Worth a Shot!

As Craig and I continue to date and seriously consider long term commitment, we both continue to pay attention to what our children need. We recognize that our joy in finding each other is, sadly, another notch in the loss column for our kids, another reminder that their parents are not together.

This weekend we got snowed in together and I borrowed one of Craig's T-shirts, having not packed for the two night stay. Last night, I wore the T-shirt to bed. Gabe asked, "Are you going to wear Craig's T-shirt to sleep in?". I replied, "yes" and added "that okay with you?". He said, after a long pause, that it was "okay" and that "I could wear Craig's T-shirt three more times, not counting today". He followed that with "I'm still getting used to this".

I affirmed him for being honest, that getting used to "Mommy and Craig" is not easy, and that he should let me know "what he needs".

After a quick pause he said, "I need an iTouch".

I laughed out loud...cackled in fact....as he grinned. I said something like I wasn't going to "buy" his comfort. And he shot back with a smile, "It was worth a shot!".

Indeed, helping him transition to the idea of Mommy having someone else in her life was "worth a shot". I get the sense that he is, actually, doing pretty well with it!

Mixing Metaphors

What happens when you have an 8 year old boy/soccer enthusiast raised by a 43rd mom/musical theatre officionado?

I'll tell you what happens.

1) You have a young boy who does his physical warm-ups and counts them off by half measures "1-2, 1-2, 1-2". And,

2) You have a mom who asks her son how he "felt about his audition...I mean try-out"?

We're living a boundary-crossing, metaphor-mixing, filled-with-possibility life!

Feminist Sensibility versus Soccer Mom Competitor

Feminist Sensibility and Soccer Mom Competitor are engaged in an epic battle within me.

I am a feminist. Shatter the glass ceiling. Sports for young girls. Fight gender stereotypes. All of that.

So, a recent conversation between my son and his teammate on their way to a scrimmage against a "girls team" caused me concern. "I can't believe we have to play a giiiirrrls team", Gabe said. Daniel replied, "I know!". Gabe then did his imitation of girls "Oh, we are so BFF's", he said in a high-pitched voice. Finally, one of them said somberly, "How embarrassing if we lose".

Wouldn't you know my son's team played the best I've ever seen!

Now, my son struggles to play as well as he can on the field. He is good. He has lots of potential. He's not as aggressive as necessary for competitive soccer [the level of 8 year old play these days is a conversation for another day]. As single mom, I worry that he missing out on the day-to-day male influence that fosters competition and aggressiveness (Soccer Mom Competitor up by one).

This morning on the way to soccer, Soccer Mom Competitor pulled further ahead in the competition against Feminist Sensibility. I talked Gabe up as fullback..."no one can score against #32", I declared in my best announcer voice. I turned to trash talk against his opponent. Harkening back to the scrimmage, I said "The Cougars are girls". He said, "really?". I replied, they are "girls on the inside".

Gabe played well. He had my voice encouraging him to be aggressive and tough on the sidelines. With minutes left in the game, Gabe's team was ahead 5-1. Gabe got the ball away from his own goal, but incurred a penalty on the way...a penalty that led to a direct kick on goal by his opponent. That's not a light penalty. That's bad.

And do you know what my immediate and audible response was? I said "I don't care about that!". I only cared that he'd aggressively and successful played as defender. She shoots! She scores! Soccer Mom Competitor wins!!!!!!

Connections

My son and I returned from California Friday, and missed our late night connection from Philadelphia to Harrisburg. Because we have wonderful friends who live 15 minutes from the Philly airport, our missed flight led to a night of good conversation, a great night's sleep, and buttermilk pancakes before our Saturday afternoon rescheduled flight. Others, of course, weren't so lucky.

The airline agent endured loud, testy, and ultimately ineffectual protests from passengers on four departed connections. As my 8 year old and I walked away, we heard one young woman yell "NO F-ING WAY....I'M GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW!!" Gabe said, "she said a bad word" to which I replied "yes, honey, she is very upset". And he simply said, "I don't blame her...marriage is important".I smiled and said warmly..."yes sweet pea, marriage is very important".

I count Gabe's pronouncement a victory, a moment where hope triumphs over experience. Of course, his father and I separated and divorced when Gabe was a preschooler. Gabe's father is now remarried with a new baby. And two weeks ago, I introduced Gabe to the reality that mommy has a boyfriend. Gabe's questions and observations since my disclosure have included that Craig, too, "split up" [Gabe's term] with his wife. We also talked about how his kids live with "both their mommy and daddy", to which Gabe said "just like me". Sadly, my son's world is filled with divorce...including his mommy/daddy, one set of grandparents, an uncle, and many of his elementary school peers.

I conversed with our Philly hosts, incidentally a single dad and his significant other, about how kids today take it in stride when they and their peers have two homes and/or step and half siblings. It saddens us that divorce is so prevalent; yet, we are comforted that our kids are not alone in their split family experience.In a world in which marriage seems fragile at best and outdated at worst, I count it a good day in which Gabe recognizes that marriage is important.

And, I trust that the young woman made it to her wedding.

Lessons amidst the death of a parent

My father died on May 20th. It is still surreal. We had a lovely memorial service at his alma mater [and mine] Occidental College. Family and friends shared good memories of dad at a place Dad loved. Having a parent die is difficult; it suddenly catapults you into adulthood in new ways. In the days following his death, there was little time to grieve but there was much to do. Inform family. Get a flight to California. Plan a memorial. Write a eulogy. Order hors d'oeurves. Inform friends. Plan a burial. Write an obituary. At the reception following the memorial, a friend whose lost both her parents warned me..."this is weird. you are grieving, but you are the host of the party". She was so right. Amidst decorating tables, greeting family and friends, and communicating with catering, I sometimes looked to dad's photo's amidst the flowers to remind myself why we were there. It wasn't until everyone left...once there was a lull in my responsibilities, that I was able to feel the loss and cry.

I learned the point of flowers amidst a death too. Somewhere I got the idea that a grieving family would prefer something other than flowers, something that lasts or doesn't have to be carried. In actuality, the flowers that arrived for the memorial meant a lot. I didn't mind carrying them at all, and it didn't matter one iota that they'd be temporal. When one person who brought flowers to the memorial took them with her when she left [yes, very odd], I was thinking like "hey, those are for us...". When I got on a plane to return home, I couldn't take the flowers with me. I was suddenly home without any visual reminder that I'd experienced a loss. I felt the gap and told a friend, who thankfully came through with a lovely bouquet. Flowers are not a burden. They are, perhaps, alongside sympathy cards, an opportunity to sort of sit shiva, a period of time the grieved is given just to be sad. Slowly the flowers and cards that sit prominently on my kitchen table and mantle will come down. That will be a sign that I'm ready to move to the next phase of grief. In the meantime, I will let them remind me to care for myself amidst loss. And, when a friend loses someone in the future, I will send flowers.

My Son's Platform

The joys of the evening ritual.

After a story from the Bible and a chapter from The Magic TreeHouse, Gabe and I always enjoy a bit of conversation after lights out. Two nights ago, Gabe expressed his wish to have a "million dollars". Of course, I'm trying to do motherhood for social change, so I asked him what he would do with a million dollars fully expecting to educate him about using our gifts and finances to helps others. To my chagrin, Gabe said he'd spend it on " healthcare".

And then I hear a story from Gabe's babysitter....she was driving him home from soccer when she suddenly experienced a vibrant scent from the back seat. Gabe had gotten into her hand sanitizer, and was rubbing his hands together vigorously. When she asked what he was doing, he responded incredulously, "Well I don't want to get the Swine Flu!".

Where does he get this stuff? His dad and I recognize that Gabe takes everything in....even when he appears to be distracted, it becomes obvious that he stays attentive to surrounding conversation. Apparently, he's gotten the message that healthcare is an issue...so maybe it's good that kids are exposed to the issues of the world at an early age.

Of course, we have to take the good with the bad. Our evening ritual last night taught me that. After our Bible Story and a Magic Tree House chapter, Gabe again asked God for a "million bucks.......in cash". As if I hadn't quite gotten the message that consumerism has also impacted his young consciousness, he clarified for God that he also "accepts credit or debit".

Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in spring-time. Martin Luther, Theologian

Our sermon this morning was on John 11:17-27; Pastor Dalton observed that this passage is about "Practicing Resurrection". Jesus raises Lazarus, in spite of Martha's objection that the timing is too late. Resurrection is beyond time and beyond space; it is about a person, Jesus. Resurrection is greater than death. Poverty, divorce, addiction, job loss....each of these is a death of sorts, but the resurrection is stronger than death.

I only have to look at my own life and the lives of those I know well to see the truth of the resurrection. The love of Jesus and the love of community have seen me through more than a few "deaths". The realization that I survived and, in some moments, thrive amidst these losses is testament to the power of resurrection.

As we celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord, alongside the books and nature that Luther observed, may we also see the love of community and the resilience of the human spirit as witness to promise of our Lord's resurrection.

Where have you seen witness to the promise of the Resurrection?

Tolstoy and Privilege

Tolstoy's search for the "meaning of life" is chronicled in his A Confession. He seeks answers from the "experimental sciences" and the realm of philosophy, only to find them wanting. He analyzes the ways that those in his social circle - wealthy, educated - have responded to the quest for meaning; again, he comes up wanting. Tolstoy's quest turns a corner when he opens his eyes beyond his social circle and realizes that his circle does not reflect the "whole of humanity" and that in his blindness, he has missed out on a crucial path to realizing life's meaning.

Tolstoy reflects, "It seems so strange to me now, so utterly incomprehensible, that in my reasoning of life I could have overlooked the life of humanity that surrounded me on all sides and that I could have been so ridiculously mistaken as to think that my life, and the life of Solomon and Schopenhauer, was the true, normal life, while the lives of millions was not worthy of attention".

Tolstoy's narrative reflects the danger of unrecognized social and economic privilege, a blindness to the whole of experience. Typically, we consider privilege in terms of recognizing questions of justice, particularly as it applies to notions of race and gender. Tolstoy broadens the implications of privilege to matters of faith and meaning; and, as Tolstoy asserts, "Without faith, it is impossible to live".

The question of privilege is not, then, a late 20th century question of the social sciences. Rather, it is one with broad implications for the humanities. How does privilege blind us in our quest for answers to the "big questions"?

The Alto as Gendered Construction

I served as a panelist today for a conference on Gender and Vocation. One of my reflections was that I've been surprised at various points by the weight of gender on my experience. Changing my name for marriage brought an unanticipated sense of loss, despite years of doodling potential married names when I was a girl and young adult. Once I was hired for my dream job and was befuddled when my gender played such a prominent role in institutional marketing for my appointment. I never saw gender coming. Perhaps like a lot of painful realities, I wasn't looking...or listening.

As a vocalist, I sing alto. As I think about the songs I'm preparing this week alone, each is saturated with gender expectations. Someone Like You,from Jekyll and Hyde, is a lovely, lilting piece that perfectly fits my vocal range. The song is the signature piece for Lucy, "Hyde's scarlet woman lover" as she fantasizes about a relationship with the gentle Dr. Jekyll; if scarlet woman singing that she'd "feel so alive if someone like you loved me" isn't gendered, I don't know what is. I'm also preparing Losing My Mind, from Follies, which is Sally "carrying a torch for a long-dead love that probably only existed for her to begin with". I'm singing the perspective of a woman who can never really have "her man", because he is incapable of love, and thus she's wondering if, perhaps, she is on the brink of insanity. Gendered? Hm. Can't imagine a man singing about a woman he loves who he can never really have because she is incapable of love. Even Taylor the Latte Boy, a comedic piece I'm preparing, is essentially a woman attributing the "extra foam" of a triple Latte when she ordered a double as an expression of the undying love of a Starbucks clerk.

I probably rehearse every song I prepare hundreds of times. I sing at home. I sing in my car. I'm surrounded by a liturgy of unrequited love steeped in gendered constructions.

And this morning I was surprised by gender.

Epiphany

I love those epiphanic moments when I suddenly see something in a new way, including my own life. Lately, life's been filled with other-driven epiphanies - deception and secrecy uncovered within the lives of family members. Like the children of many dysfunctional families, over time I newly recognize the depth of the dysfunction but more importantly on the manner in which I have been shaped either within and/or in response to my life context. For example, I've long been 'gifted' in putting a positive spin on even the worst of circumstance, so much so that, as part of my healing, I've actually had to practice being sad.

I gave advice to a friend recently where I think I fell off the wagon. Having experienced two major losses in less than a year, I encouraged him that at some point he would, indeed, have these aspects of his life back. But, that's wrong. Broken families and unemployment don't magically get restored. And yet, despair even over such major loss is not the end of the story.

Life does get better and often in ways we never imagine. When my husband left and "broke" my own family, I lost not only a husband and consistent parenting partner but also a dream. This particular dream for an intact family for me and my son will, unfortunately, never be restored. Still, what were once just fragments of loss have reemerged into a new shape, the pieces now compose a new and more hopeful puzzle. Four years into being single again, I am not happy to be divorced in general , but I am quite happily divorced in particular. And the big picture is that I am more whole and more hopeful about the future than I ever imagined possible.

I am not pleased that I've experienced so many losses, but I celebrate that I see God's grace in the midst, that I have witnessed the manifestation of Christ within and beyond these losses. I'm sad for my friend; he won't get the life he imagined back even when he is gainfully employed or enters a new relationship. And yet, I hope for him that as he moves forward he, too, will look back on these real experiences that now seem only sad and ultimately see how these moments transformed his sense of possibility and served as catalysts for healing. I have great hope for epiphany in his life.

Indeed, may we all see manifestations of Christ in the darkest moments. May we experience Epiphany fully today and throughout the year!

Resolution

Today is the traditional day for resolutions. I wonder what I actually resolved in January 2008? If I resolved to do any of the following, then I'd be able to say I fulfilled my goals for 2008:

1)watch less television
2)read more often [clearly coincides with #1]
3)begin dating again
4)secure new responsibilities at work
5)nurture a love for reading in my son [see #1 and #2]
6)exercise regularly [I'm embarrassed to say it may be related to #3]
7)participate in a writing group
8)renovate my basement

Now, if I resolved to do the following in 2008, then I'd have to say I did not fulfill my goals.

1) organize my life
2) submit writing for publication regularly

I think I actually resolved to be more organized; in fact, I just found a "one year to an organized life" book published in early 08 with an uncracked spine. If I judge myself on this single resolution, I was an abyssmal failure in 2008. By comparison, I accomplished four times as many potential resolutions as not. In this case, looking back is more productive than imagining forward!

Considering resolution to solely mean "a formal expression of intentions" might simply be too limiting. Let's think of resolution in musical terms, that is "to cause [a voice part or harmony as a whole] to progress from a dissonance to a consonance". Everyday opens opportunity for resolution....dissonance to consonance, cacophony to harmony, conflict to peace.

So, for 2009, my resolution is make space for consonance even amidst the dissonant, to affirm the paradox of life.