed in the house, asked to go out at night numerous times and annoyed the hell out of me. We did a urine test to check if he had any infections or whatnot- nothing. We decided it was behavioral and started to do some re-training. He stopped peeing in the house but still asked to go out at night and was obsessive about drinking water. He even slowed that down a bit- but we made all sorts of adjustments. He had been primarily hanging out in the basement because I had enough to handle with an infant and 3 year old upstairs. We decided to give him free reign and he started to relax and seem happier. Instantaneous guilt for me- the one who had sequestered him to the basement for my convenience. I can't say it wasn't the right thing to do- I just feel crappy about him being by himself in the basement. All these adjustments and still he wasn't quite himself.
One of my caveats of having him all over the house with free reign was that I would have his massive hairy self groomed once a month. He has one groomer that was fantastic with him and truly loved him. He started getting a little aggressive with her to the point where she wasn't sure if she'd be able to get him out of the crate to groom him. The last time she tried to groom him (3 weeks ago)- he bit her. Not an attack bite, but he definitely got her finger and it broke the skin. No stitches, so she didn't report him- in fact- she was apologizing to US and felt bad that she couldn't get him groomed. She told us that he seemed like something was not right. We agreed- something was up. I was all sorts of torn up- trying to figure out if it was possible to keep a dog with that large a face around my little kids after he had officially bitten someone- even though I would bet money that he would never bite them. We ran some more blood tests- everything came back normal.
I called the St. Bernard Rescue of Md/DC/NoVa and spoke with a woman who made me feel like I actually had options, as most everyone was telling me I had to euthanize the dog. She recommended a vet that worked closely with the St. Bernard rescue and we immediately made an appointment and hoped for the best.
What we found out was that Bruno's back two knees were completely shot. A shock for us as he never showed any sign of pain- but this is the dog who had his earlobe bit in half as a 2 year old and didn't mention a word until people saw his ear bleeding. Stoic puppy. The options were medication, surgery option 1 or surgery option 2. The medication basically was a poor bandaid for the pain and had no real positive outlook. The first surgery was not very promising for a dog of his size. What was really needed was a full out fix- and the fix was a costly surgery with 6-8 weeks of intense recuperation to include therapy, lifting the (130 lb) dog to go outside and pee multiple times a day, etc. And we would have to do one knee at a time. So, without complications and given a month in between surgeries- Bruno would have been in pain and recuperating for about 5 more months at best. He's almost 6 years old now and the average life span of a saint is 8-10 years.
Jason and I seriously considered the surgery, but the more we thought about it, the less viable it became. We're moving in June, have construction workers in the home as they prepare for the next associate pastor to come into the parsonage, I am home alone with the 2 kids... but surgery here was going to be infinitely easier than the second surgery that would be in a new place, with no church across the street for Jason to hop home from work, no village of people who are familiar with and love Bruno (and loved by Bruno- as he doesn't love everyone). We would have to build a new fence, and somehow find a way for Bruno not to move as the neighbors collective 3 dogs were outside. It began to feel impossible. Not to mention that we could do all this and it still could not be all right.
The fact is that Bruno does not like change. He loves his family. He is happy here. The next 6 months could be hellish for him, and who knows how successful the healing process would be. So- after careful consideration- we are going to feed Bruno a giant steak for breakfast, cry many many tears, and let our friend and vet give Bruno a good ending rather than a tortured one.
Every time I look at that damn dog I cry. I want to just lie beside him and cry - but I don't want to hurt his knees. Graham freaking loves him and lights up every time he sees him. Even Hunter, who has been hesitant about him- has started including him in his imaginative play. Graham's first birthday party theme is puppies and it will kill me to go through with it- but the invitations are already printed.
This is SO HARD. I have been ridiculously angry at this dog. I have thought he was the cutest thing you ever saw. He was our first child- hairy- but the first thing we were responsible for as a married couple. Now we have to put him down because of a series of unfortunate and impossible situations. I will now miss that stupid fuzzy hair being everywhere. The grass will now grow next to the fence, and it will break my heart. Our new home will have never had a Bruno.
So Good Friday. If all dogs do go to heaven, and I'm inclined to think so, then Bruno will be running with the cool people and being a big lazy rug for someone to lie on. Maybe he'll even get to nuzzle with Jesus.
Pray for us as we experience this grief as a family and find the words to explain it to our 3.5 year old.
We have to put our St. Bernard, Bruno, down tomorrow. I say "have to." It makes it easier to say it that way. Actually, it doesn't make it easier- but it does make it sound like it was easier to make the decision. It was ridiculously hard to make the decision. My head and heart were tearing each other apart these last few weeks.
It started over Thanksgiving when we were out of town for about 10 days and came home to a ridiculous dog. Bruno peed in the house, asked to go out at night numerous times and annoyed the hell out of me. We did a urine test to check if he had any infections or whatnot- nothing. We decided it was behavioral and started to do some re-training. He stopped peeing in the house but still asked to go out at night and was obsessive about drinking water. He even slowed that down a bit- but we made all sorts of adjustments. He had been primarily hanging out in the basement because I had enough to handle with an infant and 3 year old upstairs. We decided to give him free reign and he started to relax and seem happier. Instantaneous guilt for me- the one who had sequestered him to the basement for my convenience. I can't say it wasn't the right thing to do- I just feel crappy about him being by himself in the basement. All these adjustments and still he wasn't quite himself.
One of my caveats of having him all over the house with free reign was that I would have his massive hairy self groomed once a month. He has one groomer that was fantastic with him and truly loved him. He started getting a little aggressive with her to the point where she wasn't sure if she'd be able to get him out of the crate to groom him. The last time she tried to groom him (3 weeks ago)- he bit her. Not an attack bite, but he definitely got her finger and it broke the skin. No stitches, so she didn't report him- in fact- she was apologizing to US and felt bad that she couldn't get him groomed. She told us that he seemed like something was not right. We agreed- something was up. I was all sorts of torn up- trying to figure out if it was possible to keep a dog with that large a face around my little kids after he had officially bitten someone- even though I would bet money that he would never bite them. We ran some more blood tests- everything came back normal.
I called the St. Bernard Rescue of Md/DC/NoVa and spoke with a woman who made me feel like I actually had options, as most everyone was telling me I had to euthanize the dog. She recommended a vet that worked closely with the St. Bernard rescue and we immediately made an appointment and hoped for the best.
What we found out was that Bruno's back two knees were completely shot. A shock for us as he never showed any sign of pain- but this is the dog who had his earlobe bit in half as a 2 year old and didn't mention a word until people saw his ear bleeding. Stoic puppy. The options were medication, surgery option 1 or surgery option 2. The medication basically was a poor bandaid for the pain and had no real positive outlook. The first surgery was not very promising for a dog of his size. What was really needed was a full out fix- and the fix was a costly surgery with 6-8 weeks of intense recuperation to include therapy, lifting the (130 lb) dog to go outside and pee multiple times a day, etc. And we would have to do one knee at a time. So, without complications and given a month in between surgeries- Bruno would have been in pain and recuperating for about 5 more months at best. He's almost 6 years old now and the average life span of a saint is 8-10 years.
Jason and I seriously considered the surgery, but the more we thought about it, the less viable it became. We're moving in June, have construction workers in the home as they prepare for the next associate pastor to come into the parsonage, I am home alone with the 2 kids... but surgery here was going to be infinitely easier than the second surgery that would be in a new place, with no church across the street for Jason to hop home from work, no village of people who are familiar with and love Bruno (and loved by Bruno- as he doesn't love everyone). We would have to build a new fence, and somehow find a way for Bruno not to move as the neighbors collective 3 dogs were outside. It began to feel impossible. Not to mention that we could do all this and it still could not be all right.
The fact is that Bruno does not like change. He loves his family. He is happy here. The next 6 months could be hellish for him, and who knows how successful the healing process would be. So- after careful consideration- we are going to feed Bruno a giant steak for breakfast, cry many many tears, and let our friend and vet give Bruno a good ending rather than a tortured one.
Every time I look at that damn dog I cry. I want to just lie beside him and cry - but I don't want to hurt his knees. Graham freaking loves him and lights up every time he sees him. Even Hunter, who has been hesitant about him- has started including him in his imaginative play. Graham's first birthday party theme is puppies and it will kill me to go through with it- but the invitations are already printed.
This is SO HARD. I have been ridiculously angry at this dog. I have thought he was the cutest thing you ever saw. He was our first child- hairy- but the first thing we were responsible for as a married couple. Now we have to put him down because of a series of unfortunate and impossible situations. I will now miss that stupid fuzzy hair being everywhere. The grass will now grow next to the fence, and it will break my heart. Our new home will have never had a Bruno.
So Good Friday. If all dogs do go to heaven, and I'm inclined to think so, then Bruno will be running with the cool people and being a big lazy rug for someone to lie on. Maybe he'll even get to nuzzle with Jesus.
Pray for us as we experience this grief as a family and find the words to explain it to our 3.5 year old.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
We're Moving
Well- life has taken over again as it often does- especially in the Spring. I tried desperately to post at least once a week- even if it was to say: I don't feel like writing this week, and last week I missed the boat. I've had a few things on my mind. And damn it- I will post about Grandmother's funeral.
Any sleuth could probably gather from our mysterious 2 day trip out of town during the work week, my aggressively pinning home decor on pinterest, and Hunter's innocent mentionings of the "new house" and "new church" that....
We're moving. That's all I'm allowed to tell you.
I can't tell you where, other than that we are still in the Virginia Conference of the United Methodist Church. The UMC has a system of moving pastors that requires some confidentiality until all the ducks are in a row. Jason's job as a pastor is linked up in the itinerant system of the UMC. The way it works is that all the churches are grouped in conferences (geographical, typically whole or sections of a state), those conferences are split up into districts, and then you have the local church. Every year the district superintendents (folks overseeing the doings of districts) get together with the pastors in their flock, the leadership of the churches, and each other and they begin to put together the biggest jigsaw puzzle with no pictures. Theoretically the system is set in place so the the needs of the churches and the talents/gifts of the pastors are matched up and the body of Christ functions together- and pastors move around. Realistically, pastors have husbands and wives with jobs, houses that are hard to sell, children that would like to finish high school without moving again, churches that are *difficult*, pastors that are *difficult*, and more. So it isn't a seamless process, but the intentions are good and the hope is alive that each placement results in the revitalization and renewal of both the pastor and the church.
Jason and I are in a particularly positive place. (ooh- nice alliteration- not intended!) We have had the blessing of being in a church that has given us space to move and grow, be authentic and honest in ministry, and has supported us with more love than we could imagine. Sure, there have been ups and downs. But this church has been a blessing in so many ways, and as we look forward to our (potential but nearly certainly happening) move, we are leaving on a positive and satisfied note. As we move to our next place, we have hopes and dreams and fears. We have seen our potential new church and parsonage (we have a walk-in closet!!), and there is excitement of possibility. I believe this is one of those times when the system works.
I have had moments of grief when considering all the things I will leave behind, they are countered by moments of hope for the future- but I need to allow myself the time to process what I am leaving... this church will forever be the church of our every beginning. This church provided Jason and I with our first ministry job, we got married while here, we got our first dog, we painted and decorated our first home, we had both of our babies here, I planted my first garden here... This has been a beautiful place of beginnings. I look forward to bringing the kids back here to show them: this is where you began, these people loved you first. We have hopes for this church as we leave them- that they recognize how supportive and gracious they are, and continue to embody that in the world outside of them.
Moving. MILES to go before we sleep. I think optimistically most of the time about the moving process. I am a bad mover. You would think this is not true since I have moved... 13 times in 30 years. But I am. I remember my dear friend Jess coming over to my apartment in college and seeing me sitting in the middle of a pile of books, reading. She immediately took charge. She grabbed a box of trash bags, threw everything unbreakable into the bags and shoved them in the back of her Jeep and told me to get my butt moving. She single-handedly moved me. This might be why she is able to handle having four kids and I'm pretty satisfied with the work of having two. I get lost in the transition. I look at things I never used and think about how dreams change and goals shift. I look at clothes and wonder why I ever wanted some or fit in others. I look at my scribbled journals and reminisce. This place was a sacred time. It all is- and how often do you get to put your hands on every item stocked full of memories from a time? Moving takes me a long time. I think Jason is beginning to understand this. Each evening we have been trying to do a little work towards getting rid of items and going through things. We are going to have a kickin yard sale! I have been pretty good about getting rid of stuff (I'm awesome at it, actually), but I have to admit I've had to stop the mind wanderings numerous times. As obnoxious as it is, maybe I should give my mind a little more space to wander.
We're moving. Pray for us. Hope for us. Pack with us! Ha.
Any sleuth could probably gather from our mysterious 2 day trip out of town during the work week, my aggressively pinning home decor on pinterest, and Hunter's innocent mentionings of the "new house" and "new church" that....
We're moving. That's all I'm allowed to tell you.
I can't tell you where, other than that we are still in the Virginia Conference of the United Methodist Church. The UMC has a system of moving pastors that requires some confidentiality until all the ducks are in a row. Jason's job as a pastor is linked up in the itinerant system of the UMC. The way it works is that all the churches are grouped in conferences (geographical, typically whole or sections of a state), those conferences are split up into districts, and then you have the local church. Every year the district superintendents (folks overseeing the doings of districts) get together with the pastors in their flock, the leadership of the churches, and each other and they begin to put together the biggest jigsaw puzzle with no pictures. Theoretically the system is set in place so the the needs of the churches and the talents/gifts of the pastors are matched up and the body of Christ functions together- and pastors move around. Realistically, pastors have husbands and wives with jobs, houses that are hard to sell, children that would like to finish high school without moving again, churches that are *difficult*, pastors that are *difficult*, and more. So it isn't a seamless process, but the intentions are good and the hope is alive that each placement results in the revitalization and renewal of both the pastor and the church.
Jason and I are in a particularly positive place. (ooh- nice alliteration- not intended!) We have had the blessing of being in a church that has given us space to move and grow, be authentic and honest in ministry, and has supported us with more love than we could imagine. Sure, there have been ups and downs. But this church has been a blessing in so many ways, and as we look forward to our (potential but nearly certainly happening) move, we are leaving on a positive and satisfied note. As we move to our next place, we have hopes and dreams and fears. We have seen our potential new church and parsonage (we have a walk-in closet!!), and there is excitement of possibility. I believe this is one of those times when the system works.
I have had moments of grief when considering all the things I will leave behind, they are countered by moments of hope for the future- but I need to allow myself the time to process what I am leaving... this church will forever be the church of our every beginning. This church provided Jason and I with our first ministry job, we got married while here, we got our first dog, we painted and decorated our first home, we had both of our babies here, I planted my first garden here... This has been a beautiful place of beginnings. I look forward to bringing the kids back here to show them: this is where you began, these people loved you first. We have hopes for this church as we leave them- that they recognize how supportive and gracious they are, and continue to embody that in the world outside of them.
Moving. MILES to go before we sleep. I think optimistically most of the time about the moving process. I am a bad mover. You would think this is not true since I have moved... 13 times in 30 years. But I am. I remember my dear friend Jess coming over to my apartment in college and seeing me sitting in the middle of a pile of books, reading. She immediately took charge. She grabbed a box of trash bags, threw everything unbreakable into the bags and shoved them in the back of her Jeep and told me to get my butt moving. She single-handedly moved me. This might be why she is able to handle having four kids and I'm pretty satisfied with the work of having two. I get lost in the transition. I look at things I never used and think about how dreams change and goals shift. I look at clothes and wonder why I ever wanted some or fit in others. I look at my scribbled journals and reminisce. This place was a sacred time. It all is- and how often do you get to put your hands on every item stocked full of memories from a time? Moving takes me a long time. I think Jason is beginning to understand this. Each evening we have been trying to do a little work towards getting rid of items and going through things. We are going to have a kickin yard sale! I have been pretty good about getting rid of stuff (I'm awesome at it, actually), but I have to admit I've had to stop the mind wanderings numerous times. As obnoxious as it is, maybe I should give my mind a little more space to wander.
We're moving. Pray for us. Hope for us. Pack with us! Ha.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Boys and Girls
I am working on my Grandmother post- but it's a long and heartfelt one, and Hunter said something today that made me so ... I don't know- mad, annoyed, frustrated, crazy... that I lost my focus. So here I will write on this energy rather than try to write peacefully.
So amidst the whole Limbaugh-Fluke controversy (what's the controversy? I think we can all agree that Limbaugh is a jerk-face)... today is national women's day- don't remember who decided to celebrate us, but thank you very much. We need a day. Or a month. Or a year. Hell- we need a few decades to recover from some of the junk society and nature deals us.
Today I took Hunter to a follow-up appointment at the doctor's office. He had a double ear infection and the doctor wanted to make sure his ears had cleared up with the antibiotics. We were waiting patiently in one of the exam rooms and we could hear a younger child crying in another room. Hunter commented on the sound saying that someone was sad and wanted his Mommy. I thought that was sweet. Somehow we got to guessing the child's gender (now in retrospect, I really wish I remembered how that came up). Hunter said it was a girl. I asked him why he thought it was a girl and he said plainly, almost rehearsed: "Because girls cry and boys don't cry!"
WTF.
I mean, really. He is THREE! Already he is getting this weird complex about crying and gender roles with crying. I am anxious in my stomach thinking about it. I told him that of course boys cry and of course it's ok to cry. I asked him where he learned that- and of course he didn't know. I asked- preschool? Sunday School? Home? WHO TOLD YOU THAT?! No recollection- true politician style. Frustrating.
I wouldn't be so angry and upset but that this is not an isolated event. He's mentioned this before in other forms about how he can't cry. The last couple of weeks he's been increasingly aggressive in preschool and with Graham. He literally growls at adults. Again, wtf? Today he said he doesn't like people to be mad, but HE likes to be mad. And translation: mad = the emotion when you reprimand someone for being in trouble. We've attributed (and worked on correcting) this behavior to continuing changes in the home: Bruno being upstairs and in Hunter's space, Graham being much more mobile and in Hunter's space. But there are moments when no one is in anyone's face and Hunter gets up to bop someone on the head. It makes me literally lose my mind. I DO NOT GET IT. I have a sweet, kind, gentle child who is careful going up and down stairs, but somehow he is growling and punching and not feeling free to cry.
WHO kidnapped my kid and brainwashed him? Honestly, many of his behaviors may still be the result of the many changes going on around him and we are still working on those. He is still sweet and I love to see his little personality shine out. It's those moments that he says "girls cry and boys don't" that I want to punch sexist society in the face. People talk about original sin. My baby was not sinful when he was born. He was vulnerable, beautiful, human, needy, and whole. It is the world that he was born in that has the systems of evil. Little comments like "boys don't cry" wreak havoc on a literal 3 year old mind. I am going to figure this out. Every chance I get I'm going to tell Hunter: people cry. Boys, girls, old people, young people, etc. It's fascinating, when he talked about this another time- I looked for music videos to show boys crying- but without violence. Didn't find one. Lots of words about crying and sadness- but no boy physically crying. Hardly any girls either, for the record. We don't like to see or show crying.
I cried at my Grandmother's funeral and it was cleansing, healing, wonderful.
Boys and Girls DO cry, dammit. How do I unteach what society has already taught my son?
So amidst the whole Limbaugh-Fluke controversy (what's the controversy? I think we can all agree that Limbaugh is a jerk-face)... today is national women's day- don't remember who decided to celebrate us, but thank you very much. We need a day. Or a month. Or a year. Hell- we need a few decades to recover from some of the junk society and nature deals us.
Today I took Hunter to a follow-up appointment at the doctor's office. He had a double ear infection and the doctor wanted to make sure his ears had cleared up with the antibiotics. We were waiting patiently in one of the exam rooms and we could hear a younger child crying in another room. Hunter commented on the sound saying that someone was sad and wanted his Mommy. I thought that was sweet. Somehow we got to guessing the child's gender (now in retrospect, I really wish I remembered how that came up). Hunter said it was a girl. I asked him why he thought it was a girl and he said plainly, almost rehearsed: "Because girls cry and boys don't cry!"
WTF.
I mean, really. He is THREE! Already he is getting this weird complex about crying and gender roles with crying. I am anxious in my stomach thinking about it. I told him that of course boys cry and of course it's ok to cry. I asked him where he learned that- and of course he didn't know. I asked- preschool? Sunday School? Home? WHO TOLD YOU THAT?! No recollection- true politician style. Frustrating.
I wouldn't be so angry and upset but that this is not an isolated event. He's mentioned this before in other forms about how he can't cry. The last couple of weeks he's been increasingly aggressive in preschool and with Graham. He literally growls at adults. Again, wtf? Today he said he doesn't like people to be mad, but HE likes to be mad. And translation: mad = the emotion when you reprimand someone for being in trouble. We've attributed (and worked on correcting) this behavior to continuing changes in the home: Bruno being upstairs and in Hunter's space, Graham being much more mobile and in Hunter's space. But there are moments when no one is in anyone's face and Hunter gets up to bop someone on the head. It makes me literally lose my mind. I DO NOT GET IT. I have a sweet, kind, gentle child who is careful going up and down stairs, but somehow he is growling and punching and not feeling free to cry.
WHO kidnapped my kid and brainwashed him? Honestly, many of his behaviors may still be the result of the many changes going on around him and we are still working on those. He is still sweet and I love to see his little personality shine out. It's those moments that he says "girls cry and boys don't" that I want to punch sexist society in the face. People talk about original sin. My baby was not sinful when he was born. He was vulnerable, beautiful, human, needy, and whole. It is the world that he was born in that has the systems of evil. Little comments like "boys don't cry" wreak havoc on a literal 3 year old mind. I am going to figure this out. Every chance I get I'm going to tell Hunter: people cry. Boys, girls, old people, young people, etc. It's fascinating, when he talked about this another time- I looked for music videos to show boys crying- but without violence. Didn't find one. Lots of words about crying and sadness- but no boy physically crying. Hardly any girls either, for the record. We don't like to see or show crying.
I cried at my Grandmother's funeral and it was cleansing, healing, wonderful.
Boys and Girls DO cry, dammit. How do I unteach what society has already taught my son?
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Workin on it
OK- I'm going to blog- I promise. I'm in Florida (yes) after a long couple of weeks preparing for Grandmother's funeral. I will update on the funeral- and I am going to work on it- I just thought my readers would like to know that it's coming. It's going to be an explosion of blog entries. Really.
The funeral was perfect. That will be my next blog.
The funeral was perfect. That will be my next blog.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Prayers
Well I just need them. There is so much joy, sadness, worn-out-ness and chaos going on this week.
Grandmother's funeral is this Saturday. It's going to be good...
I will write when it's all said and done.
Grandmother's funeral is this Saturday. It's going to be good...
I will write when it's all said and done.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Paper Pile Treasures
Jason and I are trying to do a little early spring cleaning in an effort to get ready for Grandmother's funeral at the end of this month. I don't know why this funeral has become motivation to clean house- but something about having my close and distant family in my house for a reception screams: "CLEAN!" to me. I just want this. I want to give my family a tour and be proud. There are some habits that Jason and I share that makes our house less than the spotless clean that everyone fantasizes about. Among those habits is one big one: hoarding paper. Little notes, big notes, bills, statements, numbers scribbled, instruction booklets, cards, artwork, copied articles, recipes torn out of a magazine, receipts we will never use... the list is endless. In an effort to clean house, we looked up online what records to keep and what to pitch. Today, during a fabulous time of extra help with the kids (thanks to Kelly and Amy) and a surge of energy- Jason and I went to town recycling, making a pile to shred, making a pile to file, and happily making a pile to toss.
I found a few little treasures- weird treasures- but treasures. Some handwritten notes from Grandmother when she was thinking about her move to Florida 2 years ago. My notes of when she was in the hospital and the rehab center up here before her move. Notes on the aids I interviewed to assist in her care. Snotty notes about stupid doctors. It was weirdly refreshing to remember. I also found a handwritten note I wrote when sitting with Memaush while she was in the hospital before she died. This note was a little treasure I thought I would share with you...
I Am
-Moses asked- who should I tell them sent me- what should I say? God answered- I am who I am. Tell them "I Am" sent you.
I spent my entire adolescence searching for this black and white I was told exists somewhere at the end of the rainbow. Life taught me that even the blackest sky is a shade of gray- and even the brightest sun has glints of varying colors. I was stuck in a moment of time when I thought everything was gray- I admit I often revisit that moment. But my soul knows that instead- everything is color. Black is simply the pot filled with every color and white always gets a little dirty.
My thoughts have evolved over time and my heart has opened slowly to embrace my soul- who is constantly aching to be let out more and more. The theological concept that embraces the reality and dreams of life has been this simple statement by God- "I am."
God did not throw indicators, descriptives, hierarchies, justifications, defenses, or PR statements- just "I am." I believe with all my soul that God wants for us to say that about ourselves one day and mean it. God's whole story has been to bring humanity to a point where we can say "I Am" is God... and to a point where we can say with love and certainty "I am who I am" about ourselves.
I'm sitting - watching Memaush talk in her in-between sleep- the kind if sleep you get in the hospital when your eyes flutter open and closed and your body does random things without asking you... It's the look that can be mistaken for that time of travel out of this reality- out of this time- and ultimately out of this world. She looks at me from her universe occasionally- sharing a knowing look. All I know is that there is a multitude of things happening inside her- and my presence- though I cannot begin to know or understand what is happening- my presence affirms her and says to her- "I am that I am" - "You are." My soul is here beside your soul- and we may not be fully aware of what's going on- but the Great I Am- is connecting us- spinning a beautiful vine to tangle together and support and nurture. I'm telling her- your lips moving are your prayers to God- and thank God- because neither of us know how to pray in this moment.
We label so many things- and it is appropriate so we can dissect it, measure it, manipulate it- but at some point- mystery is necessary. There is grace in leaving some mysteries unsolved. God's grace is having mysteries that are unsolvable- unable to dissect- the particles of an atom- we can only go so far before we can't do any more but admit mystery. Many scientists call this defeat- but the wise ones must know and have experience with constant mystery. I am.
I found a few little treasures- weird treasures- but treasures. Some handwritten notes from Grandmother when she was thinking about her move to Florida 2 years ago. My notes of when she was in the hospital and the rehab center up here before her move. Notes on the aids I interviewed to assist in her care. Snotty notes about stupid doctors. It was weirdly refreshing to remember. I also found a handwritten note I wrote when sitting with Memaush while she was in the hospital before she died. This note was a little treasure I thought I would share with you...
I Am
-Moses asked- who should I tell them sent me- what should I say? God answered- I am who I am. Tell them "I Am" sent you.
I spent my entire adolescence searching for this black and white I was told exists somewhere at the end of the rainbow. Life taught me that even the blackest sky is a shade of gray- and even the brightest sun has glints of varying colors. I was stuck in a moment of time when I thought everything was gray- I admit I often revisit that moment. But my soul knows that instead- everything is color. Black is simply the pot filled with every color and white always gets a little dirty.
My thoughts have evolved over time and my heart has opened slowly to embrace my soul- who is constantly aching to be let out more and more. The theological concept that embraces the reality and dreams of life has been this simple statement by God- "I am."
God did not throw indicators, descriptives, hierarchies, justifications, defenses, or PR statements- just "I am." I believe with all my soul that God wants for us to say that about ourselves one day and mean it. God's whole story has been to bring humanity to a point where we can say "I Am" is God... and to a point where we can say with love and certainty "I am who I am" about ourselves.
I'm sitting - watching Memaush talk in her in-between sleep- the kind if sleep you get in the hospital when your eyes flutter open and closed and your body does random things without asking you... It's the look that can be mistaken for that time of travel out of this reality- out of this time- and ultimately out of this world. She looks at me from her universe occasionally- sharing a knowing look. All I know is that there is a multitude of things happening inside her- and my presence- though I cannot begin to know or understand what is happening- my presence affirms her and says to her- "I am that I am" - "You are." My soul is here beside your soul- and we may not be fully aware of what's going on- but the Great I Am- is connecting us- spinning a beautiful vine to tangle together and support and nurture. I'm telling her- your lips moving are your prayers to God- and thank God- because neither of us know how to pray in this moment.
We label so many things- and it is appropriate so we can dissect it, measure it, manipulate it- but at some point- mystery is necessary. There is grace in leaving some mysteries unsolved. God's grace is having mysteries that are unsolvable- unable to dissect- the particles of an atom- we can only go so far before we can't do any more but admit mystery. Many scientists call this defeat- but the wise ones must know and have experience with constant mystery. I am.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
The post new and expectant parents should* (not) read
We are crazy to want children. Insane. Illogical. Ridiculous. I kind of mean this. Yet, we encourage people who want to have children, we congratulate those who get pregnant or adopt, we foster the insanity. Let me explain myself. If we think of parenting purely from a logical perspective- it's a really rotten gig. Especially for women.
As a woman- if you have a child biologically- your body goes through 7 shades of crazy to get pregnant (if you're lucky). Then it goes through about a billion stretches of ... stretches (and more crazy)- to carry the baby. Don't even get me started on the absolute hilarity that is the human body giving birth to a child (forget multiples!). After this birth- you are instantaneously on the clock. Resting is a joke. (read this article on how America is especially bad at helping new moms out: http://www.breastfeeding.com/helpme/cultures.html) Sure, if you're lucky you have help. But basically your body is wrecked AND is in high demand. Everything that was normal is now not. All tightness is loose. And where you may have been loose (calm, collected, peaceful pregnant if you were so blessed)- considered yourself wound tight now. You have the exciting privilege of having the most demanding job with- no, not 1 instruction booklet- but 56 gazillion booklets. Also, every person who has any contact with you and your child has an opinion about what you should do with yourself and your child- down to your boob liquid and placenta. And because your kid is a cute baby- like walking with a puppy- people feel compelled to TALK to you and GIVE you their opinion. EVERYONE wants a piece of you. People in the store will ask you, loudly, if your baby is sleeping. When your baby is no longer sleeping and starts crying, they will look at you and say "OH, he/she must be hungry!" And in 5 seconds a complete stranger has completely altered your day's schedule and demanded you feed your baby. Remember that your hormones will be in a place where you will now assume that you are a horrible mother and are starving your baby. Or you will bitch-slap the stranger who screwed up your day. Either way, it makes you crazy.
Oh, and your husband still wants you to be intimate. That's something else entirely.
Also, once you have had even just ONE child- you have signed an invisible contract that reads: "I hereby sign away any guarantee of a full night's sleep." This is true. Sleeping through the night is a myth. Yes, children do sleep through the night. But it is NEVER a guarantee. EVER. I'm told teenagers sleep well but cause emotional stress... so I'm going to assume that the word "never" is appropriate.
So. It's settled. Having children is a really stupid thing to do. You ruin your body, you sign away sleep, and you up your budget by ... a lot. Logically, the only reason is to have someone who will take care of you when you are older (which is certainly not a guarantee), and to pass on your gene pool- if you care about things like that. Why, for the love of God, do we have children?
(Now- caveat for those without children- just because you don't have children does not mean that you are exempt from the craziness that involves being in relationship with other people- for today, I focus on parenting.)
Well, that's kind of it. For the love of God. Maybe it's *by* the love of God? Let's shift for a minute. We are God's children. God is *SOCRAZY* to have children, being all perfect and stuff. A theme that repeats throughout the bible is that God desires relationship with us. That phrase is so cliche and repeated, etc. It has lost its flavor. Let's think about it with fresh eyes. God has NOTHING to gain from us (no aging years, no genetic pool, no threat of extinction) in terms of logic. Really- we have very little to gain from having children in terms of logic as well. But we have children. We give up our very bodies and sleep! To connect. To love. Biology sort of tricks us into being pretty selfless. God has chosen to have us- knowing the craziness, knowing the odds. God wants to connect, to love. I'm having a hard time finding words with fingers that fully wrap around this idea. We *all* really are the chosen ones.
If we take this idea that being a parent, or even more simply, being in relationship with another person is solely for the sake of connecting with another and loving another- then it needs to affect how we function in those relationships.
I recently started reading some information on parenting through the lens of attachment theory, and it is rocking my world. And by rocking my world I mean, it is freakin hard! Attachment theory is a psychological theory that humans at the basic level need to connect with other humans... to attach. At the base of this theory- it makes sense to me. Theologically it makes a lot of sense to me. You can take this theory and stretch it in many ways, and some may stretch it too far (my baby can't leave my sight, ever!), but I believe a clinical grounding in attachment theory looks very close to how I believe God has made us to relate to one another and to God. This theory flows over into how we parent. I admit, reading some of the articles (found on this website: transformativeparenting.com) made me feel like I have been doing it all wrong and I've been a bad mom. In one way- it does, but in the way that matters, it doesn't. We try- we try hard. We get it right sometimes and we get it wrong, and sometimes we just need to make it through the day. (which is why I will not judge you unless you hurt your kid- because we are just trying to figure this shit out!) I am now hopefully in a place where I can do more than get through the day. By parenting through this new lens of attachment, I am much more intentional and educated in how I parent. But it is *hard*.
Essentially this theory tells me that my 3 year old is only developmentally capable of some things, and hugely in need of my connection. Granted, I knew my 3 year old wasn't going to miraculously heed every word I said and internalize it after one hearing. However, now I know that when my 3 year old hits my 9 month old, it isn't because he's an evil little creature who wants nothing more than a pound of flesh. But rather he is genuinely frustrated and his 3 year old brain translates that into hitting the object of frustration. As a mother, I can help him not be frustrated and learn more productive ways to act out his frustration. I can also stop making assumptions about him being a gremlin, and instead provide what he needs (connection and learning). I have stopped doing time out (unless of course *I* need one). Time out creates separation when the issue is that the kid is feeling separated or frustrated and in need of our help. It kind of doesn't make sense. We start to train our kids not to need to be connected. Yikes! With Hunter I saw this because he started not really caring about time out- the separation as punishment was no longer effective. This on a deeper scale is troublesome. (for those of you who do time out like the rest of the world- I really don't judge you- I'm still hammering out this concept) I have also stopped acting in a way that assumes that my 3 year old is trying to make me crazy, and rather stopped my reactions and started asking: what does HE need, why would he be doing this? I have become more pro-active as a parent. I'm providing the love and attention he *needs* before he starts acting out in its absence. I'm letting go of some of my wants during the day, because - um- I'm his Mom and I need to put him first. This new method is hard because time-outs and punishments are such a dominate part of how we do things in the world. Crime and Punishment is so easy and cut and dry. However- it isn't all that cut and dry and it might not be the right method for a three year old who is developmentally very different from a 23 year old. Figuring out what I need to be doing better to provide a learning and connecting environment for my sons is infinitely harder than saying "you're wrong- go do something you don't like." What am I teaching my children through time out? I hadn't thought of this before.
I'm still ironing out the details, and I still have much to learn on how to provide loving guidance while also maintaining discipline and boundaries. Most of all- I am struggling to figure out how to do it when I'm tired and want to check out. It is remarkably hard to be "on" when your child got out of bed for an hour and a half the night before because he decided he didn't like his bed. (which of course is not what is really going on in his 3 year old mind, but I have no magic decipher tool...) So I think you just have grace and try hard.
Want to know what I'm doing differently? I randomly give Hunter hugs and kisses when there is no reason to. Did I do that before? I thought so, but apparently not. What's the return? I get random hugs and kisses from Hunter- and not aggressive in-your-face like before, but gentle and genuine ones. I'm telling Hunter in detail what he is doing well. I'm giving Hunter time from his "offense" to connect with me so that we can be in a place where we can actually talk about what he did wrong. The return? He is actually *getting it*! He is genuinely sorry. He is telling ME what he did wrong, rather than me repeating to him what he did wrong. Again, I am still learning because the days I am not "on"- he isn't either... which is frustrating. Like the connection doesn't hold through a 5 minute phone call. I am giving him (small) choices - which I have always done, but even more so now. He is invested in more of what we do. I am playing all the little games that he wants to play and getting over my boredom of Candy Land. Because it's about him. I am thinking about parenting more intentionally. He needs exercise. He needs nutrition. He needs play. He needs to have space for creativity. I am saying all this with Hunter in mind, but as my 9 month old grows, he's getting this attention as well. He has different needs- but I'm hoping I'll be more on top of it. As both of them need me for different things and simultaneously, I'm trying to figure out what that will look like. I think there is both a learning curve and an adjustment period into this new way of parenting.
So. I was crazy. I chose to have kids. Now I have to follow up on that choice by doing my job as a parent. What do my kids need? A Mom that will connect with them. Why did I really have kids? To connect with them. So maybe I should just do it. This is when my theology of parenting comes alive. I am learning and growing as I let this sink into my every day parenting life. In the meantime I now need more than ever to feed myself in ways so that I have energy to do this parenting thing right. I need date nights. I need sleep. I need healthy food. I'm hoping I'll figure out how to do the dishes and pay attention to my kids. In the meantime, I'll default to my kids and figure it out as I go along.
When we have kids and don't connect with them- we're defeating the very purpose of having them.
Parenting is HARD. Especially if you want to be a good parent. But, we as humans want to connect. We crave it. God has made us in God's image. We need each other and God, just like God needs us. I'm trying to live that out. Thoughtful parenting is one way I'm trying to do it. Is parenting this way exhausting? Hell yes. But so is any other way.
By the way - this is how my mother did it. Damn if she's always right.
PS- in case you missed the WORK IN PROGRESS hints... I'm still stumbling and leaping along. Any thoughts? What are your experiments in parenting? What have you been learning?
As a woman- if you have a child biologically- your body goes through 7 shades of crazy to get pregnant (if you're lucky). Then it goes through about a billion stretches of ... stretches (and more crazy)- to carry the baby. Don't even get me started on the absolute hilarity that is the human body giving birth to a child (forget multiples!). After this birth- you are instantaneously on the clock. Resting is a joke. (read this article on how America is especially bad at helping new moms out: http://www.breastfeeding.com/helpme/cultures.html) Sure, if you're lucky you have help. But basically your body is wrecked AND is in high demand. Everything that was normal is now not. All tightness is loose. And where you may have been loose (calm, collected, peaceful pregnant if you were so blessed)- considered yourself wound tight now. You have the exciting privilege of having the most demanding job with- no, not 1 instruction booklet- but 56 gazillion booklets. Also, every person who has any contact with you and your child has an opinion about what you should do with yourself and your child- down to your boob liquid and placenta. And because your kid is a cute baby- like walking with a puppy- people feel compelled to TALK to you and GIVE you their opinion. EVERYONE wants a piece of you. People in the store will ask you, loudly, if your baby is sleeping. When your baby is no longer sleeping and starts crying, they will look at you and say "OH, he/she must be hungry!" And in 5 seconds a complete stranger has completely altered your day's schedule and demanded you feed your baby. Remember that your hormones will be in a place where you will now assume that you are a horrible mother and are starving your baby. Or you will bitch-slap the stranger who screwed up your day. Either way, it makes you crazy.
Oh, and your husband still wants you to be intimate. That's something else entirely.
Also, once you have had even just ONE child- you have signed an invisible contract that reads: "I hereby sign away any guarantee of a full night's sleep." This is true. Sleeping through the night is a myth. Yes, children do sleep through the night. But it is NEVER a guarantee. EVER. I'm told teenagers sleep well but cause emotional stress... so I'm going to assume that the word "never" is appropriate.
So. It's settled. Having children is a really stupid thing to do. You ruin your body, you sign away sleep, and you up your budget by ... a lot. Logically, the only reason is to have someone who will take care of you when you are older (which is certainly not a guarantee), and to pass on your gene pool- if you care about things like that. Why, for the love of God, do we have children?
(Now- caveat for those without children- just because you don't have children does not mean that you are exempt from the craziness that involves being in relationship with other people- for today, I focus on parenting.)
Well, that's kind of it. For the love of God. Maybe it's *by* the love of God? Let's shift for a minute. We are God's children. God is *SOCRAZY* to have children, being all perfect and stuff. A theme that repeats throughout the bible is that God desires relationship with us. That phrase is so cliche and repeated, etc. It has lost its flavor. Let's think about it with fresh eyes. God has NOTHING to gain from us (no aging years, no genetic pool, no threat of extinction) in terms of logic. Really- we have very little to gain from having children in terms of logic as well. But we have children. We give up our very bodies and sleep! To connect. To love. Biology sort of tricks us into being pretty selfless. God has chosen to have us- knowing the craziness, knowing the odds. God wants to connect, to love. I'm having a hard time finding words with fingers that fully wrap around this idea. We *all* really are the chosen ones.
If we take this idea that being a parent, or even more simply, being in relationship with another person is solely for the sake of connecting with another and loving another- then it needs to affect how we function in those relationships.
I recently started reading some information on parenting through the lens of attachment theory, and it is rocking my world. And by rocking my world I mean, it is freakin hard! Attachment theory is a psychological theory that humans at the basic level need to connect with other humans... to attach. At the base of this theory- it makes sense to me. Theologically it makes a lot of sense to me. You can take this theory and stretch it in many ways, and some may stretch it too far (my baby can't leave my sight, ever!), but I believe a clinical grounding in attachment theory looks very close to how I believe God has made us to relate to one another and to God. This theory flows over into how we parent. I admit, reading some of the articles (found on this website: transformativeparenting.com) made me feel like I have been doing it all wrong and I've been a bad mom. In one way- it does, but in the way that matters, it doesn't. We try- we try hard. We get it right sometimes and we get it wrong, and sometimes we just need to make it through the day. (which is why I will not judge you unless you hurt your kid- because we are just trying to figure this shit out!) I am now hopefully in a place where I can do more than get through the day. By parenting through this new lens of attachment, I am much more intentional and educated in how I parent. But it is *hard*.
Essentially this theory tells me that my 3 year old is only developmentally capable of some things, and hugely in need of my connection. Granted, I knew my 3 year old wasn't going to miraculously heed every word I said and internalize it after one hearing. However, now I know that when my 3 year old hits my 9 month old, it isn't because he's an evil little creature who wants nothing more than a pound of flesh. But rather he is genuinely frustrated and his 3 year old brain translates that into hitting the object of frustration. As a mother, I can help him not be frustrated and learn more productive ways to act out his frustration. I can also stop making assumptions about him being a gremlin, and instead provide what he needs (connection and learning). I have stopped doing time out (unless of course *I* need one). Time out creates separation when the issue is that the kid is feeling separated or frustrated and in need of our help. It kind of doesn't make sense. We start to train our kids not to need to be connected. Yikes! With Hunter I saw this because he started not really caring about time out- the separation as punishment was no longer effective. This on a deeper scale is troublesome. (for those of you who do time out like the rest of the world- I really don't judge you- I'm still hammering out this concept) I have also stopped acting in a way that assumes that my 3 year old is trying to make me crazy, and rather stopped my reactions and started asking: what does HE need, why would he be doing this? I have become more pro-active as a parent. I'm providing the love and attention he *needs* before he starts acting out in its absence. I'm letting go of some of my wants during the day, because - um- I'm his Mom and I need to put him first. This new method is hard because time-outs and punishments are such a dominate part of how we do things in the world. Crime and Punishment is so easy and cut and dry. However- it isn't all that cut and dry and it might not be the right method for a three year old who is developmentally very different from a 23 year old. Figuring out what I need to be doing better to provide a learning and connecting environment for my sons is infinitely harder than saying "you're wrong- go do something you don't like." What am I teaching my children through time out? I hadn't thought of this before.
I'm still ironing out the details, and I still have much to learn on how to provide loving guidance while also maintaining discipline and boundaries. Most of all- I am struggling to figure out how to do it when I'm tired and want to check out. It is remarkably hard to be "on" when your child got out of bed for an hour and a half the night before because he decided he didn't like his bed. (which of course is not what is really going on in his 3 year old mind, but I have no magic decipher tool...) So I think you just have grace and try hard.
Want to know what I'm doing differently? I randomly give Hunter hugs and kisses when there is no reason to. Did I do that before? I thought so, but apparently not. What's the return? I get random hugs and kisses from Hunter- and not aggressive in-your-face like before, but gentle and genuine ones. I'm telling Hunter in detail what he is doing well. I'm giving Hunter time from his "offense" to connect with me so that we can be in a place where we can actually talk about what he did wrong. The return? He is actually *getting it*! He is genuinely sorry. He is telling ME what he did wrong, rather than me repeating to him what he did wrong. Again, I am still learning because the days I am not "on"- he isn't either... which is frustrating. Like the connection doesn't hold through a 5 minute phone call. I am giving him (small) choices - which I have always done, but even more so now. He is invested in more of what we do. I am playing all the little games that he wants to play and getting over my boredom of Candy Land. Because it's about him. I am thinking about parenting more intentionally. He needs exercise. He needs nutrition. He needs play. He needs to have space for creativity. I am saying all this with Hunter in mind, but as my 9 month old grows, he's getting this attention as well. He has different needs- but I'm hoping I'll be more on top of it. As both of them need me for different things and simultaneously, I'm trying to figure out what that will look like. I think there is both a learning curve and an adjustment period into this new way of parenting.
So. I was crazy. I chose to have kids. Now I have to follow up on that choice by doing my job as a parent. What do my kids need? A Mom that will connect with them. Why did I really have kids? To connect with them. So maybe I should just do it. This is when my theology of parenting comes alive. I am learning and growing as I let this sink into my every day parenting life. In the meantime I now need more than ever to feed myself in ways so that I have energy to do this parenting thing right. I need date nights. I need sleep. I need healthy food. I'm hoping I'll figure out how to do the dishes and pay attention to my kids. In the meantime, I'll default to my kids and figure it out as I go along.
When we have kids and don't connect with them- we're defeating the very purpose of having them.
Parenting is HARD. Especially if you want to be a good parent. But, we as humans want to connect. We crave it. God has made us in God's image. We need each other and God, just like God needs us. I'm trying to live that out. Thoughtful parenting is one way I'm trying to do it. Is parenting this way exhausting? Hell yes. But so is any other way.
By the way - this is how my mother did it. Damn if she's always right.
PS- in case you missed the WORK IN PROGRESS hints... I'm still stumbling and leaping along. Any thoughts? What are your experiments in parenting? What have you been learning?
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Sick Day Help!
I just had a little brainstorm. This will be short- but imagine this: people get sick every day, from your every day cold and viral yuck to the more serious cancer treatment lows and surgery recoveries. The surprise of some sick days are enough to throw off even the most planned and prepared folks. I am lucky that my husband has a fairly flexible job, so that when I get sick- usually he can move things around and stay home with the kids. Not very many people have this sort of flexibility.
Enter idea: Sick Day Helpers! Imagine that as a gift when you can't step in to help- you can send a sick day crew to your friend or relative. Included would be someone to watch the kids in your home (or a bus ride to the play/day care center the business has), someone to make all the meals, someone to do the daily chores plus a little extra to get you back on your feet. So- the dishes are done, the bathrooms are cleaned, the laundry is run and folded...stuff is picked up and meals are made... maybe even a soup or two in the freezer. You come out of sick day ahead- not behind, and you actually heal.
This could be a non-profit, a for-profit, a church group (limited of course)- I don't know. Just sounds like something that would be nice to have around. I mean- flowers are nice when you're sick- but really- it's just one more thing to water. Give me a sick day crew!
*OK- some adventurous person out there- you have my permission to get this up and going in my neighborhood- I only expect a discount/free service for using my idea. Go!*
Enter idea: Sick Day Helpers! Imagine that as a gift when you can't step in to help- you can send a sick day crew to your friend or relative. Included would be someone to watch the kids in your home (or a bus ride to the play/day care center the business has), someone to make all the meals, someone to do the daily chores plus a little extra to get you back on your feet. So- the dishes are done, the bathrooms are cleaned, the laundry is run and folded...stuff is picked up and meals are made... maybe even a soup or two in the freezer. You come out of sick day ahead- not behind, and you actually heal.
This could be a non-profit, a for-profit, a church group (limited of course)- I don't know. Just sounds like something that would be nice to have around. I mean- flowers are nice when you're sick- but really- it's just one more thing to water. Give me a sick day crew!
*OK- some adventurous person out there- you have my permission to get this up and going in my neighborhood- I only expect a discount/free service for using my idea. Go!*
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
When Mamas don't feel well...
I won't say that the whole house falls apart... but it's a lot easier to stand on two legs than just one.
I have so many things to write about and so little energy to do it. So I'll save the big posts for later when I have more energy.
Today I am grateful for a husband who stays home in the morning with only my noncommittal "I don't feel great" to go on. I am grateful for Kelly, who comes over after her work and scoops up my kids to take them on a walk on this gorgeous day. I am grateful for my Mom who becomes smarter and wiser with every phone call and every experience and every year I grow older. I am grateful for my older sister who journeys with me on this insane ride we got on called parenting. I am grateful for my little sister who just got a job offer, showing me the worth of determination after months and months of searching. I am grateful for a Dad who trusts me and my husband to manage the details of his mother's funeral from here. I am grateful that despite the fact that my body does not feel awesome, my spirit is still well. Hey, I am even grateful for the stupid dog, who has shown me that with a little love and including... a giant fur-ball is not so bad to have around.
Next time I shall blog about how we are literally insane to have children. HA! Stay tuned. :)
I have so many things to write about and so little energy to do it. So I'll save the big posts for later when I have more energy.
Today I am grateful for a husband who stays home in the morning with only my noncommittal "I don't feel great" to go on. I am grateful for Kelly, who comes over after her work and scoops up my kids to take them on a walk on this gorgeous day. I am grateful for my Mom who becomes smarter and wiser with every phone call and every experience and every year I grow older. I am grateful for my older sister who journeys with me on this insane ride we got on called parenting. I am grateful for my little sister who just got a job offer, showing me the worth of determination after months and months of searching. I am grateful for a Dad who trusts me and my husband to manage the details of his mother's funeral from here. I am grateful that despite the fact that my body does not feel awesome, my spirit is still well. Hey, I am even grateful for the stupid dog, who has shown me that with a little love and including... a giant fur-ball is not so bad to have around.
Next time I shall blog about how we are literally insane to have children. HA! Stay tuned. :)
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Grace
I have been absorbing all the stories from the media, specifically the political circus going on right now. I have not always followed politics... I used to be blissfully unaware, and now sometimes I wish I still was. I find myself wishing Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart were running- then at least it would be funny. Someone made the comment that the people fit to be be a president don't want to be a president. I believe that to be true... or to put it another way- you have to be insane to want that job. SO we get some crazies.
In politics we're missing something huge: grace. In that grace is playfulness, the idea that we are connected, and giving the benefit of the doubt. Seeing Gabby Giffords step down from her position to fully recover from her injuries due to GUNSHOT wound....tells me something is horribly wrong. There is an article floating around about the confrontation of the Arizona governor and Obama. Our government has been trudging through a mile high pool of molasses because of this missing grace. We're drowning in bitterness, hate, defensiveness.
Jason and I had a nice long talk the other night- one of those good, hard marriage conversations that allows partners to hold a mirror up to each other. It can hurt, but with trust and grace, it can be productive and healing. No one is perfect. No one has the ultimate right answer to the grey and mucky problems of the world. I think politics needs a little couples therapy.
I don't know the answer. I'm not in the government room. But I have been in a room when the calm, non-anxious presence is drowned out by the screaming banshee. I have been in a room when the collaborators are shunned for weakness and the uncompromising are hailed for their strength. I don't know how to fix this, certainly not overnight. But grace has to enter. It must enter.
Maybe I could be the chaplain of the government. ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
"Let us pray. Dear God of all people- we come today as humans trying to make this corner of this finite time one worth naming. Lead us into grace. We think people should be able to eat nutritious food, people should be able to wear adequate clothing, people should be comforted and helped when they are sick. So far we have not detected any Cylons in our midst- so we can be safely assured that we indeed are all humans and in need of these basic elements of life. Amen."
In politics we're missing something huge: grace. In that grace is playfulness, the idea that we are connected, and giving the benefit of the doubt. Seeing Gabby Giffords step down from her position to fully recover from her injuries due to GUNSHOT wound....tells me something is horribly wrong. There is an article floating around about the confrontation of the Arizona governor and Obama. Our government has been trudging through a mile high pool of molasses because of this missing grace. We're drowning in bitterness, hate, defensiveness.
Jason and I had a nice long talk the other night- one of those good, hard marriage conversations that allows partners to hold a mirror up to each other. It can hurt, but with trust and grace, it can be productive and healing. No one is perfect. No one has the ultimate right answer to the grey and mucky problems of the world. I think politics needs a little couples therapy.
I don't know the answer. I'm not in the government room. But I have been in a room when the calm, non-anxious presence is drowned out by the screaming banshee. I have been in a room when the collaborators are shunned for weakness and the uncompromising are hailed for their strength. I don't know how to fix this, certainly not overnight. But grace has to enter. It must enter.
Maybe I could be the chaplain of the government. ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
"Let us pray. Dear God of all people- we come today as humans trying to make this corner of this finite time one worth naming. Lead us into grace. We think people should be able to eat nutritious food, people should be able to wear adequate clothing, people should be comforted and helped when they are sick. So far we have not detected any Cylons in our midst- so we can be safely assured that we indeed are all humans and in need of these basic elements of life. Amen."
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
A little Rainbow
I'm feeling a little bit of the rainbow these last few days. I don't know if it's the light box, the release of having my darkness blinded by the light of shared compassion, or if it's just that all the hard work has to pay off at some point... but I'm getting a glimpse of the rainbow. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, I haven't started my own corporation or cleaned my house even. But I am doing things a little easier. The morning step out of bed is a little lighter, quicker, more hopeful. I took a shower the other day and had a distinct feeling of lightness and freshness that transported me back to Florida on a beach summer day. I didn't hold onto it the whole day- but I recognized it. I stood still in it and held it as long as it would last. That feeling - it was a freedom, almost an anticipation of certain joy. I love that feeling. My spirit craves it. It was home. Contentedness. The miracle was that I wasn't near a beach. I wasn't looking outside at a sunny day. I was looking in the mirror, fixing my hair, noticing only the curls forming.
I don't have any one thing to write about- there are plenty of things that are catching my political, social, emotional, moral, everything attention right now.... but I just want to remember that real feeling of contentedness. That happened here. In the winter. As a 30 year old with two kids in a dirty house.
I went to yoga last Thursday (which could be why my back is hurting today)- and something the instructor said in the relaxation segment at the end was very poignant for me. She said (I'm paraphrasing): "Find ways to be uniquely you." It was a pretty simple concept, but she was asking us to rediscover the things that we like and enjoy, pleasure solely for us. For me? Reading. Burning scented candles. Listening to music. Writing.
I have been burning candles every night for nearly a week. I haven't burned so many candles since I was in college. I forgot how much I love candles. We rearranged our furniture to make a play room where the dining room used to be (it actually works awesomely!!) and the moving and rearranging led us to setting things up in the living room very differently. The result? All of my beautiful pieces of glass, random heirlooms, serving pitchers, vases, odds and ends- are all OUT- sparkling by the light of my candles and well-placed lamps. All my favorite things that I usually see when grabbing some necessary serving dish (and think- man- why don't we use these things!?)- they are on display. No longer out of sight out of mind. I don't care if it wouldn't work for a magazine cover. I have brought beauty back into my living space. My stuff. My collections. My idea of beauty. And I love it.
Savoring the taste.
I don't have any one thing to write about- there are plenty of things that are catching my political, social, emotional, moral, everything attention right now.... but I just want to remember that real feeling of contentedness. That happened here. In the winter. As a 30 year old with two kids in a dirty house.
I went to yoga last Thursday (which could be why my back is hurting today)- and something the instructor said in the relaxation segment at the end was very poignant for me. She said (I'm paraphrasing): "Find ways to be uniquely you." It was a pretty simple concept, but she was asking us to rediscover the things that we like and enjoy, pleasure solely for us. For me? Reading. Burning scented candles. Listening to music. Writing.
I have been burning candles every night for nearly a week. I haven't burned so many candles since I was in college. I forgot how much I love candles. We rearranged our furniture to make a play room where the dining room used to be (it actually works awesomely!!) and the moving and rearranging led us to setting things up in the living room very differently. The result? All of my beautiful pieces of glass, random heirlooms, serving pitchers, vases, odds and ends- are all OUT- sparkling by the light of my candles and well-placed lamps. All my favorite things that I usually see when grabbing some necessary serving dish (and think- man- why don't we use these things!?)- they are on display. No longer out of sight out of mind. I don't care if it wouldn't work for a magazine cover. I have brought beauty back into my living space. My stuff. My collections. My idea of beauty. And I love it.
Savoring the taste.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Opa Weekly... Or Not
Well- I'm procrastinating on going downstairs to clean up the dog's lovely gift of pee on the floor, so I guess I should at least procrastinate by doing something else I've been meaning to do...
As of now, I won't be able to update the Opa weekly any more. I know, I know- I just started it- and you got a true teaser- but I jumped the gun and did not do the most important thing first: ask permission. These letters are very personal in nature- and while I believe that is what makes them special, unique, and compelling- it is also what makes them not mine to broadcast. Right now, out of respect for the wishes of my family, I will not post anymore letters. The conversation will begin and who knows what will come of it.
I think this is a common struggle... how open should we be? How vulnerable should we be? Whose right is it to showcase personal letters like these? These are questions of humanity, ethics, respect, boundaries. I am obviously a very open person- and strive to be more and more vulnerable... but I am doing it in as safe a way I know- through the thin veil of a blog and through an online community. I don't have to watch your eyes when you read my struggles, I don't have to endure the awkward shoulder squeezes. I get to put it out there and be done. Those of you who care to comment, I get to read them and process them on my own time and publish them or not. It's a controlled vulnerability.
These letters, they are the personal letters of my Grandfather to my Grandmother- and only recently did we find them. Would my Grandfather sanction their public use? I don't know. Just because my Grandparents are deceased does not mean I get free reign with their thoughts and personal items.
However, and here is the part I was thinking about before without giving too much thought to the other side.... Where do boundaries get us in the business of transforming the world? The letter I was set to post before I had the conversation of pause- was a letter from my Grandfather to my Grandmother that was just slap-happy, giddy in love and eager to find a way to win her parents' over. To me- this is Hope. Here was my Grandfather, a German refugee with no communication from his mother or extended family. He *knew* that some if not many of his family members would likely die in the war. He heard daily news of bombings and military advances. He barely made it to the United States, dodging service to the Nazi army. And here he was, giddy in love with a Kansas farm girl. Happy. Hopeful. Connecting to a new life and reaching forward to a new era- living the future of a German man peacefully living in the United States without prejudice. He wasn't quite past the stares, but he was hopeful. This is transformative. This is perspective. This is REAL life. Not a reality tv show, not a glossy interview or an edited history book. These are real letters from a real German to a real midwesterner, with real love in the middle of a real war. With real problems and ups and downs. The very vulnerability of it is what saves it from the rest of the junk we read. I feel nearly selfish for keeping it to myself and not sharing it. Of course I want to share it- I am amazed by it!
But it is a real life, a real love, a real story. And not everyone can or will respect it- so the reality is that out of respect for the personal privacy of our families, we safeguard some of our secrets...we hold close those intimate moments so that they are not by sharing turned into something grossly massive and inanimate...becoming the opposite of intimate- ruining the beauty that was there. Is it possible to share some intimate thing and have it be widely received as intimate? The only comparison that gives me hope is that the stars are a beautiful and wondrous and amazing thing to behold- and the sheer, astronomical volume of them does nothing to diminish the value... each star somehow still feels special. Each star makes me feel tiny, yet precious.
I really do struggle with this. Sometimes I wonder if I'm a fool for putting such honest and vulnerable things out there for public consumption. Our society would say yes. Because even the "reality shows" aren't real- and the real story is that America likes to see simulated reality so that they can feel better about themselves in a way of mockery. It's the ultimate bully- we don't even have to pick on a kid to feel better about ourselves- tv does it for us. But then what about the documentaries, the biographies... there is something different about those- isn't there?
I have had the privilege of living safely with my vulnerability- no one has attacked me yet. No one has called me a fool. No one has told me that I am indeed wrong or an anomaly. I have received only grace, love, and acceptance. After yesterday's post, I received at least 5 emails and letters of essentially "Oh my gosh, yes, me too...thank you." This moves me forward in my experiment in vulnerability. But I know- I just know- that the moment someone hurts me, the moment I feel the true vulnerability of what I write- that moment I will question it all- despite the dozens of encouraging and hopeful responses and "me too's" I've gotten.
Is it fair for me to experiment with someone else's vulnerability? Even if they are no longer alive? I think that is a hard question to answer. I want to ignore it- because in my hope, I see so much potential for transformation- but what price will we have to pay? And again- it isn't really my place to bargain the benefit, is it?
This has been a bit jumbled... but I guess so are my thoughts. Graham is up from his nap, so I shall end here. But for now- in respect to my Grandparents and family- I will pause posting the letters. The stories will likely still come through, and maybe one day we might agree as a family to take the risk.... or maybe we will agree that this is too private, too personal...
As of now, I won't be able to update the Opa weekly any more. I know, I know- I just started it- and you got a true teaser- but I jumped the gun and did not do the most important thing first: ask permission. These letters are very personal in nature- and while I believe that is what makes them special, unique, and compelling- it is also what makes them not mine to broadcast. Right now, out of respect for the wishes of my family, I will not post anymore letters. The conversation will begin and who knows what will come of it.
I think this is a common struggle... how open should we be? How vulnerable should we be? Whose right is it to showcase personal letters like these? These are questions of humanity, ethics, respect, boundaries. I am obviously a very open person- and strive to be more and more vulnerable... but I am doing it in as safe a way I know- through the thin veil of a blog and through an online community. I don't have to watch your eyes when you read my struggles, I don't have to endure the awkward shoulder squeezes. I get to put it out there and be done. Those of you who care to comment, I get to read them and process them on my own time and publish them or not. It's a controlled vulnerability.
These letters, they are the personal letters of my Grandfather to my Grandmother- and only recently did we find them. Would my Grandfather sanction their public use? I don't know. Just because my Grandparents are deceased does not mean I get free reign with their thoughts and personal items.
However, and here is the part I was thinking about before without giving too much thought to the other side.... Where do boundaries get us in the business of transforming the world? The letter I was set to post before I had the conversation of pause- was a letter from my Grandfather to my Grandmother that was just slap-happy, giddy in love and eager to find a way to win her parents' over. To me- this is Hope. Here was my Grandfather, a German refugee with no communication from his mother or extended family. He *knew* that some if not many of his family members would likely die in the war. He heard daily news of bombings and military advances. He barely made it to the United States, dodging service to the Nazi army. And here he was, giddy in love with a Kansas farm girl. Happy. Hopeful. Connecting to a new life and reaching forward to a new era- living the future of a German man peacefully living in the United States without prejudice. He wasn't quite past the stares, but he was hopeful. This is transformative. This is perspective. This is REAL life. Not a reality tv show, not a glossy interview or an edited history book. These are real letters from a real German to a real midwesterner, with real love in the middle of a real war. With real problems and ups and downs. The very vulnerability of it is what saves it from the rest of the junk we read. I feel nearly selfish for keeping it to myself and not sharing it. Of course I want to share it- I am amazed by it!
But it is a real life, a real love, a real story. And not everyone can or will respect it- so the reality is that out of respect for the personal privacy of our families, we safeguard some of our secrets...we hold close those intimate moments so that they are not by sharing turned into something grossly massive and inanimate...becoming the opposite of intimate- ruining the beauty that was there. Is it possible to share some intimate thing and have it be widely received as intimate? The only comparison that gives me hope is that the stars are a beautiful and wondrous and amazing thing to behold- and the sheer, astronomical volume of them does nothing to diminish the value... each star somehow still feels special. Each star makes me feel tiny, yet precious.
I really do struggle with this. Sometimes I wonder if I'm a fool for putting such honest and vulnerable things out there for public consumption. Our society would say yes. Because even the "reality shows" aren't real- and the real story is that America likes to see simulated reality so that they can feel better about themselves in a way of mockery. It's the ultimate bully- we don't even have to pick on a kid to feel better about ourselves- tv does it for us. But then what about the documentaries, the biographies... there is something different about those- isn't there?
I have had the privilege of living safely with my vulnerability- no one has attacked me yet. No one has called me a fool. No one has told me that I am indeed wrong or an anomaly. I have received only grace, love, and acceptance. After yesterday's post, I received at least 5 emails and letters of essentially "Oh my gosh, yes, me too...thank you." This moves me forward in my experiment in vulnerability. But I know- I just know- that the moment someone hurts me, the moment I feel the true vulnerability of what I write- that moment I will question it all- despite the dozens of encouraging and hopeful responses and "me too's" I've gotten.
Is it fair for me to experiment with someone else's vulnerability? Even if they are no longer alive? I think that is a hard question to answer. I want to ignore it- because in my hope, I see so much potential for transformation- but what price will we have to pay? And again- it isn't really my place to bargain the benefit, is it?
This has been a bit jumbled... but I guess so are my thoughts. Graham is up from his nap, so I shall end here. But for now- in respect to my Grandparents and family- I will pause posting the letters. The stories will likely still come through, and maybe one day we might agree as a family to take the risk.... or maybe we will agree that this is too private, too personal...
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Disenchanted Days
So... clearly I have a little problem with depression. Or maybe grief. Or both. Or being a stay-at-home-mom. Whatever the cause or sum of causes- I am a little bit tired of it. Right now Hunter is down the street at a preschool friend's house- so that I can bitch and moan while Graham naps.
Let's see... I've been pretty honest in my blogs about how I'm feeling- sort of down and like doing anything is a big production. I literally tell Jason at the end of the day if I've done any laundry, dishes, or anything else on top of general survival. Like it's a list of accomplishments to be medaled for. He responds like I deserve a medal, which has to be a bit ridiculous for him. "Yay! In your 9 hours at home you put dishes in the dishwasher and pushed start- wooooohoooooo!" He has NO idea how it feels to be me- and I don't want him to- but it does make me wonder what he thinks about the mopey mope that drags around the house all day.
Here's the thing- part of me is proud of myself. I know that for whatever reason- it takes all I have just to do the survival stuff, so to step up and do more- that's like climbing the second mountain. I have forced myself to do play dates, general outings, ridiculously cold walks, play game after mindless game with the kids, wake up, etc. I have some days that are easier than others. I am trying to do right by myself. I bought the light therapy box thing and I'm doing that every morning. I have allowed myself to be less than totally panicky about the status of our wrecked house. I have tried to stay slightly positive about the fact that I was sick, better for two days, sick again and then Jason got sick. I even let Jason sleep in two mornings- and that is like giving him an organ. He deserves it (he's up in the night more than I am some nights and he's now the sicky). I'm doing sit ups, wall push ups, squats in the shower- trying to remember to move when I can. I have meals planned that are healthy. I am making Graham baby food. I am doing ALL OF THIS SHIT and I'm tired. So so so tired. And over it. I want to stop working so hard to be normal. Especially since it's not really working. Basically I'm working hard so that everyone else is not as affected by my not normal.
There are so many rational explanations for why I feel the way I feel. Blue Winter. Grandmother died. "Newborn" who still gets up in the night occasionally. Husband who has erratic schedule. 3 year old who sucks the energy out of me. But here's the thing- that is life. A privileged life at that. If I can't make it work with a normal life- don't come see me when things actually go wrong.
I wonder why the hell Jason still is so madly in love with me. I mean honestly, I am so over me. If I were married to me- I would be really not happy with me... or at least frustrated beyond measure. Jason consistently extends grace and love- and although I know it to be genuine- I almost distrust it- because who is that patient? Who is that kind? I don't know if I would be.
All this mental illness PSA stuff out there saying it's a disease, a burden that shouldn't be shameful, etc- well- it doesn't actually make me feel any better. In fact, it just annoys me. Sure it's a "disease." The kind without a known cause, cure, and with ridiculous amounts of conflicting information around it. Helpful. I tend to get these kinds of "diseases." What's that scar on your neck from? Cue 10 minute explanation of the condition that has no name or description that makes any sense. What are your symptoms? Cue 5 minute description of weird things that exist in my body that are so much a part of me that I don't even know what is normal or not. Hearing aids- luckily that's pretty straightforward.... of course no one in the health care industry thinks my insurance should pay for the one clearly marked disability I have. Are you depressed? Maybe- well- I am now- but I'm not always... try again in 6 weeks. Think positive! What do you do? I'm a stay at home mom. OH that's SUCH a blessing....blah blah blah. OH- what a rut...blah blah blah.
I'm even starting to resent Graham for nursing. Not completely- but there are some times when he literally pinches the shit out of everything he can reach- my lips, neck, moles- everything. And I'm like, really? Can you please pretend to make this a connecting moment? I haven't been by myself without the kids for a long period of time in a WHILE. I would like to spend time with Jason- but what sadly sounds even more awesome is a silent retreat. By myself. With a journal. And tea and coffee. And good food prepared for me. And full nights sleep. No major physical strains. No coldness. I want to wear yoga pants and t-shirts and sit in the sun. With a breeze. What a princess introverted fantasy. It would be lovely. It wouldn't solve anything, but it would be lovely.
I feel like every time I begin to tap into something good- it gets poisoned. I mean literally, somebody dumps cyanide in it. I get disenchanted. Crash. High to low. Plans, dreams, excited movement halted.
And I see these people succeeding. Just easily succeeding. I know they worked hard. But they worked hard and accomplished something. I work hard and unload the dishwasher. It's defeating. It's frustrating. It's maddening. What do I really want to do anyway? Do I really want to become a chaplain? Or was I just looking for something ordained to do? I do want to write but I know I can't survive writing for the rest of my life in small, stolen spurts for no other reason than to get my thoughts on paper. I crave an audience. There it is- the vain truth. I don't want to write because I think it's a nice hobby. I want to write because I want to be transformative in the world.
The problem is - that - I am stuck at home wiping poop, nursing a pinching baby, sleeping for short stints of time and barely getting the mail inside. I live a conundrum. I want to connect with the world. Yet right now, I want no one to need me, because I keep disappointing myself and them. Just for a weekend, maybe.
And it's so. damn. cold.
All this is of course, to be taken with a mountain chunk of salt...or a half a bag of peanut butter m&ms, which I just consumed. They were on sale.
Let's see... I've been pretty honest in my blogs about how I'm feeling- sort of down and like doing anything is a big production. I literally tell Jason at the end of the day if I've done any laundry, dishes, or anything else on top of general survival. Like it's a list of accomplishments to be medaled for. He responds like I deserve a medal, which has to be a bit ridiculous for him. "Yay! In your 9 hours at home you put dishes in the dishwasher and pushed start- wooooohoooooo!" He has NO idea how it feels to be me- and I don't want him to- but it does make me wonder what he thinks about the mopey mope that drags around the house all day.
Here's the thing- part of me is proud of myself. I know that for whatever reason- it takes all I have just to do the survival stuff, so to step up and do more- that's like climbing the second mountain. I have forced myself to do play dates, general outings, ridiculously cold walks, play game after mindless game with the kids, wake up, etc. I have some days that are easier than others. I am trying to do right by myself. I bought the light therapy box thing and I'm doing that every morning. I have allowed myself to be less than totally panicky about the status of our wrecked house. I have tried to stay slightly positive about the fact that I was sick, better for two days, sick again and then Jason got sick. I even let Jason sleep in two mornings- and that is like giving him an organ. He deserves it (he's up in the night more than I am some nights and he's now the sicky). I'm doing sit ups, wall push ups, squats in the shower- trying to remember to move when I can. I have meals planned that are healthy. I am making Graham baby food. I am doing ALL OF THIS SHIT and I'm tired. So so so tired. And over it. I want to stop working so hard to be normal. Especially since it's not really working. Basically I'm working hard so that everyone else is not as affected by my not normal.
There are so many rational explanations for why I feel the way I feel. Blue Winter. Grandmother died. "Newborn" who still gets up in the night occasionally. Husband who has erratic schedule. 3 year old who sucks the energy out of me. But here's the thing- that is life. A privileged life at that. If I can't make it work with a normal life- don't come see me when things actually go wrong.
I wonder why the hell Jason still is so madly in love with me. I mean honestly, I am so over me. If I were married to me- I would be really not happy with me... or at least frustrated beyond measure. Jason consistently extends grace and love- and although I know it to be genuine- I almost distrust it- because who is that patient? Who is that kind? I don't know if I would be.
All this mental illness PSA stuff out there saying it's a disease, a burden that shouldn't be shameful, etc- well- it doesn't actually make me feel any better. In fact, it just annoys me. Sure it's a "disease." The kind without a known cause, cure, and with ridiculous amounts of conflicting information around it. Helpful. I tend to get these kinds of "diseases." What's that scar on your neck from? Cue 10 minute explanation of the condition that has no name or description that makes any sense. What are your symptoms? Cue 5 minute description of weird things that exist in my body that are so much a part of me that I don't even know what is normal or not. Hearing aids- luckily that's pretty straightforward.... of course no one in the health care industry thinks my insurance should pay for the one clearly marked disability I have. Are you depressed? Maybe- well- I am now- but I'm not always... try again in 6 weeks. Think positive! What do you do? I'm a stay at home mom. OH that's SUCH a blessing....blah blah blah. OH- what a rut...blah blah blah.
I'm even starting to resent Graham for nursing. Not completely- but there are some times when he literally pinches the shit out of everything he can reach- my lips, neck, moles- everything. And I'm like, really? Can you please pretend to make this a connecting moment? I haven't been by myself without the kids for a long period of time in a WHILE. I would like to spend time with Jason- but what sadly sounds even more awesome is a silent retreat. By myself. With a journal. And tea and coffee. And good food prepared for me. And full nights sleep. No major physical strains. No coldness. I want to wear yoga pants and t-shirts and sit in the sun. With a breeze. What a princess introverted fantasy. It would be lovely. It wouldn't solve anything, but it would be lovely.
I feel like every time I begin to tap into something good- it gets poisoned. I mean literally, somebody dumps cyanide in it. I get disenchanted. Crash. High to low. Plans, dreams, excited movement halted.
And I see these people succeeding. Just easily succeeding. I know they worked hard. But they worked hard and accomplished something. I work hard and unload the dishwasher. It's defeating. It's frustrating. It's maddening. What do I really want to do anyway? Do I really want to become a chaplain? Or was I just looking for something ordained to do? I do want to write but I know I can't survive writing for the rest of my life in small, stolen spurts for no other reason than to get my thoughts on paper. I crave an audience. There it is- the vain truth. I don't want to write because I think it's a nice hobby. I want to write because I want to be transformative in the world.
The problem is - that - I am stuck at home wiping poop, nursing a pinching baby, sleeping for short stints of time and barely getting the mail inside. I live a conundrum. I want to connect with the world. Yet right now, I want no one to need me, because I keep disappointing myself and them. Just for a weekend, maybe.
And it's so. damn. cold.
All this is of course, to be taken with a mountain chunk of salt...or a half a bag of peanut butter m&ms, which I just consumed. They were on sale.
Mudslide
I wish I were talking about the kahlua and chocolate and ice cream concoction...man I really do wish I was talking about that. Instead I'm talking about the feeling when you're in a mud pit and you try to climb up and out and it is so hard because mud- well- it slides. I feel like I am in a 5 foot deep hole. I can see out over the top. I've got enough perspective not to be face down in it. I can function pretty well, but I feel about ankle level with the world. Like I just can't quite get up and out and thriving. Each time I rally to get up and out, something seems to slide. None of it is earth-shattering or devastating or even that upsetting to the normal person walking at sea level. But for me, it's just slippery enough to send me back to ankle-line-sight.
I'm working hard. Ankles aren't that exciting.
I'm working hard. Ankles aren't that exciting.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Current Events are Fun!
Do you remember having to bring in a current events clipping to your class and writing a short essay on it? We did that- I can't remember if we shared them out loud, although I feel like we did- we must have. I loved that assignment. Maybe I didn't- but I do now. I most likely was not daring enough then and found articles on the accidental burning of a local restaurant and wrote "this is too bad, I used to eat here." But now, now it lights a fire in me.
I am currently attending a Sunday School class that does just this- pulls current events and opens the floor for discussion. The curriculum is an online source, with study questions and discussion starters. My class today decided that the current event and questions were a little too tame: the topic was on the American rescue of Iranians from some ship/pirates, etc. The questions were about whether or not to do a good deed if you wouldn't get a return on it. Um, really? This is not typical, but we totally passed on this ridiculousness. We pulled out some articles and information surrounding the MLKjr weekend. One article was a letter from a local (Hyattsvile) pastor of an AME church who was not so sure that having MLKjr in stone (alluding to the new monument in DC) was all that great. Before you judge him- he had an excellent point. (I believe the article can be found in the Saturday faith edition of the Washington Post) He said he far preferred the living, breathing voice of MLKjr that challenged the status quo, said no to war and violence, etc. Basically- a monument makes a happy image of a strong man we all like. But if MLKjr were still with us today (oh man, what would that look like?!), less people might like him than we think. He might still be pushing buttons and pissing people off.
Our class was interrupted, hijacked, poorly insulated and even a baby (mine) crashed the party. It was still the best Sunday School I've been to. Why? Because we were putting flesh on scripture. Here are stories happening rightnow- and we need to talk about them rightnow as Christians. None of this Jesus is the answer stuff- we're trying to actually follow Jesus- figure out what our faith speaks in this context- where we fit- why we think the way we think. The cool thing about this concept is you can do it with any context of history... the problem is that I think we spend too much time using stone monuments as our current event stories. MLK was a great man who fought for equal treatment of people with color. Unless you are embedded in racism, this is an easy right and wrong story. I like getting dirty with details and nuances. I like exploring the mud for what we're really made of. What are the stories that we aren't separated and commentaried on so much that we have collectively decided what is right or wrong?
For example, a friend of mine from seminary posted his opinions on the recent outrage over the marines' urinating on the dead bodies of our "enemies." The link (I have GOT to get more savvy about linking) here: http://faithhopepolitics.wordpress.com/2012/01/13/detachmentandoutrage/
I think it is definitely food for thought. This is digging deeper. Of course it's not right to urinate on a corpse! But let's get past the easy part.
Now you would think- a class with current events, a truly open dialogue (for me anyway) would be an instant hit. No. I was the only student per se. Two teachers and moi. I wonder why that is? Are we so afraid of talking current events in such a politically charged location (near DC)? I'm sure there are lots of reasons beyond my perception.... but my thought is that many of us just don't want to open pandora's box. We don't want to think about things. This described me for a long time when it came to the news. It depressed me so I shut it out. I'm serious! I didn't watch the news, read the paper, and avoided clicking on news links that were posted. Now that I'm a fabulously isolated stay at home Mom, I ran out of options and started branching out for sanity's sake. I'm addicted. I need, want, have to know what we as a human race are participating in. Do I still avoid the starving children and crying puppy videos? Yes. I'm no saint, I have a baby at home and... well- I don't want to send my soul over a cliff- I'll ease into those news stories. I'm addicted to learning about how we tick, how we think, how we relate. I think that's why I'm addicted to this blog- it's my space to think with the possibility of getting a response. I'm addicted to Facebook- it is a space to relate and share stories. I'm addicted to reading the letters by my Grandfather, because he was doing the same thing- taking his world and processing it, with his bride to be and his friends who would engage in dialogue with him. He didn't expect everyone to agree with him, but he hoped for a conversation.
Let's keep talking. Let's keep working through the muck and mud together- and really think about what it means to be human. For those of us who have faith as our guide- let's talk about where our guide would have us go.
I am currently attending a Sunday School class that does just this- pulls current events and opens the floor for discussion. The curriculum is an online source, with study questions and discussion starters. My class today decided that the current event and questions were a little too tame: the topic was on the American rescue of Iranians from some ship/pirates, etc. The questions were about whether or not to do a good deed if you wouldn't get a return on it. Um, really? This is not typical, but we totally passed on this ridiculousness. We pulled out some articles and information surrounding the MLKjr weekend. One article was a letter from a local (Hyattsvile) pastor of an AME church who was not so sure that having MLKjr in stone (alluding to the new monument in DC) was all that great. Before you judge him- he had an excellent point. (I believe the article can be found in the Saturday faith edition of the Washington Post) He said he far preferred the living, breathing voice of MLKjr that challenged the status quo, said no to war and violence, etc. Basically- a monument makes a happy image of a strong man we all like. But if MLKjr were still with us today (oh man, what would that look like?!), less people might like him than we think. He might still be pushing buttons and pissing people off.
Our class was interrupted, hijacked, poorly insulated and even a baby (mine) crashed the party. It was still the best Sunday School I've been to. Why? Because we were putting flesh on scripture. Here are stories happening rightnow- and we need to talk about them rightnow as Christians. None of this Jesus is the answer stuff- we're trying to actually follow Jesus- figure out what our faith speaks in this context- where we fit- why we think the way we think. The cool thing about this concept is you can do it with any context of history... the problem is that I think we spend too much time using stone monuments as our current event stories. MLK was a great man who fought for equal treatment of people with color. Unless you are embedded in racism, this is an easy right and wrong story. I like getting dirty with details and nuances. I like exploring the mud for what we're really made of. What are the stories that we aren't separated and commentaried on so much that we have collectively decided what is right or wrong?
For example, a friend of mine from seminary posted his opinions on the recent outrage over the marines' urinating on the dead bodies of our "enemies." The link (I have GOT to get more savvy about linking) here: http://faithhopepolitics.wordpress.com/2012/01/13/detachmentandoutrage/
I think it is definitely food for thought. This is digging deeper. Of course it's not right to urinate on a corpse! But let's get past the easy part.
Now you would think- a class with current events, a truly open dialogue (for me anyway) would be an instant hit. No. I was the only student per se. Two teachers and moi. I wonder why that is? Are we so afraid of talking current events in such a politically charged location (near DC)? I'm sure there are lots of reasons beyond my perception.... but my thought is that many of us just don't want to open pandora's box. We don't want to think about things. This described me for a long time when it came to the news. It depressed me so I shut it out. I'm serious! I didn't watch the news, read the paper, and avoided clicking on news links that were posted. Now that I'm a fabulously isolated stay at home Mom, I ran out of options and started branching out for sanity's sake. I'm addicted. I need, want, have to know what we as a human race are participating in. Do I still avoid the starving children and crying puppy videos? Yes. I'm no saint, I have a baby at home and... well- I don't want to send my soul over a cliff- I'll ease into those news stories. I'm addicted to learning about how we tick, how we think, how we relate. I think that's why I'm addicted to this blog- it's my space to think with the possibility of getting a response. I'm addicted to Facebook- it is a space to relate and share stories. I'm addicted to reading the letters by my Grandfather, because he was doing the same thing- taking his world and processing it, with his bride to be and his friends who would engage in dialogue with him. He didn't expect everyone to agree with him, but he hoped for a conversation.
Let's keep talking. Let's keep working through the muck and mud together- and really think about what it means to be human. For those of us who have faith as our guide- let's talk about where our guide would have us go.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Opa Weekly
One of the gifts Jason and I gave to my family is a book bound (2 volumes, actually) collection of letters that my Grandfather (Opa) wrote to my Grandmother during their courtship and first years of marriage. When we moved my Grandmother from Virginia to Florida, we found this box full of handwritten and typed personal letters. Jason and I snatched the envelope that contained the letters from Opa to Grandmother and began the process of scanning them for preservation. As we began to read them and realize the timing and nature of the letters- we knew they needed to be put together and we used blurb.com to make the books. The books are AWESOME. SO- because it takes a long enough time to scan letters, Jason did not let me read them (for efficiency's sake). This means that Jason scanned most of the letters while I sat and read a handful. Now that we have the books- I'm reading them and unfolding the beautiful and crazy time that was America in the 1940s during World War 2, specifically in the life of a German refugee (Opa), and a Kansas farm girl (Grandmother).
As a fun element to this blog, I want to start posting some of the letters for your enjoyment- hopefully on a weekly basis.
You'll need a little background information before we get started. Here is a shortened version... Opa, my Grandfather, was a German boy born and raised in Berlin, Germany as Thomas Walter Doeppner. His mother was Jewish and his father agnostic at best. His parents divorced when Opa was growing up. His father and mother were not supporters of Hitler and his regime for obvious reasons. However, growing up in Berlin had its disadvantages for a German boy against the growing political power. Opa would arrive at school exceedingly early to avoid having to give the "heil Hitler" salute at the gate. He was forced as a school boy to be the front and center audience for multiple parades and political rallies. Opa could see Hitler parading on main street under his apartment window. I remember when I was in middle school, Opa told me that the worse thing you could say to a person is that they were like Hitler. When Hitler won his election and grew in power, spreading propoganda and censoring dissenters, Opa's father moved to Switzerland. Opa's father, August, was an editor of a newspaper and obviously was not writing the correct news. Opa and his sister remained at home with his mother. The war started and things began to be more and more dangerous. From what Opa told me, I think that the sweeping of the Jews from their homes was a little less obvious and blatant than what we might think. I don't think people realized just how very dangerous things were until it was too late. Opa's older sister had left the country for work before it became difficult to cross the borders. Then Opa learned that he was drafted into Hitler's army. He knew he would not serve, but how he was going to escape was an entirely different story. The (extremely) short version is that his father paid to have him smuggled out of Germany and he eventually landed in the United States on a student visa to go to Kansas State University. He embarked on the last ship to make it across the Atlantic before the war was over (he switched tickets with a businessman to try to make it to school on time). After reading some of his notes about his journey, and even the process he went through to become an American citizen- I am really shocked that I exist.
When Opa came to Kansas State, he was accepted and got tuition help because of a recommendation by some man named Albert Einstein, who made it a habit to help Jewish refugees...and luckily August had some connection to Einstein's secretary through the newspaper world. If I remember correctly, Opa's tuition help was provided with the conditions that he participate in the Wesleyan group (and abide by its moral code). This is where he met my Grandmother.
Grandmother grew up on a farm in Kansas and the youngest of 5 children, her older siblings all boys (and the one closest in age to her died not long after she was born). She was a princess in many ways, protected as the only girl and the precious child after the older brother died. Grandmother was in school and engaged to marry Archie, the literal "boy next door" when she met the mysterious German refugee. Something definitely clicked- and Grandmother's already festering doubts of her current engagement were somehow solidified as she broke off her engagement and began dating Opa.
Their story unfolds, unfortunately one-sided through Opa's letters- but it is FASCINATING and kind of a page turner. Which is not what you expect when reading letters between your Grandparents. The letters contain a mixture of young love, fighting hard to win the girl, political discussion, wondering about relatives in the war, following current events, finding employment, applying for visas and citizenship, sharp wit, movies, friendship, physics, philosophy, poetry, German and more.
Here is the first letter I will give you- a little love for your day. (beware- you're going to raise your expectations of your significant other after reading this love letter)
As a fun element to this blog, I want to start posting some of the letters for your enjoyment- hopefully on a weekly basis.
You'll need a little background information before we get started. Here is a shortened version... Opa, my Grandfather, was a German boy born and raised in Berlin, Germany as Thomas Walter Doeppner. His mother was Jewish and his father agnostic at best. His parents divorced when Opa was growing up. His father and mother were not supporters of Hitler and his regime for obvious reasons. However, growing up in Berlin had its disadvantages for a German boy against the growing political power. Opa would arrive at school exceedingly early to avoid having to give the "heil Hitler" salute at the gate. He was forced as a school boy to be the front and center audience for multiple parades and political rallies. Opa could see Hitler parading on main street under his apartment window. I remember when I was in middle school, Opa told me that the worse thing you could say to a person is that they were like Hitler. When Hitler won his election and grew in power, spreading propoganda and censoring dissenters, Opa's father moved to Switzerland. Opa's father, August, was an editor of a newspaper and obviously was not writing the correct news. Opa and his sister remained at home with his mother. The war started and things began to be more and more dangerous. From what Opa told me, I think that the sweeping of the Jews from their homes was a little less obvious and blatant than what we might think. I don't think people realized just how very dangerous things were until it was too late. Opa's older sister had left the country for work before it became difficult to cross the borders. Then Opa learned that he was drafted into Hitler's army. He knew he would not serve, but how he was going to escape was an entirely different story. The (extremely) short version is that his father paid to have him smuggled out of Germany and he eventually landed in the United States on a student visa to go to Kansas State University. He embarked on the last ship to make it across the Atlantic before the war was over (he switched tickets with a businessman to try to make it to school on time). After reading some of his notes about his journey, and even the process he went through to become an American citizen- I am really shocked that I exist.
When Opa came to Kansas State, he was accepted and got tuition help because of a recommendation by some man named Albert Einstein, who made it a habit to help Jewish refugees...and luckily August had some connection to Einstein's secretary through the newspaper world. If I remember correctly, Opa's tuition help was provided with the conditions that he participate in the Wesleyan group (and abide by its moral code). This is where he met my Grandmother.
Grandmother grew up on a farm in Kansas and the youngest of 5 children, her older siblings all boys (and the one closest in age to her died not long after she was born). She was a princess in many ways, protected as the only girl and the precious child after the older brother died. Grandmother was in school and engaged to marry Archie, the literal "boy next door" when she met the mysterious German refugee. Something definitely clicked- and Grandmother's already festering doubts of her current engagement were somehow solidified as she broke off her engagement and began dating Opa.
Their story unfolds, unfortunately one-sided through Opa's letters- but it is FASCINATING and kind of a page turner. Which is not what you expect when reading letters between your Grandparents. The letters contain a mixture of young love, fighting hard to win the girl, political discussion, wondering about relatives in the war, following current events, finding employment, applying for visas and citizenship, sharp wit, movies, friendship, physics, philosophy, poetry, German and more.
Here is the first letter I will give you- a little love for your day. (beware- you're going to raise your expectations of your significant other after reading this love letter)
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Honesty
I've always said (maybe to myself) that lying is one of pet peeves. It's just annoying- especially when it doesn't involve an ethical dilemma like "Sharon will be put in a concentration camp if you reveal her identity." Obviously there are some exceptions. However, lying just because it's a little easier than telling the truth- it annoys me. I honestly think it's a habit and once you start, it is hard to break. So I'll have a little grace.
All that to say, I am a horrible liar. HORRIBLE. My pet peeve means that I have little to no practice in the art of lying. The game mafia- I usually lose. But just because I am a failure at lying, doesn't mean I have not learned the art of a well-crafted word. Telling an ugly truth can look really pretty, or being completely silent is a handy tool. One of my un-official resolutions for this year is to shed those nuances. I'm not going to completely lose my filter or stop being gracious, but I'm going to try to be more direct. I find that I would hide behind "if it's cool with you, if it's not too much trouble, only if you want to, but don't worry about it."
I'll give you an example. In my asking for help from others during my week-long plague, I started this more direct approach. Instead of beating around the bush and trying to craft my text message in 160 letters or less with all the caveats, I called and said- I'm sick, could you handle an additional 3 year old so I can take a nap? I may have given her an out- but essentially I just spit it out. Another instance was when my 3 year old was playing with a friend in the morning and another friend invited him over in the afternoon. Instead of playing the awkward "we have another date" game- I just asked... would you mind if the other child came (with their caregiver) or would you rather it just be my son? Of course the only way that this whole candid method can work well is if the recipient of my candor feels free to say No. While it's easy to say that it's not my problem whether they can say no or not, I think I can help by saying a clear yes and no here and there. And when they say no- not making it awkward. THEN the relationship is established in which there is no weird "I hope she's not doing this just to be nice and hating on me after I drop off my kid!"
Not too long ago I had the opportunity to meet with a few folks from Germany. My Opa (Grandfather) was from Berlin and has an amazing story. I told a little of it to these folks, and then sort of shyly admitted that I was disappointed that their accents didn't resemble Opa's more. I was hoping to sort of hear him again. We talked about geographical accents, etc. I mentioned that Opa had a sense of pride being from Berlin and speaking "well." They told me (very kindly) that people from Berlin were indeed different and could be seen as a little snooty. I didn't doubt this for a minute. They said it was less the accent and more the mannerisms and social rules. They said that when sitting at a table, people from other places in Germany would be involved in that dance to see who sat where, offering others seats and being polite. A Berliner would say "you sit there." Not to be rude, just frank (and I'm sure they had thought out the entire system of the table and discerned that this was indeed the most favorable spot for said person). As I had plopped myself smack in the middle of the table that night without any dance- I realized- I've got a little Berliner in me.
SO- tell me how it is. Be frank. Be gracious, but be frank. We'll see how this goes. It keeps me much more honest and realistic about what I want and need.
All that to say, I am a horrible liar. HORRIBLE. My pet peeve means that I have little to no practice in the art of lying. The game mafia- I usually lose. But just because I am a failure at lying, doesn't mean I have not learned the art of a well-crafted word. Telling an ugly truth can look really pretty, or being completely silent is a handy tool. One of my un-official resolutions for this year is to shed those nuances. I'm not going to completely lose my filter or stop being gracious, but I'm going to try to be more direct. I find that I would hide behind "if it's cool with you, if it's not too much trouble, only if you want to, but don't worry about it."
I'll give you an example. In my asking for help from others during my week-long plague, I started this more direct approach. Instead of beating around the bush and trying to craft my text message in 160 letters or less with all the caveats, I called and said- I'm sick, could you handle an additional 3 year old so I can take a nap? I may have given her an out- but essentially I just spit it out. Another instance was when my 3 year old was playing with a friend in the morning and another friend invited him over in the afternoon. Instead of playing the awkward "we have another date" game- I just asked... would you mind if the other child came (with their caregiver) or would you rather it just be my son? Of course the only way that this whole candid method can work well is if the recipient of my candor feels free to say No. While it's easy to say that it's not my problem whether they can say no or not, I think I can help by saying a clear yes and no here and there. And when they say no- not making it awkward. THEN the relationship is established in which there is no weird "I hope she's not doing this just to be nice and hating on me after I drop off my kid!"
Not too long ago I had the opportunity to meet with a few folks from Germany. My Opa (Grandfather) was from Berlin and has an amazing story. I told a little of it to these folks, and then sort of shyly admitted that I was disappointed that their accents didn't resemble Opa's more. I was hoping to sort of hear him again. We talked about geographical accents, etc. I mentioned that Opa had a sense of pride being from Berlin and speaking "well." They told me (very kindly) that people from Berlin were indeed different and could be seen as a little snooty. I didn't doubt this for a minute. They said it was less the accent and more the mannerisms and social rules. They said that when sitting at a table, people from other places in Germany would be involved in that dance to see who sat where, offering others seats and being polite. A Berliner would say "you sit there." Not to be rude, just frank (and I'm sure they had thought out the entire system of the table and discerned that this was indeed the most favorable spot for said person). As I had plopped myself smack in the middle of the table that night without any dance- I realized- I've got a little Berliner in me.
SO- tell me how it is. Be frank. Be gracious, but be frank. We'll see how this goes. It keeps me much more honest and realistic about what I want and need.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Rough-Housing
This is one of those little things that has been dangling on my radar ever since I had my first son. The phrase "boys will be boys" is often quipped when a boy is being obnoxiously rough or plain stupid. I think we can do better. Boys can do better and we as parents, peers, weird aunts and uncles, can do better.
However, I struggle with the boundary between playfulness and roughness. I want my sons to be playful. I want my sons to be gentle. I want my sons to be able to stand up for what's right, and I don't expect them to be immune to the temptation to elbow someone in the face for being a jerk...(in fact, I may have to stifle a smile when they do it). Right now I have a sweet three year old who is a big boy- and by big I mean he is in the 90-98 percentile for height and weight. He's no shrimp among peers. My almost 9 month old looks to be shaping up about the same. The other day my oldest was wrestling another child to the ground. He was not doing it with a mean spirit- but the kid was definitely pinned to the ground. I intervened and told him to be gentle. Someone at a different time told of a similar thing happening between my son and their daughter and was happy about it- saying how their daughter was no frail thing and they were having fun. OK. But. I don't want my son pinning people down regardless of how frail or tough they are. I want gentleness to be the default. My three year old is smart and perceptive, but he cannot always discern when someone is open for a body tackle or not. I sense that he is being encouraged, and therefore his physical self is getting a little more brave. This happened when he was in a mothers-day-out program 1.5 years ago. The teachers were not concerned (most likely recognizing he was playing) but I witnessed that he was getting rougher with each unchecked physical foray. So I asked them not to let him do it, and he quickly went back to a more gentle default.
Where is the line? I wonder (seriously) if I'm being over-protective or attentive to the issue. I honestly don't know where the line is. I will be that Mom that struggles when her boys wrestle with bruises emerging. Yet- is there a need for all of us to roll around and get a little bruised up? I was a pretty physical child, I don't remember wrestling with my sister on a regular basis- but I did have outlets and even friends to rough-house with. (It was probably pretty tame, but I'm sure I thought I was a bad-ass arm wrestling for the win) In seminary, we even had leg wrestling matches (I lost at those). Do we as humans *need* to rough-house? How do I begin teaching boys about "appropriate" physicality when culturally they will be encouraged at every push and shove? Or maybe they'll be demonized because they are boys and big? I imagine there is some balance. I err on the side of gentleness, because there are plenty of temptations and expectations to the other extreme. Maybe I'm being a little Aristotelian (did I get the philosopher right?) by hoping for the "golden mean" and therefore leaning a little to one side in a situation that tends to lean a little to the other side.
Or am I just confusing the hell out of my boys? BE GENTLE! GIRLS ARE STRONG! STAND UP FOR WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN! BUT DEAR GOD- BE GENTLE!
Anyone out there have any thoughts on rough-housing?
However, I struggle with the boundary between playfulness and roughness. I want my sons to be playful. I want my sons to be gentle. I want my sons to be able to stand up for what's right, and I don't expect them to be immune to the temptation to elbow someone in the face for being a jerk...(in fact, I may have to stifle a smile when they do it). Right now I have a sweet three year old who is a big boy- and by big I mean he is in the 90-98 percentile for height and weight. He's no shrimp among peers. My almost 9 month old looks to be shaping up about the same. The other day my oldest was wrestling another child to the ground. He was not doing it with a mean spirit- but the kid was definitely pinned to the ground. I intervened and told him to be gentle. Someone at a different time told of a similar thing happening between my son and their daughter and was happy about it- saying how their daughter was no frail thing and they were having fun. OK. But. I don't want my son pinning people down regardless of how frail or tough they are. I want gentleness to be the default. My three year old is smart and perceptive, but he cannot always discern when someone is open for a body tackle or not. I sense that he is being encouraged, and therefore his physical self is getting a little more brave. This happened when he was in a mothers-day-out program 1.5 years ago. The teachers were not concerned (most likely recognizing he was playing) but I witnessed that he was getting rougher with each unchecked physical foray. So I asked them not to let him do it, and he quickly went back to a more gentle default.
Where is the line? I wonder (seriously) if I'm being over-protective or attentive to the issue. I honestly don't know where the line is. I will be that Mom that struggles when her boys wrestle with bruises emerging. Yet- is there a need for all of us to roll around and get a little bruised up? I was a pretty physical child, I don't remember wrestling with my sister on a regular basis- but I did have outlets and even friends to rough-house with. (It was probably pretty tame, but I'm sure I thought I was a bad-ass arm wrestling for the win) In seminary, we even had leg wrestling matches (I lost at those). Do we as humans *need* to rough-house? How do I begin teaching boys about "appropriate" physicality when culturally they will be encouraged at every push and shove? Or maybe they'll be demonized because they are boys and big? I imagine there is some balance. I err on the side of gentleness, because there are plenty of temptations and expectations to the other extreme. Maybe I'm being a little Aristotelian (did I get the philosopher right?) by hoping for the "golden mean" and therefore leaning a little to one side in a situation that tends to lean a little to the other side.
Or am I just confusing the hell out of my boys? BE GENTLE! GIRLS ARE STRONG! STAND UP FOR WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN! BUT DEAR GOD- BE GENTLE!
Anyone out there have any thoughts on rough-housing?
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Ask for help
Then get your shit together so you can help other people. This is my New Year's resolution. I've been sick for what feels like a month and has only been about a week. I'm *finally* on the mend and really glad for it. (Another post on how I recognize my brief contact with the plague is hardly an experience of failed health- and how grateful I am for health... is coming) I had to postpone a trip to Nashville because of it (still hoping to go soon). My husband has his DMin classes this week and next week, and since I was going to be gone with the boys- he also booked his nights. Then I got sick. I have a knack for awesome timing.
Things I learned... ASK FOR HELP. The village is out there, but you kind of need to call. This is the hardest part for some reason. I did it. I called the college students. I will pay them - but I'll think of it as donating towards their tuition. I called the preschool moms and Hunter had two fabulous play dates without me. I batted away the lurking guilt when I ordered take-out. I turned my head away from the guilt of putting Graham on the floor to play or in the exersaucer and then lying down. You gotta survive! It was NOT easy. Graham had a couple rough nights with teething and growing and all those things babies do at the same inconvenient time. Hunter was freakin adorable and playful and I was missing it. I went to the doctor for meds, convinced and hopeful that I had strep- only to learn I had a virus that would take 7-10 days to run its course. I told the doctor I didn't have time for that. But the village saved me. I had to round up the village- but they came. It is really hard to ask for help when you know that most people are battling the same sad story you are. But I put away the guilt of "I can't handle being sick and having kids and my house is DISGUSTING"- and let the college kids come in and see me in all my red-eyed, puffy hair, dishes dirty, pantry and fridge bare glory. The preschool parents just saw the eye. I wore a hat when dropping off Hunter. I also wore lip-gloss, which had a surprisingly positive effect.
So now that I'm mending... I'm inspired to get my act together so that I can be a village member. One that hears a parent is sick and drops off some soup. I want to- not because I feel obligated to return the favor- but because I know that a healthy meal is a balm. I want to use my powers for good! I want to call and invite the 3 year old over for a play date- not to "Christmas threw up land" but to Hunter's house.
But first I'm going to Nashville. Let Jason get a head start.
By the way, a side effect of being sick is that you have time to think...so I've got about 4 blog entries in my head, ready to go. But first the laundry, pick up Hunter, etc.
ASK for help. do it. REST. (hard). Then get your shit together so you can help. If you can. If you can't- ask me for help in a couple weeks. I should be helpful by then.
Things I learned... ASK FOR HELP. The village is out there, but you kind of need to call. This is the hardest part for some reason. I did it. I called the college students. I will pay them - but I'll think of it as donating towards their tuition. I called the preschool moms and Hunter had two fabulous play dates without me. I batted away the lurking guilt when I ordered take-out. I turned my head away from the guilt of putting Graham on the floor to play or in the exersaucer and then lying down. You gotta survive! It was NOT easy. Graham had a couple rough nights with teething and growing and all those things babies do at the same inconvenient time. Hunter was freakin adorable and playful and I was missing it. I went to the doctor for meds, convinced and hopeful that I had strep- only to learn I had a virus that would take 7-10 days to run its course. I told the doctor I didn't have time for that. But the village saved me. I had to round up the village- but they came. It is really hard to ask for help when you know that most people are battling the same sad story you are. But I put away the guilt of "I can't handle being sick and having kids and my house is DISGUSTING"- and let the college kids come in and see me in all my red-eyed, puffy hair, dishes dirty, pantry and fridge bare glory. The preschool parents just saw the eye. I wore a hat when dropping off Hunter. I also wore lip-gloss, which had a surprisingly positive effect.
So now that I'm mending... I'm inspired to get my act together so that I can be a village member. One that hears a parent is sick and drops off some soup. I want to- not because I feel obligated to return the favor- but because I know that a healthy meal is a balm. I want to use my powers for good! I want to call and invite the 3 year old over for a play date- not to "Christmas threw up land" but to Hunter's house.
But first I'm going to Nashville. Let Jason get a head start.
By the way, a side effect of being sick is that you have time to think...so I've got about 4 blog entries in my head, ready to go. But first the laundry, pick up Hunter, etc.
ASK for help. do it. REST. (hard). Then get your shit together so you can help. If you can. If you can't- ask me for help in a couple weeks. I should be helpful by then.
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