I have been wanting to post something new here, it's sort of my outlet for sanity. However, as you may know, I've been maintaining my sanity by working on a new project. I thought I would give you the chance to read my first blog post of my new blog here, so you don't have to work so hard. But after you read this, go to my new blog and catch up- I've written lots and had lots of fun doing it!
I have a story to tell. I’ve always wanted to tell the kind of story that is real, earnest, honest, not rose-colored or censored. I wanted to tell the kind of story that you can’t get in a headline, but rather the secrets you hear on the sidelines. The real, authentic, vulnerable true story that is only shared within the bond of love and trust. I finally found it. It involves war, tragedy, loss. It radiates hope, courage, and love. It is a love story above all. Against the backdrop of hate, my story illuminates with love.
It all starts with a family of four: a boy and a girl and their parents. The boy is Tom, or as I called him: Opa. He was my Grandfather, a German immigrant who was stubborn and sweet. He spoke impeccable English in hushed German tones. Before he became my Grandfather, he was a child in a country haunted by The Great War, or World War 1 as we know it. His family lived in a large apartment in Berlin, Germany and he witnessed the Nazi party’s rise to power.
Opa told me snippets of his family history while I was growing up, and I was always fascinated. I can still hear his German accent in my memories. As a young girl, I was mesmerized by the love story between him and my Grandmother. Grandmother grew up in Kansas, the youngest of 4, spoiled as the only girl. When she and Opa met, she was engaged to another man. My two sisters and I never heard any details about this story until we spent the night with my Grandmother on the evening after Opa’s funeral. It was a slumber party to keep her company, and to relive a little of our girlish youth. Grandmother told us that the “other boy’s” name was Archie and that she certainly had made the right decision to marry Opa.
Several years later, after being the primary caregiver for my Grandmother who had declined in health, I convinced my parents that she needed to live closer to them. I had a young child with plans to expand my family and we were not guaranteed to always live close to my Grandmother. We needed to move her to the stableness of my parents, so she could be near family, her son is my Dad. We spent hours cleaning and packing for the move. One day my husband and I found a box in Grandmother’s office. It was a box of letters. The letters date as far back as November, 1939 and showcase the correspondence within my Grandfather’s family as he emigrated to the United States, letters of courtship from Opa to Grandmother, letters between the families on either side of the ocean, and letters of news of loved ones near and far. I was enthralled. I read handfuls of letters, crying over the news of those who had died long before I was born as if it was real time.
It turns out that my Grandfather left me a legend. As someone with a writer’s heart, I have always wanted to tell a story, but I never had one that was good enough. Now I did. I had the earnestness, the true love, the vulnerability. These letters slowed the moving process to a crawl before my family evicted me out of the box and promised that we would go through the letters later. Now my Grandmother has joined Opa in heaven and I begin my journey through their story. My blog will share that journey. My husband has volunteered himself as my researcher. I will journey through these letters in chronological order, read documents and articles about the world around that time. I will show you the letters and give you the information I learned, and I’ll share with you how it has moved my soul. You, my reader, have a chance to experience this story of love firsthand. The love that is shown through multiple generations, between strangers and family. It is a story that brings me hope. Light in the darkness. It all starts with a little boy and his sister, his Jewish mother, and agnostic father in Berlin. Somehow broken engagements, true love, Albert Einstein, Nazi’s, the holocaust, the US Army, and even the Quakers- all get involved.
Join me in my journey.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Friday, November 16, 2012
We're Not In Kansas Anymore
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
Here is the link: We're Not in Kansas Anymore
thank you,
Sarah
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?
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