Voice Lessons

Coda

2012-01-31T14:48:00.002-05:00

Apparently, I've been shaped by academia more than I imagined. Over the past several weeks, I've been "matched" with about 40 men...and, after reviewing profiles and communicating with a few on-line, I'm in the process of meeting 3 people for coffee. I've narrowed the candidate pool to 3; after I meet them, I'll know whether to pursue any of them or whether I should reopen the search.

At this phase, it's humbling and awkward to meet someone in person simply to see if there is any "connection". At the same time, it's kind of liberating to know that you and the other party are doing the same thing. If there's no connection, you simply enjoy coffee and conversation and move on. There is no further obligation.

I'm excited about whom I'm meeting...an academic, a non-profit leader, and a musician. The more exciting thing is that I know, when I meet each, much better what I'm looking for....emotional attentiveness, deep Christian faith, self-awareness, and fun. Someone who knows who they are and will appreciate me for who I am. Someone with whom I can grow and mature alongside.

I've learned much from these "voice lessons". I'm proud of how I've grown, particularly in understanding my own gifts and authentic needs. I've grown to understand the expansive vision God has for me, and for all of us, in relationships with people..with not only a significant other but also the joy of family and friends. As such, this seems like a nice moment in which to bring this blog to a close.

This is not the end of my story of course. It is simply a coda, this movement in the larger musical composition is it at its end. I don't know what is to come...but as I reflect at this moment...I sense the reality of hope and possibility for the musical movements that will follow.

Gifts and the Single Parent

2011-12-18T13:20:00.015-05:00

Nurturing a joy for giving is arguably a crucial component for raising a child. Kids learn their life lessons within the context of immediate family. Enter yet another delicate dilemma number for the single parent. Gift giving is yet another one of those areas that is neglected in the Single Parent handbook.

The best-case scenario is for each of the parents to take their child shopping for the other respective parent. Despite our best efforts, sometimes we have to realize that no matter how hard one tries, sometimes our circumstances simply don't rise to the level of "best-case scenario". After all, it's called best case for a reason...at some point, we realize that our scenario is placed on a different point in the bell curve. So, what do we do when we realize our child is craving the opportunity to buy us a present?

I worked with my former husband in the first few years to have Gabe buy the other presents, but that petered out over time. This year, I've had a few clues that Gabe deeply desired the opportunity to give me a gift. The biggest clue was a narrative essay that Gabe drafted in 5th Grade English in which he and his dad went from "store to store" looking for a "neklace for mom" only to be thwarted at each retail stop. When he didn't want me to read it because he was "embarrassed", my heart sunk as I realized the depth of his desire to buy something special for his mom. At the same time, I know that taking him out, giving him money, and having him buy me something special is not special at all.

Enter the greatest gifts of the single parent, those friends who come into our lives and really get it...not only the void in our lives but also the void of our children. My friend Carrie, whom Gabe calls his adopted Aunt, is one of those great gifts. She took my son out shopping for that special Christmas gift, and his great pride in being the giver was evident in his comments as I unwrapped the necklace he'd picked out with a lil' help from Auntie Carrie. He commented, "Wow, that's a shiner" and queried (while really knowing the answer) "Will you treasure it forever?".

Yes, Gabe, I will treasure this wonderful "love's embrace" necklace forever. I treasure the giver beyond all measure. I treasure the blessing I have to be your mom every day, and I wear your necklace each day as a reminder of that blessing. I see your deep joy when your gaze turns to my necklace. I am thankful for you and for who you are becoming.

And, I treasure the gift of friends who surround you and me so that you fulfill the deepest desires of your heart...to be a giver, to bring joy to those you love, to use your resources to bring joy to others.

It's Time

2011-12-03T18:35:00.006-05:00

I swore I'd never lose myself in a relationship. And, I'm glad to say, that's largely been true. I did, however, lose this blog in the midst of a relationship.
Two blogs in the first 9 months of this year...the first a breakup in March...the second a back-together in July. I couldn't bring myself to blog when I broke things off on September 1st.

When I told Gabe, he said: "Are you going to get back together?" and I said "I don't think so, honey". He said..."You break up, you get back together, you break up, you get back together...that's how things work!". "Well, that's what I hoped too but it doesn't always work that way", I noted.

It's been a few months and we're doing fine. Gabe keeps asking me if I'm dating someone (No!) and he's on the lookout when we are out..."You Single?", he suggests I ask when I so much as greet a man.

Lest I leave my dating life to my 10 year old matchmaker (whose suggestions thus far include a grocery checker half my age), I should probably get back out there. While I have fantasies of meeting someone in some real-life context, that's just unlikely in my circles, so I am thinking about venturing back on-line. This, however, requires some humbling work....the daunting "personal profile". Here's my first draft...dear reader, would you...if you were a handsome, engaging, intelligent 40 something year old male...find reason to e-wink me?

What a gift to leave myself open to the possibility of a committed relationship in the long term. Getting there means meeting new people and making friends...gifts in and of themselves. I've learned much from past relationships, and trust that I will learn more in the future...both about myself but about the nature of relationships as well.

I have a 10 year old son, who is the joy of my life. He keeps me grounded by making me laugh and reminding me what's important.

I have a diverse group of interests, including reading, theatre, and music. I also enjoy a sports game from time to time, and keep apprised of my beloved Buckeyes.

I am lucky to have meaningful work as a college faculty member. Working with the next generation keeps me young at heart and hopeful for the future.

There is much of life that is made richer when it is shared, and I look forward to making connections that allow me to share both the joy and challenges that life offer.

I Heart A Great Leader

2011-11-29T17:07:00.012-05:00

I am not one for "I Heart" anything as a public declaration. We have been inundated with bumper stickers, mugs, hats, license plane frame that declare a wide variety of "I Heart" messages...from "New York" to "My Husband " to "My Terrier". Call me cynical, but they all make me cringe. "Really", I think, "That's just great...any why is it important that you let me know?".

I'm one of the last people you'd find wearing an "I heart" T-shirt, and yet I did so today.....at work.....in front of colleagues and students. It was a particularly worthy cause.

The Messiah College Concert Choir coordinated a tribute/fund-raiser for our College President, Kim Phipps. And for that, I donned an "I Heart K P"...T-shirt. And I did so because I am a big fan of the Concert Choir but also because I really do love the leadership of KP.

I was lucky enough to work directly with and then for her for a number of years and I was blessed with some very real but all too rare lessons in higher education leadership.

KP Lesson One: Invite Feedback Early and Widely. I was terrified of criticism when I began to work for her, but she taught me to see that feedback early was something to be invited not feared. I've learned, as a result, that feedback not only strengthens proposals but also helps to broaden a sense of ownership. It really does take a village...some strengthen through editorial revision..details...while others identify holes in the argument that need to be filled....still others note gaps in the proposal that need to be filled. This process broke down my perfectionism and, equally important, enhanced my productivity. Leadership does not happen in a vacuum. Good leaders don't sit in their offices and craft perfect policies in isolation. They draft...they get feedback....they fix.....they get feedback. In the process, the policies themselves get instituted but the team itself strengthens its work as a team....everyone contributes and sees him or herself as part of the whole. And the proposals get reviewed and critiqued by campus committees in such a way as to make them better. That is the essence of shared leadership and its core purpose.

KP Lesson Two: Encourage Ownership. This is one of those "I don't know how she does it" items, but someone Dr. Phipps creates a broad network of people who are enthusiastic and productive supporters of her vision. In fact, she is a visionary but her vision is crafted in a shared context. Somehow you'd find yourself working on a project that you loved but also knew that it fits into her larger vision. Her vision, too, is permeable...as new and good ideas come to her attention, they get incorporated into the larger whole. There is a strong sense of "we" in serving within her organization. Leadership, if it is to be effective, must be shared in higher education. Otherwise, there is no leading at all.

There are lots of reasons to love Kim Phipps as President, but these are a couple around the theme of higher education leadership that come to mind from my own experience. She's broadened my capacity to lead and fanned the flames of my enthusiasm for Messiah College.....for proof of her influence, look no further than my T-shirt....not to mention the T-shirt of hundreds of students on campus today.

On the Other Hand

2011-11-28T15:15:00.005-05:00

There are moments when single parenting/house caring solo makes evident its gifts.

Today's gift: I fixed the shower/bathtub handle.

Big deal? you say. I think not. When things break around the house, it's overwhelming. I have to add rather than subtract from the already lengthy to do list. And I have to triage...what can I fix? what can't I? If I don't immediately know how to fix, can I learn. Outsourcing small repairs gets pricey fast. Moreover, I'm buoyed by my feminist sensibilities.

So, this week the shower handle broke. Argh. It landed in the "I can fix it" category. I removed the old handle and identified the source of the problem...the break in the plastic (this was easy). I took my handle to the hardware store to buy the right replacement. Came home to replace, and bummer...right size but wrong design. Back to hardware store to return.....they don't carry right design. Off to Lowe's. Brought in handle. Found right size and right design. Home again. Followed picture directions on back of package....installed upside down....removed...do over. Wa La. Fixed!

Yes, I felt a sense of accomplishment.

You might see a simple repair, but I see the results of being stretched. If I had a husband to fix these things (which sounds mighty good, I admit), I would not have to stretch myself. I would be able to focus on my own specialties in the house...like laundry and choosing color schemes (my feminist sensibilities are screaming). I would be able to defer to someone else's expertise. In short, I wouldn't be pushed to grow.

Taking care of a house alone is a bit like liberal education in this way. There are things I do not want to do, but they are required in the "general education curriculum" afforded by home ownership. Like the humanities undergraduate who doesn't believe they need to take math or science (that was me), I am forced to learn things beyond those that come easily. I have the opportunity to solve problems...that often at first seem unsolvable...that push me to identify and develop new methods, skills, and capacities.

I am thankful for my own liberal education....for pushing me to learn as the world learns, to enrich my capacity for problem-solving.

I am thankful too that my shower is fixed.

Life Lessons from an Unlikely Source

2011-11-25T11:18:00.012-05:00

When I was in 8th grade, I wanted more than anything to be a 9th grade cheerleader. The coveted 6 spots on the cheerleading team were the coin of the realm for junior high, in a town that stopped everything else for football. I made the 12 finalists, and I remember the final try out. I recall most being unable to do the splits, flexibility not being my strength. The day the announcements came over the loudspeaker, I was a nervous wreck. The six names were read. The dozen red roses were delivered to each winner by the previous year's squad. I was crushed to be among the finalists whose names were not read and for whom the roses did not come.

At the end of 9th grade, I tried out for cheerleading for 10th grade...the first year of high school. I don't recall the try out, but again was disappointed in the outcome. In 10th grade, undeterred, I tried out for the Junior Varsity team. And, this time I made it. And I so wanted to be a Varsity Cheerleader my senior year that I asked a previous head cheerleader, Mary Ann, to help me.

I wrote the required original cheer and designed each move. I learned the required cheer, and practiced...and practiced. I showed up for try outs and remember feeling nervous but confident. I belted my cheer and seemed to really wow the judges. At the end of the try out, I was named Co-Captain of the Varsity Squad, which meant I'd scored second highest in the tryouts. I had set my sights on the goal and done all in my power to achieve it, including hard work and finding a coach.

I've often laughed at myself for wanting so greatly to be something which, in my older years, seemed to have little value. In fact, when a friend posted this picture to my Facebook page I commented "So embarrassing, and to think in high school being a cheerleader was my highest ambition". All these years later, I wonder why I didn't just spend my time with the theatre and music crowds...areas where I had obvious talent but were the realm of the "less cool". If only I'd have had the courage to focus on my real gifts at that precarious time in life.

There is one thing I've really undervalued though, a trait that was evident that transcends questions of coolness. I was really determined to become something and I chose not to let limitations like the 'splits" deter me from achieving my goal. Whatever happened to her! In fact, what made me a great Varsity Cheerleader was, in fact, not the splits (which I never could accomplish but in high school became the domain of the Song Leaders) but my ability to command a crowd of 5000. My theatrical ability, along with my persistence, served in my favor. I tapped into my gifts to achieve my aim.

Just last week I was notified that I did not receive entrance into our college's program for release time for ranked faculty to focus on scholarship. And while my notice affirmed my "promising scholarly agenda", the reason for denying my application was that my scholarship thus far hasn't reached the threshold for "meritorious scholarship". I was crushed. I've been a ranked faculty member for 6 months...just six months. In my 20 years as an administrator, I have done some solid writing but apparently not enough. When I uttered my disappointment to a colleague she said confidently, "you will". And I wondered why she so easily turned the corner to my reapplying in the future when I was stuck in the limitations of this particular “no”. At what point did I transition from hearing “no” to mean “not now” rather than “not ever”. When did “no” transition from a moment in which I had yet to display my potential (or others neglect to see it or the fit to be right) to one in which I internalized it to be the final word on my promise and potential.

I am a solid writer, but for a variety of reasons…some my own making but others belonging to external factor…I have yet to display that potential.

Apparently, My journey to becoming a cheerleader…and not just any cheerleader, the Varsity Co-Captain...offers some important lessons as I become a scholar. Now, that is something I honestly hadn’t imagined.

One Great Kid

2011-11-23T20:48:00.003-05:00

Today, I was vacuuming and my son thought it'd be funny to scare me. So, he entered the room unnoticed and spit out a high pitch scream. I screamed at the top of my lungs(to his joy)and while I narrowly avoided yelling expletives I screamed some not-so-creative alternatives.."GOSH...DARN....IT". I wasn't happy. I hate when he does this, and I've told him so. It took a moment for my heart's beat to slow, and I said sternly... "Don't Do That! Do You Want your Mother to Have a Heart Attack?!!".

"That's not how heart attacks happen", he retorted, "We learned in science that heart attacks happen when cells die and blood can't get to the heart".

"It's official", I said with a growing grin,"I'm not smarter than a fifth grader".

On the better days...which really are most days...I count the many blessings of spending each of my days with my son. He's great. He's funny. He rolls with the punches of life. And helps me keep perspective.

Parenting Solo

2011-11-22T14:24:00.005-05:00

There are days when I say and feel that single parenting is, if not great, then eminently doable. Today is not one of those days.

Today is a big fat reminder that single parenting is a misnomer. Doing it all alone is much more like it.

Gabe came home from his weekend at his dad's tired and cranky. He also came home exposed to a bug from his year old sister, which given his tired system unsurprisingly turned into full on illness. So, when on most days I find the courage and spirit to say it's ok, here's why today it just isn't.

Gabe's headache, fever, and belly ache kept him awake most of the night. My efforts to provide Tylenol, cold compresses, juice, back rubs, and the most soothing voice I could muster kept me up most of the night as well. There was no other parent with whom to team tag so we could each get some sleep, which I imagine gives each a better chance at offering the soothing voice to a sick kid. (I snapped a bit mid-morning). As I feel the bug myself, there is no one to care for Gabe while I rest. And there was no one to negotiate sharing sick-child care with as I considered my busy work day. Gabe had to come to work with me for the one meeting I could not cancel today. The other meetings had to wait.

And then the notion of single parenting doesn't begin to address the taking-care-of-a-household solo realities. As I dragged my sick kid to work, the "malfunction indicator light" came on in my car. Lovely. No one to ask to "take care of that for me". When we got home, I had to take the trash out. After I delivered the 3 bins of recycling and 4 trash cans to the curb....in the rain...I noticed a pile of dirt in the garage. My best guess is a critter had found his way into a new bag of top soil in my garage. Duck taping the whole, placing the top soil in new bag, cleaning up the mess......all mine. Coming into a house that's a mess reflecting my recent whirlwind work travel....during which I depended upon good friends and neighbors to care for my son since his father lives 90 miles away and thus can't host him on school nights. Parenting alone means that I pack not one bag but pack my kid up as well...my travel disrupts his living situation and reminds us both that our family life is not as God designed.

Yes, I know. Really, I do. I am blessed in many ways. I have a job that pays the bills, offers me sufficient flexibility to parent, and brings me meaning and joy most of the time. I have a few friends who help me out....a lot. I should focus on these things; after all, Thanksgiving is just a couple of days away. That reminds me. I have a turkey to buy and a house to clean. Maybe I'll just allow myself the gift of being sad and cranky for a day or so.

Success-ion!

2011-07-13T16:23:00.007-04:00

It's been a long few months. To make a long story short, C and I have been up and down and deciphering and trying to work on the relationship. Hard but good work. As I've been hopeful about rerestoring our relationship status [in a non-Facebook sort of way] I've been really concerned about telling Gabe. Unnecessarily so.

When I told Gabe that I'd decided to date Craig again, Gabe said "Cool", with enthusiasm, and added "If you're happy, I'm happy". I replied with "Thanks Hun", and he continued...."I don't want you to be lonely. When I go off to college, although you'll see me everyday during college[at this point he plans to attend where I work], but after that".

I get it. He's 10. He's good with this because it fits his needs. Still, I think it's also safe to reaffirm that taking care of ourselves is one way of caring for our kids. In this case, Gabe intuits that mommy having someone (in addition to him) in her life will alleviate my loneliness when he leaves the nest. And he is right. At the same time, it alleviates his need to be my caretaker. No kid should feel responsible for his parents' wellbeing. I am committed to not placing that weight of the world on his shoulders. I am glad to have his unbridled support as I take responsibility for my own well-being, and to be reminded that, in doing so, I succeed in my commitment to be responsible for his.

The Wisdom of Youth

2011-03-16T17:25:00.007-04:00

"When you start dating again, tell me this time.", Gabe declared as we got in our car at the grocery store lot. "I will", I responded."You are older now and can understand better". He is 3 years older, in fact, than when I started dating following my divorce from his dad. It's between two years since he met C. It's been two days since I told Gabe C and I were no longer dating.

Gabe's moving much faster on the idea of mommy dating again than mommy.

Gabe went on. "And this time date someone tall....that'd be awesome....and fun. yeah, I can tell my friends this is my dad and they'll be like whoah.". I asked him what fun was....and he said "he'll take me to the movies when I get an A+ and energetic". Gabe's come a long way in 2 years. There's something in this mommy dating thing for him too, and that's a good thing. C is a good man, but aside from the heighth requirement, Gabe's list betrays C's weaknesses. He didn't have a lot of energy at times and didn't believe in external rewards for grades.

While I recognize that Gabe's list betrays his own perspective and needs, he reminds me that I even though the end of this relationship is a big disaapointment it isn't the end of the story on my finding someone with whom to grow old. Even though I'm not yet ready, perhaps I can begin to hope and even to begin my list. Knowing that Gabe believes now that mommy will date someone means that he is less afraid of losing me, more confident in my deep and undisplacable love for him is comforting. I count that a wonderful sign that he's weathered my first post-marriage relationship rather well. His reminder that there will be someone else for me...someone that fulfills mine and his deep needs...is pure gift.

Another lesson on being attentive

2010-10-17T20:14:00.005-04:00

My son stops cold each time we pass a face of a missing child. He has for some time. I don't recall the first photo he asked about, but I recall the panic I experienced the first time he asked about a missing child. How could I explain to him that other children have just gone missing? Even trying to explain required that I consider the traumatic reality that he could be the one missing. Explaining at any level sparked his realization that he lives in a world where kids like him go missing. The walls we build to block out potential trauma in our lives are torn down answering questions like these.

Gabe finds these photos everywhere. The pizza place has a missing child's face on a candy bin where you can drop in a quarter and get a tootsie roll. A similar notice and candy bin is at my hairdressers. The milk cartons. The signs in the grocery store. Everywhere. Too many lost children.

I walk past these pictures most often without even noticing. I've built strong walls; it's easier to be numb than to ponder the depth of such deep losses. Gabe asks few questions when he sees these notices now. I could learn something from his ability to just live with the questions. He simply stops and looks with a deep compassion at each photo. He notices the age when the child has gone missing. He calculates how old the child is today. When we go to our regular places...he heads toward the notices he has seen many times before.

One time Gabe looked at a notice and said, "Mom, this one is still missing". I was struck by my own lack of hope that a missing child would ever be found and yet it was his sincere expectation. Another time he said "look mom....she was found!" and sure enough, there was a notice that a formerly missing child had been found. That's why these notices are around...because in some cases they work. They work because people notice and believe in hope against hope.

Gabe gives these deep losses and amazing occasions for celebration the attention they are due. He pays attention to loss, to joy, to reality, to miracles. And to his lead, I intend to pay attention.

Being Attentive

2010-10-12T12:00:00.000-04:00

Today I drove a 1988 BMW convertible. Its historical place obvious in its design. I noticed immediately the bright red line at 55 on the speedometer and the absence of cup holders. The German engineers, I was told, held out a long time before including cup holders in their designs. They firmly believed driving to be its own work....the automobile deserves its rightful attention. I try to imagine a time when driving was about the journey not the destination.

There is no red line on my Accord speedometer, and the days of 55 as the limit for speed are largely gone. We not only have cup holders in our vehicles but also but thermal coffee mugs designed to fit them. The BMW engineers finally capitulated to the market....putting holders in the cars against their will. (The good guys don’t often win when the driving force is consumerism).

Driving is now something that “happens” while we consume a value meal on the way to soccer practice. For longer drives, our vehicles are equipped with DVD players so children can pass the time on the road rather than giving the journey its due.

The reality is we spend most of our lives journeying...far more than we do arriving. We even, sadly, construct our lives in a manner that ignores the significance of the journey. We celebrate the new job but not the multitude of opportunities to grow in our current work. We dance at the wedding but neglect to celebrate the daily milestones that make up a marriage.

Those German engineers were on to something. Life is its own work and deserving of our full attention.

Agent of Rescue

2010-10-08T17:06:00.002-04:00

Mary Karr, in the third memoir of her personal narrative trilogy titled Lit, credits her son with saving her life. She was on the path to personal destruction...depression, alcoholism...and the image of her son's life in light of her choices caused her to change. She's apologetic for the pain she caused him on her path to healing, saying, "because of you, I couldn't die and couldn't monster myself, either. So you were the agent of my rescue--not a good job for somebody three feet tall." (p. 5). Her son, dev, was "barely four" when Karr's marriage and mental health simultaneously unraveled. Yes, being the agent of a parent's rescue is no job for a pre-schooler...or anyone.

And yet, I know exactly what that means....for "agent of rescue" fits perfectly the situation with my own son. My young hero, also about 4 at the time at the time of my divorce, was the source of my survival, my motivation for choosing grace over bitterness. Even now I understand why bitterness is the more prevalent route. Motherhood reminded me why the tougher road mattered; without him, I imagine grace may not have won the day.

And it is Gabe, now 9 1/2, who continues to be the agent of my rescue. Divorce is not a clean equation when it comes to forgiveness. There is no once and done; the wrongs just keep comin. Even wrongs contained in the past take on new significance in light of the present. I choose grace because that's what's good for Gabe, and that goodness reflects back on my own healing and renewal.

Maybe it's not so bad for a child to be the agent of a parent's rescue. I'm not suggesting that parents place the weight of the world on their children's shoulders. I am suggesting that we give credit where credit is due...even to pint-size packages. In this life, the fullness of God's truth comes to us in unexpected ways...the upside-down kingdom is at work, and sometimes a little child shall lead them.

Dating and Children

2010-04-05T12:36:00.007-04:00

"You have too much make-up on your eyes", he says as she descends the stairs to greet her boyfriend.

The couple sits alone on the porch: NO KISSING!!!!, speaks his body language as he leaps through the front door yelling "Surprise!!".

The couple sits in a private space in the home hoping to converse: DON'T FORGET I'M YOUR GUARDIAN, he seems to say as he sits close, hovering, thereby preventing intimate-speak.

Yes, guardians can be ever so obvious in overprotecting their loved ones, hoping perhaps to keep them closer in the midst of their reaching out to love of a different sort.

It's particularly obvious when the guardian is an 8 year old watching ever so closely over his mom's interactions with her significant other. Seriously, my son watches me and Craig like a hawk. Surprise leaps...intentionally hovering. He seriously critiqued my eye makeup on Saturday.

Gabe knows what he is doing; I know what he is doing; I don't know that he knows that I know what he is doing.

Good news for Gabe. I'm keeping detailed notes for when he starts dating.

Warning Labels

2010-04-03T10:18:00.003-04:00

I opened up a package of Chilean Sea Bass this morning. On the package was a sticker: Allergen Warning: Contains Fish. I wondered what this world has come to that Wegman's feels compelled to warn the consumer that a package of fish contains fish. Imagine.

And then I wished for a world, at least momentarily, where warning signs state what at least on the surface is obvious.

Relationship: Warning, this package contains conflict.
Profession: Warning, this package contains uncertainty.
Parenthood: Warning, this package has challenges.

It's not a direct parallel. Allergens to conflict, uncertainty, and challenge are not life-threatening. Naming their inclusion rarely offers an anti-dote to lawsuits.

Still, sometimes I just wish life came with warning stickers. You?

Awed by the Museum

2010-01-26T08:56:00.002-05:00

I called my son while he was with his dad on Saturday. His dad answered the phone in a hushed voice telling me they were in a museum and handed the phone to Gabe. I said to Gabe..."Hi Sweetie. What kind of a museum are you in?".

He replied in a hushed and reverent tone..."a long, long time ago museum".

He continued in his 8 year old reverence..."you know about how we learn about Jesus?" and I said "yes". He said..."before that!" And then he said, responding to some exhibit with again a tone of deep reverence, "oooooh..2nd century". I think the "WOW" was implied.

I decided reverence trumped the details of history at this point; it doesn't matter that he knows that the 2nd century is actually post-Jesus. The theology lesson, for that matter, that Jesus is not only "long, long time ago" but also "present for today" also took back seat. In this moment, reverence was enough.

A momentary and second-hand experience of the museum through his eyes proved better than a visit on my own, in which surely I would've toured quickly and without much appreciation for the massive narrative of history that precedes my experience or for the curators who recreate this history on my behalf.

Being Gabe's mom teaches me reverence and joy and mindfulness. I think I realize one of the things that Gretchen Rubin misses in her "Happiness Project"; the gift of seeing the world through the eyes of children, particularly through the eyes of our own children, is a sure route to happiness and its higher spiritual virtue, joy.

Ruminations on the Happiness Project

2010-01-25T09:14:00.007-05:00

I finished The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin, yesterday, and I admit it made me happy.....happy to be done.

I picked up some interesting tidbits about happiness research, and appreciated the opportunity to ruminate on my own life. However, by the time I reached her October chapter on Paying Attention, I was mindful that this quick and dirty, one year on the road to happiness narrative was getting on my nerves. My favorite moments were her honesty and self-deprecating humor, such as when she engaged in a "Pollyanna Week" of being 100% positive and snapped at her husband before she got out of bed the first morning. That's real. I can connect with that.

My least favorite was the first of her Twelve Commandments, to "Be Gretchen", which she over-articulated. I love the Socratic principle to "Know Thyself", and appreciate its lesson, but I was really glad it wasn't my own Pollyanna week the umpteenth time she said she needed to "Be Gretchen". It distracted me from her point to be myself...doggone it I'm not Gretchen so how many times did I need to read her reminder to "Be Gretchen". I know she was referencing herself, but "being herself" would have been a better way to say it if her memoir was to ultimately reverberate with both author and reader.

Generally, I appreciated the principles of living a better life but found her continuous cycling back to her Twelve Commandments and 21 Secrets of Adulthood and her Four Splendid Truths rather tiring. Of course, this means I should probably re-read November: Keep a Contented Heart. If I were to engage her recommendation to try my own Happiness Project, maybe I should ask if there is a remedial version.

Still, I think my biggest critique isn't the manner in which the project is undertaken. She admits to having a pretty contented life, but recognizes the value in preparing for adversity which surely comes to us all. I actually take objection to Aristotle's assertion that undergirds her project: "Happiness is the meaning and the purpose of life, the whole aim and end of human existence".

The meaning and purpose of life, rather, is growth,learning to love, and being a more authentic agent of God's grace. And when my propensity toward discontent rears its ugly head, it is not its detractor to happiness that is my barometer. Instead, it is the extent to which discontent blocks me and those I am called to love from experiencing God's grace that beckons me to change. And that higher aim, with its two (2...mind you...just 2) great commandments to "Love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength" and "Love Neighbor as Oneself" is probably the only aim of a happiness project that makes me fully mindful.

I guess I reverberate most with Rubin's Twelfth Commandment: "There is only love". Ah, now there is one splendid truth!

Who's Who

2010-01-18T07:24:00.001-05:00

When I was in college, I was named to "Who's Who among American College Students". I'm sure I thought I was a big deal.

Who's Who, however, seems to have gotten out of control. Almost weekly I get notified of my "nomination" to be part of "Who's Who among Executives, Who's Who among women leaders? Who's Who among Intellectuals, Who's Who among middle-aged divorcees?"...well, you get the picture. Thankfully, I no longer think "Who's Who" is such a big deal.

Today I received an invite to "Cambridge Who's Who" which went on to describe itself as a "Registry of Distinguished Invividuals". Even if I thought Who's Who was a big deal, an even bigger deal is the ability to spell.

Anyone want to nominate me to Who's Who among Excellent Spellers?

Picturing God's Rescue Plan

2010-01-17T18:43:00.004-05:00

I am a big fan of the Jesus Storybook Bible: Every Story Whispers Your Name. The premise of this children's Bible is simple; the entire biblical narrative is explicitly told as promises for God's big rescue plan in Jesus.

Gabe and I read it nightly, well almost nightly, and we have for a few years now. He knows which story is coming. He will pipe in when I read the refrain of God's "Never stopping, never giving up, unbreaking, always and forever love". I enjoy how these timeless narratives are retold to give voice to Jesus' mission on earth as God's mouthpiece to a broken world, or "everything God wanted to say to the whole world - in a person"

A few nights ago, Gabe and I read "He's here!", the Lukan nativity story. The angel Gabriel appeared to Mary, and as I read this story for the umpteenth time Gabe put his arm up to the illustration of the angel and said "he is the same color as me....cool!". Sure enough, Jago the illustrator portrayed an angel with a lovely brown skin tone. Not only does every story whisper Jesus' name, but the illustrator ensured that the biblical narrative included the story of each reader. God's never giving up always and forever love in ethnically inclusive! Cool!

Last night we read "A little girl and a poor frail lady", the story of Jairus' daughter. As Jairus ran past Jesus' helpers, Gabe queried "where are the sisters? It's all brothers". I was stumped. And rather than subject my 8 year old to the gendered context of the early church, I kept on reading reminding myself of the promise of God's rescue plan...a plan that is unfolding but not yet fulfilled: The Jairus story in this storybook concludes: "Jesus was making the sad things come untrue. He was mending God's broken world".

May our brokenness around ethnicity and gender continue to mend...may one day these sad realities indeed be untrue.

Generation Gap Fail

2010-01-08T08:58:00.003-05:00

I admit it. I re-entered the world of dating via the internet. I was 41, a single mom, and a full-time employee. It's not as if I had time to attempt to meet other singles in real time. I'm way not a bar person. My church doesn't have a "singles" ministry. And, I mean I was 41 and terrified to date again anyhow. Dating from a distance felt less threatening.

It's not that I didn't think it was weird. I did. And I do. A male friend suggested that I should do it, that I'd get a lot of "hits" on Match.com. I so wasn't into having my picture viewed by perfect strangers, nor did I really want how I looked to be the primary driver for starting a relationship. I tried the 3 month eharmony trial. Actually, I did the trial twice about six months apart. Who knew that a simple change of e-address could give me two free trials? Creative frugality has its perks.

Was eharmony an adventure? You bet. I was matched with the same man in each trial. I guess he hadn't found his 23 dimensions of compatibility match. Hm. He was a skiier and asked me a lot of questions about fitness....and I mean a lot. He abruptly "closed the match" with me in "open communication" when I said I exercised but wasn't obsessed about it. I think he got defensive when I said "obsessed". I didn't get past the multiple choice and 'must have/can't stand' lists with many "matches". Three actually. Two of those I never met. One I did.

I've been dating that one for a year and a half. After a year, we introduced our children. I've met his parents. He's met my mom. We've done holidays together. And, you know what? The fact that we met on eharmony still feels weird to both of us.

I thought perhaps the weirdness of internet dating was pronounced for us mid-lifers. After all, the young adult generation has grown up with the internet. It's probably just part of their world.

I was mistaken.

I was teaching a class of first year college students recently. We were discussed "social capital" in America. One of Putnam's questions is how technology has impacted the state of community in America. I don't know how, but the class dialogue went to internet dating. Simply said, they thought it was totally weird. As I listened to their rants about how bizarre it is to meet people on-line (to which I am sympathetic mind you), I started to smirk. It's not good when a college teacher smirks. Finally, I had to come clean.

I used it as a teachable moment. I admitted that I'd been dating a wonderful man for some time that I'd met on-line. Quickly, the dialogue started to back track. "My aunt met her husband on line; her marriage is great!", etc. And I stopped them. I said, no you have asserted a thesis: "People who date on-line are weird". Now, you have to make a decision. If your thesis is correct, then I am weird. If I am not weird, then your thesis should be modified. And, of course, I affirmed that my being weird is a very real possibility.

The jury on the class thesis is still out. But even if I am weird, I am enjoying the fruits of my odd foray into on-line dating.

Worth a Shot!

2009-12-21T19:39:00.005-05:00

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

2009-10-20T16:18:00.005-04:00

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

2009-09-19T14:22:00.004-04:00

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

2009-06-21T12:10:00.008-04:00

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

2009-06-09T09:06:00.005-04:00

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

2009-05-12T15:46:00.005-04:00

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".

2009-04-12T13:11:00.003-04:00

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

2009-04-10T11:38:00.001-04:00

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

2009-04-04T17:23:00.004-04:00

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

2009-01-06T16:28:00.010-05:00

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

2009-01-01T14:13:00.007-05:00

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.

Abode to 2008

2008-12-31T20:42:00.008-05:00

2008. All in all, it's been a good year.

Gabe has learned to read and is beginning to really enjoy it. He reads books almost as much as he collects books, which reminds me of his mother. Gabe's 7th birthday party was held at the Young Chef's Academy, where he and several friends cultivated the culinary arts. And, soccer was again a major part of our fall. He seems to be well-rounded. Still, what encourages me most is witnessing the unfolding of this compassionate, funny, and resilient young boy who calls me mom.

Relationships have been a highlight this year. Attending my 20 year reunion at Occidental College provided the opportunity to rekindle longstanding friendships, and also enabled me to transform some college acquaintances into new midlife friends. I also re-entered the dating world in 2008, realizing that "it was time". The timing was nudged by a chance meeting in an airport that led to a whirlwind long-distance Verizon-supported romance. After being reminded of a part of me that I'd shut down for some years, I briefly entertained just "dating" and staying away from relationships only to realize that simply wasn't me. For the past several months, I've enjoyed cultivating a solid foundation for a relationship with a lovely man who helps me to better know myself even as I get to know him. He and I share an appreciation for meaningful conversation, a propensity for the ironic, a deep love for our respective children, and an ability to enjoy life at its simplest. I celebrate all that I am learning with him, including the opportunity and discipline to practice the present and let the future unfold on its own.

I know 2008 was filled with challenge in our world, including the economic downturn. And my life has it's share of woes to be sure. Still, this context has reminded me of the value of the simple joys in my life...meaningful work, a warm home, good friends, a wonderful son, and good health.

2008 has not only been good but has has taught me what "life is good" really means.

Christmas Tunes

2008-12-10T21:32:00.002-05:00

My son and I have a small booklet of family devotions for Advent. One of the entries begins by saying: "Let it snow; let it snow; let it snow. Whoever wrote that song probably didn't have to shovel the walk and driveway". I laughed out loud and thought to myself....'exactly'! Similarly, Winter Wonderland wasn't written by a single person. And clearly Irving Berlin wasn't thinking about Bethlehem when he penned White Christmas!

When did a primary image of Christmas become big happy families roasting chestnuts on an open fire [I don't know about you, but I've never roasted a chestnut.)? When did Christmas become about mistletoe and kissing your beau in a "wonderland of snow"? I'm sure my functional family envy mediates my experience of Christmas culture, but I also know these images aren't the point.

Christmas is, actually, about joy; the human embodiment of the fullest revelation of God. Christmas is also about community; the commitment of Joseph to God and to Mary, surely in the midst of much public ridicule for an out of wedlock pregnancy. In addition, Christmas is about displacement and vulnerability; the God of the universe left the comforts of the eternal to take the form of a tiny baby who experienced the challenges of dependence in our temporal world. Christmas is about discomfort; Mary gave birth to the incarnated Christ in a venue built for animals.

Christmas, perhaps, embodies the promise of paradox; I wonder what might be different today if Irving Berlin or Bing Crosby had captured that notion in a catchy tune.

Paradox

2008-12-09T21:14:00.002-05:00

In The Promise of Paradox, Parker Palmer not only explores but actually celebrates the contradictions of the Christian Life. The 2008 edition is a republication of Palmer's first book, published 30 years ago when Palmer was 40. In his preface to the 2008 edition, Palmer explores the both the blessing and the curse associated with reissuing Promise. The blessing of returning to the joy of first time authorship, a feat he previously thought himself incapable of. The curse of reading in print what he once believed, and finding points of confirmation and contradiction with his convictions three decades later.

As I've wrestled this week with paradox - hope and fear, joy and suffering, disappointment and expectation - Palmer offers some wisdom: "The promise of paradox is the promise that apparent opposites can cohere in our lives, the promise that if we replace either-or with both-and, our lives will become larger and more filled with light". I think I'll hold onto that promise and allow the apparent opposites of my experience to live in tension, as it were, and just see what happens.

"Hopes and Fears"

2008-12-06T14:42:00.004-05:00

Some Christmas Carols are really wonderful reminders of the truth of the the gospel and its relevance for all of life, including the rough times. Indeed, may our "hopes and fears" be met in the incarnation!

O Little Town of Bethehem.

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

For Christ is born of Mary, and gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep their watch of wondering love.
O morning stars together, proclaim the holy birth,
And praises sing to God the King, and peace to men on earth!

How silently, how silently, the wondrous Gift is giv’n;
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His Heav’n.
No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in.

Where children pure and happy pray to the blessèd Child,
Where misery cries out to Thee, Son of the mother mild;
Where charity stands watching and faith holds wide the door,
The dark night wakes, the glory breaks, and Christmas comes once more.

O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels the great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel!

The Game of Hope

2008-12-06T10:41:00.009-05:00

Hope as the "expectation of something desired"(Oxford Dictionary of Etymology); sometimes expectations go unmet. Random House Webster's augments this definition by noting that hope is "to look forward to with a reasonable confidence", reminding me that perhaps there are times of unreasonable looking forward to. The greater our expectations and desires...the greater sadness when our hopes go unmet. And, while there is perhaps room for "hope against hope" theologically, sometimes the psychological reality of lowering our expectations is a better survival option. Creating space for hope then feels like a game of limbo. We keep lowering expectations in order to avoid disappointment until we have few hopes and lose our balance altogether.

This has been a week in which hope has taken a bit of a beating. My dad returned the hospital this week, and while he is doing much better today, it was a nerve-wracking week from 3000 miles away. With each bout of illness, I come to terms again with the reality that my hopes for a warm father-daughter relationship have gone and will most likely go unfulfilled. Hoping for a different relationship with him does not rise to the level of "reasonable confidence", and yet hope dies hard. I had a reasonable confidence that my son's dad would follow through on his child care commitments, and he fell through yet again this week. And I have challenged myself to not so lower my expectations that he is able to meet them. Yet, it's not easy. And finally, I got through the week with the backdrop of expectation for bringing my "friend, friend" to a special event. This definitely rose to the "reasonable confidence" barometer given that he committed a few weeks ago and hasn't fallen through on any commitment in the six months I've known him. Unfortunately, he forgot and double-booked himself which we realized only yesterday. The disappointment here clearly exasperated by the dashed expectations which have largely characterized my week. He is still working to "fix" the situation, and while I am hopeful, I also recognize that I could be disappointed.

In the middle of all this, I've had some friends who have listened and done their best to help. One gives voice to my sadness when I seem unable to do so myself. Another reminds me to speak truth and yet another encourages me to grieve. If truth prevails, that is a form of hope. And finally another friend, who, when I posed the possibility of him doing me a big favor to help me with my dad dilemma responded, "I will work out whatever needs to be worked out!". Some people simply rise above our expectations....turning the game of limbo into one of hurdles..how high can you go!

There are hopes that are reasonable and some that, perhaps are unreasonable, and hope in people is always dicey. The big hope I need to not sacrifice to the limbo of lowered expectations is that all disappointments are not the same. Some who mess up can't be trusted to or are incapable of fixing things. Still, there are some people who when they mess up do, indeed, do all they can to "put things to right", as N.T. Wright coins in. And there are still others who put things to right even when they had nothing to do with what went wrong. And, I need to be careful not to let even a few major disappointments cause me to let other exemplars of hope fulfilled, such as these friendships, fall down like a series of dominoes.

Intersections

2008-12-03T19:35:00.004-05:00

I've been pondering the connections between joy and suffering quite a bit as of late. I have always considered them to be two distinct experiences that aptly describe entirely different moments in time. I am beginning to rethink that demarcation.

My son's dad recently had a daughter with his girlfriend. As any 7 year old would be, Gabe was thrilled to be a big brother. Given my inability to have biological children, the reality that my former husband now has a biological daughter is rough. Because "mom-ness" trumps all else, I keep my sadness to myself and celebrate with and for Gabe his new identity as a big brother. I'm not saying it's easy, but easy has never been an apt descriptor of motherhood.

After a bit of wallowing in being on the suffering side of this equation, I realized my divorce is, essentially, a reversal of the above. While I desperately wanted to stay married to Gabe's dad four years ago, it is now true that the divorce essentially liberated me from great pain; it has become my joy to be whole again. On the other hand, this is a great loss for Gabe. This is merely one exemplar among many that, perhaps, easy is also not an adjective often appropriate to childhood.

And I could go on....my joy as an adoptive mother is intricately tied to the suffering of an entire country. If Guatemala had not had such tumult, I would not have had the opportunity to become a mom to my wonderful Guatemalan-born son.

We aren't promised a life without suffering, and yet I still want to make meaning of how joy and suffering are often two sides of the same coin. Dog gone if I didn't wish joy was always pure. The suffering of Jesus on the cross is also the resurrecting Jesus....it was the very sacrifice of Christ that enables my new life. Perhaps the human condition reflects the interconnection of joy and sorrow in a manner that can bring us closer not only to the Christ who saves but also to the one who suffered. And knowing that Jesus suffered so, oddly, brings me comfort and a sense that I am not alone. It is the Jesus who is able to "suffer with', the etymological root of compassion, who walks alongside me, and all of us, in our suffering.

The Power of Repetition

2008-11-30T21:35:00.005-05:00

Sometimes [actually, oftentimes] I will listen to a song over and over and over. It's how I learn a song so that I can sing it myself, which begins essentially with knowing it well...knowing it so well that I do not have to think about knowing it. Still, with each repeat, I hear something new...something I hadn't heard before....and that new insight then becomes a part of the song from that point on. Sometimes I hear something during the umpteenth listen that I surely should've gotten all along. Such as after singing what seemed a typical woman done wrong song turned out to be, quite atypical, as the woman is Mrs. Claus and the wrong-doer is Santa himself. [I highly recommend Jason Robert Brown's Songs for a New World...hilarious, inspirational, and a terrific vocal workout all rolled into one!]

Last Sunday in church, I realized how liturgy does the same thing. I was a guest at my friend's Lutheran church, and the liturgy there is rich. As we collectively prayed The Lord's Prayer, new images came to my mind as we stated "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us". The mutuality of God's forgiveness of us and our forgiveness of our neighbor somehow became more real. The older I get, the more I crave liturgy. It's an avenue to hear the gospel in a manner that feels both more at home and yet new at the same time. And sometimes it helps me "get" something that it seems I should have grasped from the get go.

Motherhood as Noncompetitive Sport

2008-11-22T07:43:00.008-05:00

A friend of mine mentioned her discomfort with "mommy group conversations"; the "advice talk" about getting your kids to bed, to eat well, to get dressed, to use the potty is plain daunting and leaves her feeling disconnected more often than not. She is a mother of an almost 6 year old, so it's not as if she's without need of advice. Still, she'd rather turn to a book. And while I've read my share of books to raise my son, I realize that I've benefited most from a particular genre of "mommy group".

Just yesterday, I had a mommy conversation after our boys jumped on the bus. After sharing my horror at something wildly inappropriate my son had recently exclaimed, one mom simply said:"he's a boy" and "boys do that for shock value". She laughed and helped me laugh and begin to let it go. As the mother of three boys, she knows what she's talking about. And, as a fellow Christian, her advice to "let it go" has credibility. Another friend of mine and I have discussed over the years how our children sleep with us. For Western parenting, this is, as they say, "not good". But she and I are inching our way into reclaiming our adult only beds; our methods are imperfect and our progress occurs in fits and starts. And we walk alongside each other both celebrating the starts and encouraging each other in the fits.

Mommy groups have become a competitive sport. Mom conversations on playgrounds and school drop-off points are all too often punctuated by one-upmanship: "Oh, my four year old daughter is reading chapter books!" "Oh, my son was potty trained at two!". I leave these mommy conversations feeling exhausted and alone. I am drawn to the real and the genuine struggle of motherhood...the challenging times, the stuff that's not in books, the moments the developmental theorists left on their analytical cutting room floors. And it is the mom's that share in this journey that give me energy and courage. They help me know I am not alone in my worries or my imperfections.

My son potty trained only when we "really had to"; we had a preschool deadline [he's very much like his mom....more productive with deadlines!]. He is just beginning to be confident in his reading at age 7 1/2, and he didn't go to sleep in his "big boy bed" until he was 6 3/4. When I beam with joy that my son says he "likes reading" or when I celebrate my ability to have an hour or two to myself after Gabe goes to sleep by himself in his own bed, my "mommy group" really "gets it". And, similarly, I really understand and celebrate with them in their moments of triumph. And our celebrations seem both more credible and more real because we have walked alongside each other in the muck. I say, three cheers to mommy groups with the motto: we "mommy group" to know we are not alone.

Climbing in Love

2008-10-19T19:12:00.011-04:00

I am eight months post my 3 year relationship sabbatical. At times, I want to retreat back to self-imposed intimacy exile, yet I know that relearning this stuff is crucial. Recently, I've been re-immersed in the "early phase" of a relationship...the head over heals part, the think about him all the time part, the wonder how his day has been part. I feel looney and vulnerable, ridiculous and buoyant, sixteen and forty-two all at the same time.

I like this phase because it's fun and it feels good. I enjoy sharing joys and sorrows with someone else. I enjoy the unfolding of each experience, the new insights of each conversation, the series of "firsts" that accompany a new relationship.

I dislike it because it is scary. It feels too good to be true, and regardless of how the future goes...this experience is temporal. The newness goes away. The first kiss happens, by definition, only once. These moments fade.

Infatuation, I am learning, looks similar whether we date as teenagers or in midlife. My perspective on the experience, however, has definitely changed alongide the shift in my ideal date. As a young adult, my dream date involved dressing up and going out. At midlife, my dream date involves jeans, cooking in, and playing Yahtzee.

There are more substantive arenas in which my 42 year old perspective differs from the teenage one. I now realize that relationships are not, ultimately, about "falling in love". "Falling" is involuntary and accidental; that is not love. This morning's sermon, the culmination of a series of sermons pondering the meaning of love, confirmed this. Love, our pastor asserted, is patient and kind. Love is humble and "does not insist on its own way". In sum, love is intentional and feels more, at times, like an uphill climb than a fall.

My sabbatical, and the work I did amidst it, helped me tap into the ways that I previously lived out a distorted vision of love. My patience depended on being right. My kindness extended only as far as I got my own way. I craved the experience of falling in love, without the real work. And now I am learning, slowly, how to take love one step at a time. Watch my footing. Hold onto the rope. And enjoy the view while I climb.

(Random) Acts of Kindness

2008-10-15T13:45:00.003-04:00

Today I received an e-mail from my son's second grade teacher. The Subject line read: "Today". As any parent might imagine, I braced for the worst. Since I hadn't heard from the nurse, I figured he was healthy. I assumed that Gabe had been mean or hit someone or refused to do his schoolwork. ....in short, I assumed Gabe had done something wrong. How wrong I was. I opened the e-mail to read the following:

I wanted to send a quick email to tell you how much I enjoy having Gabe
in my classroom. He is truly a neat kid and I see him being kind to ALL
students in the classroom. Just today, I witnessed him helping another
student that was feeling down ~ Gabe kept telling him positive things
about himself and he included him by asking him to play at recess. I
love seeing these random acts of kindness and I wanted to share the kind
act that Gabe displayed today. He is such a sweet boy!

Have a terrific day.

My heart was deeply warmed by her observations; this is a Gabe that I see often. I experience him to have this amazing compassion, often for those younger or less powerful than he...he seems to inherently reach out to the "least of these" in his world. Still, my qualitative research self recognizes that, when it comes to Gabe, I am absolutely and utterly biased. My love for him has expanded my capacity for love itself, and thus I cannot possibly be objective when it comes to Gabe as subject. Even as Gabe's teacher shared her observation of Gabe's act of kindness, she lived out her conviction. In sharing with me a view of my son from beyond my vantage point, she displayed an absolutely and not-so-random act of kindness. And I am deeply grateful!

Spirituality and its Discontents

2008-09-22T11:24:00.002-04:00

A close friend of mine, Michele, once told me I had the "spiritual gift of discontent". I recognized that her feedback accurately portrayed my sometimes "glass half empty" mindset and my uncanny ability to look at 10 things, 9 of which are perfect, and notice the 10th. After all, I come from a long line of "discontent" in my family. And I have, over the decade since I first heard this, intentionally tried to not only notice but also to verbalize what is right. And, working on my tendency toward "discontent" has been good.

Still, recently I have begun to return to the recognize the "spiritual gift" element too....that it, there is some positive in Michele's statement. N.T. Wright suggests in his book, Simply Christian, that the hunger for justice evident in human experience is an "echo of a voice" that beckons us to faith. The hunger is evident in our desire to "put things to right" and this requires noticing what is wrong. So, perhaps my "spiritual gift of discontent" is indeed a gift as evidence, perhaps, of God's purpose for my life to participate in putting some little part of the world "to right".

Love in the Small and Big Stuff

2008-08-24T20:44:00.005-04:00

Gabe and I visited Harrisburg Brethren in Christ Church this morning. It was my church home for a decade, and while I'm searching for a church at the moment...I keep coming "home" to H-BIC. While I love the theology of grace amidst the brokenness and the multi-ethnic vision, I struggle with the theology of the worship where there seems to be little "we" and a lot of Jesus and me. I desire for the community of faith to be more evident in the worship. It was great to visit, and to be in a place where Gabe and I both know others and are known.

The sermon was on a verse from I Corinthians 13 where Paul says that "Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful"(4-5). Essentially, Pastor Woody suggested that the reality is that life is often hard and unfair. There are some little things in life that we need to just "let go". He said, and I quote, "some of us need to learn the art of not sweating the small stuff". [Only Woody can make theological connections between Scripture and the texts of pop culture.] Now that's easy when we're talking about how different people squeeze toothpaste or interpret scrabble rules, but what about the stuff where letting go isn't so obvious. But life's disappointments also impact the big stuff. Our challenge, then, is to discover what we need to do when our deepest desires go unmet.

And the answer, in a nutshell, is to allow the love of Christ to transcend real experience....for us to choose kindness and patience in the midst. And, God uses all things...sometimes especially the junk in our lives...to transform us. As much as I wish I'd been spared some of life's disappointments, I wouldn't trade who I have become in light of them. And I know that the transformation of the junk in my life occurred solidly amidst the community of H-BIC church. It was good to visit “home” this morning, and challenged me to reconsider the parameters for choosing church in the first place. Perhaps I , too, need to let go of the "small stuff" and return to a place that has faithfully helped so many through the "big stuff" of life's disappointments.

The Fruits of Weeding

2008-07-27T07:54:00.002-04:00

Gabe and I have attended recently to the tasks of weeding and mulching. Gabe has been absolutely amazing! He has focused on tackling the tallest weeds, and has made terrific progress. He has made $13.00, but it is apparent that his primary motivation is not financial. He knows he is making mom very proud. With every bucket, he has retrieved me from the mulching, asked me to remove my garden glove, held my hand, made me close my eyes, and guided me carefully to his work area. When he has me situated perfectly, he asks me to open my eyes and I say "WOW! You are amazing. I can hardly believe your progress!". And he gets this adorable glimmer in his eye and his dimple emerges along with a bright smile. He really has made me very proud. Some days I can't get over how blessed I am.

We've made some great progress overall. Just one side of the house left to weed, spray, and mulch. I remember almost four years ago when I first started to take care of the house on my own, I journaled about weeding as a metaphor for "dealing with the junk in your life". My real and metaphorical house was more weeds than anything at that point. I literally discovered a rose bush under some very tall weeds. I thought then about how important it is to take care of the weeds and to keep at the difficult work of plucking out the challenges.

Recently, I've discovered the real fruits of weeding; once the weeds are clear, there is space to imagine what might be. As I've weeded through some difficulties in my own life, I now have room to see what might be. Four years ago, all I saw was weeds. Today, I am not weed-free [no one is, I presume] but I am content. I have a wonderful job that fits me, and a vision for my future is emerging. I have recently ventured into dating, and realized I have a good sense of what is most important to me in a life partner. Even my house, which I’ve been slowly renovating, is beginning to look like what I only once imagined. And I have a wonderful son, who is showing the fruits of being raised by a healthy, whole mom.

What a joy to see the value of attending to the weeds both literally and figuratively. While I still attend carefully to the "weeds" in my life, I know that the weeds no longer overwhelm the beauty and the joy in my life. And as I weed with my son, the process of weeding and the experience of joy actually merge.

On Being a Woman

2008-06-28T12:16:00.007-04:00

I was asked this morning by a man I barely know for some "tips on housekeeping'. If not for the humor in the question [shall we say the less than pristine state of my household], I might have lost it. Perhaps there is serendipity in the reality that this was an on-line venue. I politely responded that my housekeeping is a disaster, and that right now I'm doing yardwork...which is also woefully behind.

Perhaps I should've let loose instead: "No, and why the hell did you ask?". Are you assuming that because I'm a woman that I must be good at housekeeping?". Or perhaps, I might have hearkened back to a previous e-conversation he and I had regarding what we'd discovered about ourselves since our marriages. I, for example, discovered soon after my husband moved out of the house that the house was a real mess and that there was nothing to eat. I had taken advantage of my husband's domestic gifts; for all the larger flaws in the marital relationship, it's crystal clear that I ate very well and that the house stayed clean....and I did little to contribute to these arenas. Perhaps, I could have returned the question with an equally stereotype-laden question. "So, my car won't go...any tips?" So, I've got my money on the Patriots this season...you?" .

I do not embody the domestic gifts all-too-commonly associated with being female. Moreover, I often drive miles out of my way rather than ever stop and ask directions. I rarely, if ever, tear up during movies. In fact, I rarely tear up at all. I yell at the television during Buckeye football games. I bring home the bacon as a single parent, and did so for the majority of my married life. If one were to decipher my gender solely on the basis of these characteristics, I'd land quite solidly in the male column. Either I'm not a woman, or we still have work to do on gender stereotypes. And, as Sojourner Truth declared, "Ain't I A Woman?"

Meme

2008-06-20T21:41:00.000-04:00

I was tagged by Jenell at The Paris Project with a meme, which of course is completely new to me. An internet meme, according to Wikipedia, is "used to describe a catchphrase or concept that spreads in a fast way from person to person via the internet. The term stems from the broader term, Meme, which is a a "unit of cultural information that propagates from one mind to another as a theoretical unit of cultural evolution and diffusion". For this meme, here are the rules.

1. Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
5. Present an image of martial discord from whatever period or situation you’d like.

Here are the seven facts about myself.

1. My great-grandmother, Alice Stebbins Wells, was the first policewoman in the United States. She was arrested so many times in her early years as an officer in Los Angeles for "impersonating a police officer" [others assumed she had stolen her husband's badge] that she was issued Policewoman's badge #1. My middle name is Alice, in her honor.
2. I love black licorice, but it doesn't love me.
3. My favorite place in the world in Laguna Beach....fond memories of my favorite grandparent, beautiful roses, ocean, cliffs....what's not to love?
4. During recent runs in both Central PA and Southern California, I stopped...literally...to smell the roses. In PA, I heard a voice from an upstairs window yell "Always take time to smell the roses" and I smiled affirmatively in the voices direction. I noticed a California driver notice me smell a rose, and she smiled. A smile on the face of a California driver is nothing to sneeze at. Perhaps its a bias from my Southern California upbringing, but the California roses were much more fragrant.
5. I am a daughter and a mother, but I feel like I'm parenting in both directions on my family tree.
6. I'm renovating my house in the Arts and Crafts tradition, and my son is used to saying "hello" by name to the seemingly random stream of men who let themselves in to our home each morning.
7. I am very happy to be 42!

One of the cultural realities of the meme is rapid revision of the original unit of information. In that spirit, I've tagged not seven but three blogs I like:

Malinda at ilni1
Kristina at tinabeth
Amanda C'est ma vie!

I assumed, at first, that martial discord was a typo for marital discord, but in tracking this particular meme's history, it turns out that martial discord is a image of war. My latest image of martial discord occurred in the airport when a family welcomed their soldier/husband/father home. I was heartened to witness their reunion, but deeply distressed and saddened by where he'd been and why he had to be there.

Cynthia

Last Lecture

2008-06-08T19:59:00.000-04:00

I recently finished Randy Pausch's The Last Lecture. Pausch describes the premise of the Last Lecture on college campuses saying,

"Professors are asked to consider their demise and to ruminate on what matters most to them. And while they speak, audiences can't help but mull over the same question: What wisdom would we impart to the world if we knew it was our last chance? (p. 3)

What makes Pausch's text particularly powerful is that this Last Lecture is not hypothetical. Diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a few months before the lecture, he delivers the lecture with a prognosis of 3-6 months of good health. He his happily married and has 3 children, the oldest is 6. It would be easy for Pausch to focus on "woe is me". What I like is that Pausch frames the question by considering impact on the world as opposed to focusing on what he wants for himself.

Pausch's wisdom is about "really achieving your childhood dreams", and speaks to how, ultimately, each of his childhood hopes has been fulfilled, but perhaps not in the way he imagined. For example, he never got to work at Disneyland as an Imagineer...but, he did get to become a de factor Imagineer during a sabbatical from his faculty appointment. Thinking about how childhood dreams, and how they have come to fruition in surprising ways, is sound advice.

Reading Pausch's book begs a response in the reader similar to that of the audience of a Last Lecture. As I read his text, I was invited to imagine my own "last lecture". And, at the moment, I'm still ruminating.

Simple Pleasures

2008-06-02T20:20:00.001-04:00

Today has been a day of simple pleasures. This morning, I went for a run and stopped to smell the roses...literally. This afternoon I shopped for vegetables at a local farm market. My son and I enjoyed fresh strawberries after he came home from school, and we made lime jello. Dinner included fresh, sliced tomatoes and steamed sweet corn. We even blew bubbles from the front porch. Dessert was vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup...the closest thing to complexity today was rainbow sprinkles. I bought flowers at the market, and planted them in my yard. Red salvia annuals and a perennial called "Ms. Manners"; given my lack of gardening sensibilities....a flower that advertised "obedience" was one I simply couldn't resist.

As I reflect on my day, and how I got there, I contemplate the nature of pleasure itself. A pleasure can simply mean a source of enjoyment or delight. Pleasure, however, also connotates that which is frivolous or a diversion from the real work of the day. As in, are your traveling for business or pleasure? [can it ever be both?]. So, while today was a delight...I also felt a nagging sense that I should've been getting something "done". Which brings me to contemplate simplicity. While simple means not complicated or complex, I found today to be complicated. I didn't even jot down a to do list today. No deadline loomed, and, as a result, I wasn't sure what to do next. My day of simple pleasures emerged out of lack of direction rather than intention.

Simple pleasures are a spiritual discipline, one that I have yet to cultivate. Tonight, I'll read some fiction and rest. Tomorrow, my to do list beckons.

I'm "Breaking Up With You"

2008-05-27T22:42:00.002-04:00

I just spoke to Gabe on the telephone. He is in Ohio with his dad and his Maw Maw and Paw Paw. Gabe is having a wonderful time; he saw lots of fun animals at the Cincinnati Zoo yesterday and is enjoying his 9 month old
cousin.

He was very cute bringing the call to a close. He was on the land line telephone, and apparently went too far from the base. Amidst all the static he said, "I'm breaking up with you". I just smiled and told him to have a great day!

I'm sure it's one of the few times when the words I'm breaking up with you bring a laugh and a smile.

Academic Life

2008-05-05T21:18:00.000-04:00

My son tonight brought me further close to earth in seeing how young eyes view academics. We were at the college and we passed a colleague on the green. When I told him that she "taught English", he responded: "People are cuckoo. That's easy....'hi', 'thank you', 'bye'". Clearly he simplified teaching English with speaking English [which isn't actually that simple either]. Still, it begs the question of how hard it is to understand the academic profession.

I have a great deal of respect for academics, for living a life devoted to furthering knowledge. Not only discovering new knowledge but also to furthering access to crucial ideas among the next generation. I have a great deal of appreciation for the demands of academic life, for the long hours of study and grading and writing. It is also a life that is hard to comprehend from the outside. People tend to think academics have it easy, often not teaching in the summer. But, most don't comprehend how much work goes into great teaching. And how that work often demands long, albeit nontraditional, hours.

I Am From

2008-03-29T09:50:00.000-04:00

In my pluralism course, we composed poems entitled "I Am From". The activity, described by Beverly Daniel Tatum in her book, Can We Talk About Race? helps the author grasp his/her own culture. Reading our poems in class invited students and teacher to share our cultural stories. Essentially, the author begins each stanza with "I am from" and follows up with people, food, places, and the like. What is your "I Am From" poem?

Here is mine:

I am from board games and TV

Afternoons of homework, snacks, and

Mary Tyler Moore.

I am from day trips to the beach and Big Bear for snow.

I am from small yards and concrete fences,

Pomegranate and orange and peach and lemon trees.

I am from cranberry nut bread and Sees candy.

Monkey bread on Christmas morning.

I am from margarine and generic brands

and cream of tuna on toast.

I am from Friday night football, seeing dad at city hall,

and mom in the school library. I am from divorce, single parenthood,

making ends meet, and new beginnings.

I am from Alice Stebbins Wells—

who blazed the trail for female police officers

I am from Lew and Marian, Vera and Ray,

JoAnne and Walter.

I am from generations of slow but steady progress.

Motherhood as Motivation

2008-03-28T15:44:00.001-04:00

Oftentimes we moms ask what we are sacrificing to be moms. The reality is that sacrifices are abundant. We give up time. We give up all or part of work. We even, at times, give up our dignity when we unknowingly leave home with spit up on our sweater or a cheerio on our butt.

I have realized, however, that motherhood also motivates me. As my son grows up, I am reminded that life moves quickly. Watching him is more real, somehow, than seeing the quite obvious changes I see in the mirror. As a toddler, he needed me all the time....to be fed, dressed, and to avoid physical disaster. He turns 7 soon, and he needs me a whole lot less now. He can get his own food, at least snacks. He can get dressed, when we wants to. He can play in the neighborhood without my watchful eye, although I watch him like a hawk. He has play dates now where I end up with unanticipated "free time".

With each developmental milestone, I realize he not only needs me less but also needs me to be me. As he grows older...the dreaded teenage years...it will be my responsibility to have an identity outside of him so that he is not overburdened with entertaining his mom. I don't want him to feel guilty for having his own life. Motherhood, in some ironic twist, reminds me that I must get a life. Now, where shall I start?

AA and Christian Community

2008-03-22T10:23:00.000-04:00

Frederick Buechner writes in Beyond Words that one can't help wondering if Alcoholics Anonymous embodies "what the church is meant to be and maybe once was before it got to be big business". Buechner asks us to imagine the church as 'Sinners Anonymous', a place where we acknowledge that "I can will what is right but I cannot do it" and "For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do", as Saint Paul put it. Essentially, Buechner wonders if there is something the church could learn from AA.

I was a guest at a Saturday night AA meeting recently, and was overwhelmed with the truth in Buechner's query. In a spirit of authentic community, we went around the circle sharing thoughts on the evening's theme, gratitude. Each individual introduced him or herself saying "Hi. I'm 'Sadie/Joe'. I'm an alcoholic". And the others responded warmly and immediately with "Hi Sadie/Joe". Each 'Sadie/Joe' then shared his/her thoughts on gratitude.

I was overwhelmed as individuals shared thanks for everything from finally being able to sleep to having hope for starting over. There was thanks for being able to speak truth about the real stuff of life. All in all, I noted a distinct theme as gratitude for each other. One person said "you are my family and I dig it". Another affirmed, "among you I feel home". I heard a deep thanks for the empathy associated with genuine community: One woman said, "I have people to call and to tell my problems; I never thought I could call others...I thought my problems were not big enough. Now I call". A man tearfully expressed thanks for being "totally understood". As the sharing went around the circle, there was absolute attentiveness to not only the words being expressed but also to the sentiment behind them.

One man suggested in the midst of his comments that "every now and then you get an epiphany". And as the circle came to me, I shared mine. " Hi. I'm Cynthia" ...to which I heard a warm reply "Hi Cynthia". I indicated that I was a guest and simply but genuinely affirmed that "I'm grateful to be here." And, I truly was. I am thankful to have witnessed people being loved deeply in the midst of all the crap of life. I am deeply thankful to have witnessed real acceptance, love, and grace; these are, in my estimation, the very qualities within a community that serve, ultimately, to transform individual lives.

I wonder alongside Buechner what it might mean for Christian community if it looked something like, "I am Cynthia. I am a sinner", and the community responded with a "Hi Cynthia" that resonated warmth and welcome. While I have experienced moments of grace in the community of faith, on the whole I often feel that my sinner status must be checked at the church's front door. It requires a leap to imagine the church on the whole as a place where I can say "I am really struggling to do the good that God desires but falling absolutely short" and getting a response that resonated acceptance before judgment, love before advice.

Ultimately, I am thankful to be reminded of the power of community to walk alongside us in our healing and to love us so deeply that we "do the good" that God desires not as a matter of our own will because the gospel reminds us that individual will is insufficient. Rather, we can do the good in the midst of a community that enables us trust more fully in the power of God to transform us only by meeting us exactly where we are.

War

2008-03-09T11:07:00.000-04:00

A neighbor told Gabe her dad was working for the government in Texas; Gabe asked if he was going to be "in the war"?. I don't mean to jump to conclusions but connecting government and war so immediately concerns me, especially in the mind of a 7 year old. Still, in the current social and political context, what are images associated with government? War is definitely one; our government is engaged in physical wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and engaged in wars of words with many others.

We are in the midst of a presidential election and on the brink of controversy over the Democratic nominee. The electoral and popular votes are potentially at odds in casting the ultimate decision. We are debating whether Florida and Michigan should now count or whether there should be a re-do. It sounds vaguely familiar. It is no wonder that our young adults are so cynical about the political realm.

I have, and continue to discipline myself, with the audacity of hope....but it is a discipline. How can we teach our children and our young adults the power of government to do good in the world? Are there models of hope and good that I am missing? How can we galvanize the current interest in politics into a full-fledged revival of the role of government in and for the people?

Given the current realities, this is war. How oxymoric to be at war for hope.

Playdate Humility

2008-03-08T08:55:00.000-05:00

Playdates are times when children experience the world of the other, and it is sometimes filled with envy. "Hey, I don't have that toy!" " You are so lucky!" " My mom NEVER lets me watch that!" Today, Gabe hosted his friend Alec. As they played with Playmobil toys, of which admittedly, Gabe has a plethora, Alec said he only has one Playmobil toy, and I was proud of Gabe when he didn’t respond. Well, later Alec picked up a piece of another toy and said, “What is this?”. When I noted that it was a Tinkertoy, Alec queried, “What’s a tinkertoy?”. Gabe, not skipping a beat said, “You don’t get out much, do you?”. Given my own propensities for sarcasm, I shouldn’t be surprised. I don’t imagine that Gabe would look at Alec’s Wii or DVD collection and wonder if he doesn’t get out enough, but perhaps he does. At any rate, what does it mean for a child to equate his toy collection with seeing the world? Playdates are times where you really begin to understand kids, particularly your own. There is something humbling about seeing my son in the midst of his relationships with peers.

Six word memoirs

2008-02-22T14:16:00.000-05:00

Val invites bloggers for their six word memoirs. Smith Magazine asserts, "Everyone has a story. Can you tell yours in six words?" at www.sixwordmemoirs.com. Some of my favorites are: "I colored outside of the lines" (Jacob Thomas), "Always working on the next chapter" (Milan Pham), and "A new memoir every five years" (Srini Rajagopalan).

Here are thoughts for my memoir titles:

On Confusing Marriage and Social Work

Shower to Stage: Confident Singing in 10,000 Lessons

Single Motherhood: Incentive to Wholeness

Vocal Complexities

2008-02-21T08:14:00.000-05:00

I experienced conflict with a significant other; something upset me and I let him know. As we worked through it [successfully, I'm pleased to acknowledge], we addressed not only the what but the how. In my delivery, he gave me a 4; for content an 8. I acknowledge that 45 minutes of reflection had certainly improved my delivery, meaning that I could have been much worse! Clearly, I have a way to go.

Finding voice is complicated; it necessitates both tone and content. Authentic voice requires attentiveness to one's audience, that is to say, considering not only what one needs to say but also what the other needs to hear and how they will best hear it.

I have often privileged the content of what is right over the manner in which it is delivered. If I am honest, I privilege being right over being kind most often when I am in delivery mode. It is easy on the receiving end to privilege kindness and compassion. It is tempting in delivery mode to be righteous about the what....about the naive truth that "I am right". Speaking truth genuinely is hard. Living authentically is tough work. As I learn to speak truth more often, I must also learn to do so more compassionately. I cannot practice one lesson without the other.

I love the biblical narrative of the woman at the well. When Jesus meets this Samaritan woman, he speaks truth in a manner that communicates genuine love above all else. It is clear that Jesus knows her....really knows her. He recognizes the sin in her life, but simultaneously sees her pain and loves her in the midst. It is this expansive approach that makes the difference. She must be known, loved, confronted, and called to greater wholeness-and perhaps in that order-- in order to spark real transformation.

Learning this delicate balance in my own life is a slow, painful, but ultimately healing transformation.

Authenticity

2008-01-13T14:44:00.000-05:00

Authenticity is one of the gifts evident in finding one's voice. It has been liberating to be my self and to live my self....with all my very real gifts and shadows. I have grown, as a result, less defensive. After all, admitting to my own faults reduces the temptation to defend an illusion [or perhaps delusion] of personal perfection.
Paradoxically, it has been both liberating and painful to recognize others' lies and delusions. I have endured two spouses who took liberties with the truth, and I often questioned myself rather than them. I questioned whether my ability to trust was compromised. I no longer question my own ability to trust...rather, I know deeply that I can trust my inner voice that wonders: "Is this true?". As I have owned my own shadows, I have, in turn, disowned the temptation to trust others over myself.

Living my life authentically means coming to terms with the lies I told myself within these relationships...lies about my own gifts, about trusting myself, and about speaking truth in the midst. Finding my voice means recognizing both the gifts and the shadows in who I am....affirming the gifts and mediating the shadows. It also means forgiving myself for disowning my sense of self in the past.

Giving Voice to our Stories

2008-01-10T23:54:00.000-05:00

"Writing can be a creative and invigorating way to make our lives available to ourselves and to others. We have to trust that our stories deserve to be told - we may discover that the better we tell our stories, the better we will want to live them." -Henri Nouwen

Voice and the Next Generation

2008-01-04T12:03:00.000-05:00

My 6 year old Guatemala born son, Gabe, and I have an evening ritual. After we read books and turn out the lights each night, we have a little conversation about our day. We ask each other for "favorite" and "least favorite" moments of the day. Sometimes we play "Two Truths and a Lie", where we say 3 things about our day and the other has to guess which, of the 3, is the lie. Last night, our evening conversation evolved into things we would change, if we could, about the world. Gabe said he would make "ticks extinct" and he would invent a special potion to rid the world of "mosquitoes". I'm not certain where his bug disdain came from, but it was a distinct theme. During my turn, I suggested that I would eliminate prejudice, which I defined in what I thought was good kid language as "when people tend to not like those look differently from them". I thought it was a moment to prepare him for both the reality of prejudice against those with darker skin tone as well as the opportunity we have to make our world a better place. Gabe's immediate response surprised me as he exclaimed, "I thought John Luther King took care of that". It took me a moment to recover from the cuteness factor and to respond, well "Martin Luther King, Jr. did a lot of work to change laws and helped us make a lot of progress"...but there is still work to do in people's hearts.

How does a 6 year old already believe that race relations were fixed 40 years before he was born? How will his perspective be impacted when he comes upon the realities of modern day race relations? Specifically, that he will, at some point in time, be treated in a particular way due to his ethnicity? It strikes me that Gabe's response is reminiscent of a lot of adults. Didn't we fix all that race stuff in the 1960's? I don't think so. But how do we honor both progress and the need for change? And do so in a way that both honors our predecessors who have instilled progress and also galvanize future generations to overcome cynicism and seek change?

Pulling Through

2007-12-21T21:25:00.000-05:00

After a quiet and disciplined week, today was the day. I did it. I didn't back out. I sang "Winter Wonderland" with a fabulous, impromptu jazz ensemble. My voice held out. After the piece, I sang several Christmas carols and enjoyed talking again. Of course, after a few hours of freedom, my voice is raspy low again. The "no holds barred" approach to having the voice ready was apparently important! Anyway, focusing on the physical health of my voice kept me from obsessing over the upcoming "performance"! Today, I intentionally reminded myself the best lesson I've received which is in voice lessons: while notes matter, what is most important is to tell the story! Ella is my hero in transforming a song into a story!

Silent Night(s and Days)

2007-12-17T23:15:00.000-05:00

For as long as I can remember, I've had stage fright with my singing. When I was 15, I burst into tears during my audition for Lil' Abner. When I was 17, I walked out of the audition for Madrigal singers, the highest caliber musical group in my high school. The list of "chickening out" since then is longer than I care to admit. One might imagine how taking voice lessons, building confidence in my singing has been a big step. I haven't yet taken the plunge to audition for community theatre. Last winter, I was excited to audition for a community theatre production of Secret Garden. The show has a dream role for an alto...Martha is funny, she tells songs with stories, she is sassy. And the role calls for a low alto...right up my alley. So, this is a dream role...yet, I imagined being excited to simply take part in the chorus or have a bit part. After all, this was to be my first audition in 20+ years...I wasn't expecting the moon. The role and the show also fit my other important parameter...it was a show my 6 year old could see! In the final weeks leading up to the audition, I got bronchitis...and I completely lost my voice. The voice was in no shape for an audition, so I had to pass. I was really disappointed...I really wanted to take the plunge...it's a long lost dream after all. A couple months later, I sang in the college, where I work's, Employee Variety Show. I sang a comedic piece from I love You, You're Perfect, Now Change. In this musical about the cycle of relationships, I sang Always a Bridesmaid which details the disastrous wedding dresses and marriages witnessed by a perpetual bridesmaid. I was nervous, but I had a great time. The show raised funds for a charity, and my jar raised the most money of all 10 acts. I did it! I sang in public, and I did good! The confidence continues to grow bit by bit.

Following the Variety Show, a colleague, Jon, who'd played alto sax during the show asked: "Do you ever sing jazz? Because I could hear some renditions as you sang...". The next day, I ordered some Ella Fitzgerald and Diana Krall. I am hooked. So, when asked if I'd contribute a "talent" to the Employee Christmas lunch, I called Jon! He was thrilled with the idea, and before long...we have a full jazz program complete with 7 instruments and 3 vocalists. One piece is my singing Winter Wonderland with the instrumentalists! Talk about a dream!! Well, one week before the luncheon--last Friday--I woke up with no voice. I'd had a slight ear ache; it's cold and flu season. Before the cold even hit, the voice was gone. After an initial bout of frustration and hopelessness, I decided to do all possible to heal my vocal chords in time for this coming Friday. In the 4 days since, I have spoken perhaps 6 sentences. My son is getting very good at discerning my charade-like, silent directives to eat dinner, play cards, brush teeth. I have drank more tea than I can count. I'm giving it my best shot. Perhaps the good news is that years ago, a hoarse voice would have been the perfect cover for my stage fright...an easy out. This time, the hoarseness catapulted me, after a bout of self-pity, into a serious fight to get my voice ready to sing no matter the cost.

Being Alto

2007-12-03T19:40:00.000-05:00

After several lessons, it was clear--at least to Larry-- that I am drawn to certain types of songs. I enjoy "Someone Like You" from Jekell & Hyde, a woman singing of her desire to be loved by a man...a man whom she sees only the good side of his dual identity. One of my favorite character pieces is "The Gentleman is a Dope" from Allegro. The secretary sings for most of the song about what an idiot her boss is, and then finally in the last verse admits-- both to her self and the audience-- that she loves him. Still, my favorite piece is "Someone Else's Story" from Chess. Florence sings about a women letting go of a relationship and, perhaps more poignantly, of letting go of her promise to the relationship. By the end of the song, she advises that moving on is the right thing but also acknowledges the depth of her loss. Moreover, she finally admits the real story--the "story is the girl is me". After a few weeks of this material, Larry asserted, "We need to find you some upbeat songs!". I fondly retorted, "The alto never gets the guy".

There is a relational pattern in musical theatre....typically the soprano and tenor fall in love, experience conflict, and reunite for the happy ending. The baritone is the bad guy. The alto either loses her man or supplies comic relief. As I think about my own relationships thus far, it seems I've played my vocal part well. In spite of what seem today to be insurmountable challenges, it has been hard to let go of relationships or, more pointedly, to the commitments I've made to relationships. I have not wanted to be that person who gives up or doesn't live up to her convictions. In the end, thought, I've woken up and wondered with Florence: how did I come to live "someone else's story"? In my quest to not let go, I've lost myself. As I work on these pieces in my repertoire, I now hear, and give voice to reality of these pieces...a longing to be loved that sometimes overwhelms a judge of character....to sometimes funny and othertimes tragic results. And as I contemplate the idea of relationships for the future, I long to love and be loved in an authentic way, that enables me to live my own story. I love being an alto....I just don't have to play the role off stage!

Letting Go

2007-11-18T22:36:00.000-05:00

I never imagined I'd be finding my voice at 40-something, and yet here I am. When my second marriage fell apart, I found solace in three sources - my community of faith, a good therapist, and voice lessons. I have always loved to sing, but a sense of "imposter syndrome" always overwhelmed my courage. So, I found a voice teacher at the age of 38, and aimed to really see if I could sing. I imagined learning to breath well, stand up straight, and enunciate. In the last three years, I have, indeed, worked on these techniques but have found these to be ultimately minor aspects of voice lessons.

My first lesson was learning to relax. My teacher, Larry, quickly noticed that my jaw was perpetually tense. [Of course, given the genesis of these lessons, a little stress in the jaw is no surprise]. Private voice lessons are intense, so tension is no surprise. As the student, I basically sing....alone....in a small room with one teacher and a piano. He played the piano and beckoned my voice to follow the notes...usually with sounds reminiscent of an early childhood phonic lesson....Ahhhhhhhhh, Ohhhhhhh, BiBopBiBopBiBop. The scales didn't stay in my comfort zone, but were designed to push my vocal range at both the high and low extremes. During these exercises I was supposed to "relax". Instead, I stayed true to character and simply tried too hard focusing on getting it right. The result was nervous laughter and a vocal sound only a teacher being paid by the hour could love.

In the midst of these exercises, Larry would sometimes ask me a story about my life, about my then four year old son. And I would tell him a funny story, and we'd talk a moment, and then we'd return to the exercises. I recall thinking on several occasions: "I'm not paying him for idle chit chat!" And then one day, I got it. Larry asked me a story about my son right in the midst of an exercise....at that moment of trepidation on the scales when the voice either transitions smoothly to it's "upper register" or it "breaks". After sharing my anecdote and subsequent smile, Larry returned to the exercise and my voice soared smoothly through the scale. Suddenly, I was on to him! Larry asked me for stories of my son at strategic moments, those times when I needed most to relax. Voice lessons have been less about technique and more about letting go, which - I should add - complimented the advice from my therapist and faith community perfectly!