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.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
The Power of Repetition
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.
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.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Motherhood as Noncompetitive Sport
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.
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.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Climbing in Love
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
(Random) Acts of Kindness
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!
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!
Monday, September 22, 2008
Spirituality and its Discontents
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".
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".
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