I am one of those fortunate people whose vocation grants a time to step away. I will, for the second time while serving this congregation, be receiving the gift of sabbatical. For the next couple of months I will be out of my usual routine and be given time for rest and renewal...an especially timely gift considering our community just passed the one year anniversary of our tornado.
I can't say thank you enough for this gift.
And I'm exited about the promises of this time...
the promise of rest (goal: 8 hours of sleep at night)
the promise of health (goal: exercising again and making better
eating choices)
the promise of relationships (goal: time with family and
friends)
the promise of renewal (goal: finding my center again)
But I am aware of the anxiety that comes with this gift...
time will go too quickly
I haven't set goals that many would say are either big or
measurable...and might not even accomplish these
even if I do great over sabbatical, will day 1 back at work
throw my right back into unhealthy rhythms and bad
boundaries?
And so, as I prepare to receive this gift (which begins June 1) I am eager...I am anxious...I am hopeful.
What healthy routines do you practice for self, for spirit, for family?
How do you defend your boundaries?
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
What About the Stuff?
Last month I had the privilege of going with our youth group to Heifer Ranch and spending a night in the Global Village. There each group stays in a house representing a different impoverished country or situation. We got to the stay in the Refugee Camp. What this meant is that we had no resources (food, fuel, or utensils) and were unable to communicate with those outside our group. The idea of this experience is that there are enough resources for everyone but the only way everyone has enough is to share.
Since I was in the group that couldn't talk, I did a lot of listening and observing. And here's what I most noticed - having stuff gets in the way of being kind. (This doesn't mean people weren't kind to us. They were and we ended up well taken care of.) It wasn't that people were unkind to us, but I was amazed at how much we argue over the things that we have.
On Sunday my children had a friend over for the day. With three boys from age 4 - 6 you never know what might happen but the day went really well. But there were those moments over the course of the day...
"It's mine. You can't have it."
"I want to play now. It's my turn!"
Since I was in the group that couldn't talk, I did a lot of listening and observing. And here's what I most noticed - having stuff gets in the way of being kind. (This doesn't mean people weren't kind to us. They were and we ended up well taken care of.) It wasn't that people were unkind to us, but I was amazed at how much we argue over the things that we have.
--------------------------
On Sunday my children had a friend over for the day. With three boys from age 4 - 6 you never know what might happen but the day went really well. But there were those moments over the course of the day...
"It's mine. You can't have it."
"I want to play now. It's my turn!"
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Today I am working on a sermon. In Acts, Luke writes about the early Christian community, "no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything was held in common....There was not a needy person among them" (4:32b, 34a).
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So, what do we do about the stuff? I'm not ready to give it all away. But, I can't help but wonder how much kinder I would be...how much more attentive to those who cross my path...how much more generous...if I weren't so worried about locking and protecting and taking care of and enjoying everything that I own (or that owns me).
And what does it teach my children when stuff has so much of me...and of them?
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
A Messy Imposition
Today is Ash Wednesday. We had services tonight at church. I imposed ashes on those who had gathered to worship. About halfway through the crowd there was my almost-four-year-old baby boy in front of me...waiting, both eager and curious about what I was going to do.
I touched my thumb to the ashes, then to his forehead. As I made the sign of the cross I said, "I mark you with God's claim" (I don't know what others say, but this seemed right for tonight).
After marking him with ashes, I was about to stand for the next person.
But he wasn't done.
He reached out his little pointer finger to touch the ashes. I first thought he just wanted to play and began to pull the dish back. He then pointed to my forehead. "You don't have any," he said. And he was right.
I put the dish back where he could reach and watched as he stuck his little finger in and then touched it to my forehead before getting a confused look.
There was a problem. "It didn't stick," he said.
But this boy knows how to solve problems. Reaching back toward the dish, he dug in with thumb and finger, gathering as much of the ashes as he could and lifting them gently to my head. I watched as ashes cascaded down my forehead and across my nose and cheeks. I held my lips together, not sure I wanted to taste the ashes. Then he repeated...after all, it is the sign of the cross we traditionally mark each other with and the cross has two beams. Another pile of ashes to my forehead and the crossbeam was in place.
He walked away satisfied.
I stood there, ashes thick on my forehead, scattered across my face, even around my feet. It was a messy imposition for sure, but one I will never forget.
I touched my thumb to the ashes, then to his forehead. As I made the sign of the cross I said, "I mark you with God's claim" (I don't know what others say, but this seemed right for tonight).
After marking him with ashes, I was about to stand for the next person.
But he wasn't done.
He reached out his little pointer finger to touch the ashes. I first thought he just wanted to play and began to pull the dish back. He then pointed to my forehead. "You don't have any," he said. And he was right.
I put the dish back where he could reach and watched as he stuck his little finger in and then touched it to my forehead before getting a confused look.
There was a problem. "It didn't stick," he said.
But this boy knows how to solve problems. Reaching back toward the dish, he dug in with thumb and finger, gathering as much of the ashes as he could and lifting them gently to my head. I watched as ashes cascaded down my forehead and across my nose and cheeks. I held my lips together, not sure I wanted to taste the ashes. Then he repeated...after all, it is the sign of the cross we traditionally mark each other with and the cross has two beams. Another pile of ashes to my forehead and the crossbeam was in place.
He walked away satisfied.
I stood there, ashes thick on my forehead, scattered across my face, even around my feet. It was a messy imposition for sure, but one I will never forget.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Living with Reality
As you have heard me say previously, our community was hit by a tornado last spring. Eight months later it is clear that our reality is forever changed. All we have to do is listen to our children to know that.
(spoken by our daycare provider who has been in this profession for 20 years): Before May 22nd, I've never had children playing "tornado" - now it's a regular part of their play.
(a question asked on a recent windy night to my friend by her three-year-old daughter, they were in their basement as their house got hit by the tornado): Mommy, is the wind going to break this house, too?
(a conversation held between myself and my almost four-year-old son yesterday in my office when he found my hardhat from the repairs to the church after the tornado):
Him: Mommy, why don't you ever wear your hardhat anymore?
Me: Well, I don't need it now that the construction is done.
Him: So, you'll use it next time a tornado hits?
Part of me is pained by these conversations, these realities. Part of me takes comfort in the fact that children have an amazing way of incorporating even that which we describe as devastating into their reality. Part of me wonders what other conversations we'll have and what answers I'll be able to give.
(spoken by our daycare provider who has been in this profession for 20 years): Before May 22nd, I've never had children playing "tornado" - now it's a regular part of their play.
(a question asked on a recent windy night to my friend by her three-year-old daughter, they were in their basement as their house got hit by the tornado): Mommy, is the wind going to break this house, too?
(a conversation held between myself and my almost four-year-old son yesterday in my office when he found my hardhat from the repairs to the church after the tornado):
Him: Mommy, why don't you ever wear your hardhat anymore?
Me: Well, I don't need it now that the construction is done.
Him: So, you'll use it next time a tornado hits?
Part of me is pained by these conversations, these realities. Part of me takes comfort in the fact that children have an amazing way of incorporating even that which we describe as devastating into their reality. Part of me wonders what other conversations we'll have and what answers I'll be able to give.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Untitled
I don't even know what to title this post...
And I don't promise it will be well written or well thought out...
I simply need to say that it pains me as I watch amazing, thoughtful, compassionate, kind people define themselves according to what "good Christian people" have told them is right or true.
Why does one person feel the need to tell another that because she wonders she is not a Christian?
Why does one person feel the need to tell another that because he questions he is going to hell?
Why does one person feel the need to tell another that because her answers are different than his she is wrong?
Why do so many feel the need to be so certain, to be so right, and in the process to be so destructive?
Why do so many people seem to be so scared to live in the gray area?
And how do I raise my children in the midst of this all too usual rhetoric to be kind and caring, compassionate and accepting, thoughtful and loving, open minded and encouraging?
And I don't promise it will be well written or well thought out...
I simply need to say that it pains me as I watch amazing, thoughtful, compassionate, kind people define themselves according to what "good Christian people" have told them is right or true.
Why does one person feel the need to tell another that because she wonders she is not a Christian?
Why does one person feel the need to tell another that because he questions he is going to hell?
Why does one person feel the need to tell another that because her answers are different than his she is wrong?
Why do so many feel the need to be so certain, to be so right, and in the process to be so destructive?
Why do so many people seem to be so scared to live in the gray area?
And how do I raise my children in the midst of this all too usual rhetoric to be kind and caring, compassionate and accepting, thoughtful and loving, open minded and encouraging?
Sunday, December 18, 2011
He's So Clever
Don't you love when your children start to outsmart you?
The three-year-old tried today.
He's been on medicine for the last ten days and it is yucky! He says so and just smelling it has caused me to agree with him. So, his daddy taught him a trick...pinch your nose shut and it won't taste so bad.
For the last ten days that's what we've done. He's pinched his nose while I squirted his medicine into his mouth.
Tonight was the last dose. We were celebrating that fact in anticipation of one last swallow. Finally I looked at him and said, "Okay, now hold your nose and I'll squirt the medicine in your mouth."
He replied, "How about you hold your nose and I'll squirt the medicine in YOUR mouth!"
He's so clever...but I didn't fall for it!
The three-year-old tried today.
He's been on medicine for the last ten days and it is yucky! He says so and just smelling it has caused me to agree with him. So, his daddy taught him a trick...pinch your nose shut and it won't taste so bad.
For the last ten days that's what we've done. He's pinched his nose while I squirted his medicine into his mouth.
Tonight was the last dose. We were celebrating that fact in anticipation of one last swallow. Finally I looked at him and said, "Okay, now hold your nose and I'll squirt the medicine in your mouth."
He replied, "How about you hold your nose and I'll squirt the medicine in YOUR mouth!"
He's so clever...but I didn't fall for it!
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
When I Might Spank
Spanking is not an activity I participate in. It is not a form of discipline I embrace. It is simply not in me because in the deepest part of my core I just can't imagine motivating my children with physical punishment.
But, that doesn't mean that I'm not aware of the moments when I might spank...if I did.
Here are a few examples:
1) If I were a spanker, the day might begin with spanking. When I look at the clock and realize that the school day begins at kindergarten in exactly 13 minutes (ten of which is taken up by our drive) and we don't even have shoes and coats on and the boys aren't moving when I say move or in the manner that I want them to...then I might spank.
2) If I were a spanker, there might be spankings in the car. After all, when I get on the phone (you did know that my car is my phone booth, right?), having asked the children to be quiet, having turned down their favorite songs on the radio so I can hear my phone conversation, and then they end up not only talking but talking loudly or worse off fighting and yelling and I realize how easy it would be to reach back and slap (btw - I consider spank, slap, swat, any way of making harsh contact between an adult's hand or object and a child for the purpose of discipline or punishment to be synonyms) a flailing leg...then I might spank.
3) If I were a spanker, spankings might be part of our evening routine. When we are heading home from meetings or errands and it's already past the children's bedtime and they haven't been home since early morning and they haven't had time to play with their toys and did I mention it's past their bedtime so they are tired...when this is happening and we get home and I want them to hurry and get their pjs on and teeth brushed and get in bed, but they want to play for a moment with a new toy or have a snack or watch the last few minutes of a cartoon and so they don't move fast and they aren't eager to get pjs on...then I might spank.
4) If I were a spanker, our day might end with a spanking. When I've put the boys to bed and I've said good night and I've hugged them and tucked them in but then I hear the pitter patter of little feet (which I hear right now as if on cue) and the three-year-old says his throat is making him get up (which he did just now) or he says he wants to sleep somewhere else or wants me to lay down with him or it is too dark...and when I've responded once or twice or three times and there are still footsteps coming down the hall...then I might spank.
I could go on and on. In fact, it's not unusual for me to be in these or other moments and actually think - if I were a spanker, I'd be doing it now. I'm aware of many situations that while being in the midst of them spanking could seem like an appropriate or effective response.
I'm also aware of how glad I am to be highly committed to not spanking. Because as I look at this list and as I think about other moments when I might otherwise spank (or at least threaten it) I see how easy to would be for spanking to be as routine as hugging...for swatting to be more common than speaking...for slapping to become the regular physical contact.
I wouldn't be at all surprised if I am more often late than my spanking counterparts...more often sucked in to that one last pre-bedtime question...more often seen in public with "free spirited" children. And yet, I won't apologize for these.
After all, I dream of a world where we raise a generation who is not motivated by fear or threat. I dream of a world where we raise a generation who has not witnessed force or intimidation being used as the answer to the unknown or the out-of-control. I don't get to raise this generation, but I have the privilege of raising two of them and, although my voice does raise and on occasion my head spins, I will do my best to raise them with love and listening, with tenderness and understanding, with the respect I hope they will give to others.
But, that doesn't mean that I'm not aware of the moments when I might spank...if I did.
Here are a few examples:
1) If I were a spanker, the day might begin with spanking. When I look at the clock and realize that the school day begins at kindergarten in exactly 13 minutes (ten of which is taken up by our drive) and we don't even have shoes and coats on and the boys aren't moving when I say move or in the manner that I want them to...then I might spank.
2) If I were a spanker, there might be spankings in the car. After all, when I get on the phone (you did know that my car is my phone booth, right?), having asked the children to be quiet, having turned down their favorite songs on the radio so I can hear my phone conversation, and then they end up not only talking but talking loudly or worse off fighting and yelling and I realize how easy it would be to reach back and slap (btw - I consider spank, slap, swat, any way of making harsh contact between an adult's hand or object and a child for the purpose of discipline or punishment to be synonyms) a flailing leg...then I might spank.
3) If I were a spanker, spankings might be part of our evening routine. When we are heading home from meetings or errands and it's already past the children's bedtime and they haven't been home since early morning and they haven't had time to play with their toys and did I mention it's past their bedtime so they are tired...when this is happening and we get home and I want them to hurry and get their pjs on and teeth brushed and get in bed, but they want to play for a moment with a new toy or have a snack or watch the last few minutes of a cartoon and so they don't move fast and they aren't eager to get pjs on...then I might spank.
4) If I were a spanker, our day might end with a spanking. When I've put the boys to bed and I've said good night and I've hugged them and tucked them in but then I hear the pitter patter of little feet (which I hear right now as if on cue) and the three-year-old says his throat is making him get up (which he did just now) or he says he wants to sleep somewhere else or wants me to lay down with him or it is too dark...and when I've responded once or twice or three times and there are still footsteps coming down the hall...then I might spank.
I could go on and on. In fact, it's not unusual for me to be in these or other moments and actually think - if I were a spanker, I'd be doing it now. I'm aware of many situations that while being in the midst of them spanking could seem like an appropriate or effective response.
I'm also aware of how glad I am to be highly committed to not spanking. Because as I look at this list and as I think about other moments when I might otherwise spank (or at least threaten it) I see how easy to would be for spanking to be as routine as hugging...for swatting to be more common than speaking...for slapping to become the regular physical contact.
I wouldn't be at all surprised if I am more often late than my spanking counterparts...more often sucked in to that one last pre-bedtime question...more often seen in public with "free spirited" children. And yet, I won't apologize for these.
After all, I dream of a world where we raise a generation who is not motivated by fear or threat. I dream of a world where we raise a generation who has not witnessed force or intimidation being used as the answer to the unknown or the out-of-control. I don't get to raise this generation, but I have the privilege of raising two of them and, although my voice does raise and on occasion my head spins, I will do my best to raise them with love and listening, with tenderness and understanding, with the respect I hope they will give to others.
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