Rarely do I have a serendipitous moment in which my spirit and my external life are quiet in tandem. This morning, as the rain thrums and my coffee boils, only one of my three children has awakened. She sits with her nose in a book, tucked into a warm corner, nibbling on cake.
"Would you like a pretzel?" I ask, having unearthed the frozen treats while digging for tonight's dinner. We are not overly fond of breakfast foods. She says yes, so I add cheese to a few and pop them in the oven.
I flip through one of a dozen homeschooling books while we wait, but she has a concern. She shows me the passage in which Jill calls her teacher a bitch -- she is reading Judy Blume's Blubber -- and asks how much more of "that kind of stuff" is in the book. I am pleased at her questioning; last night, she turned down an opportunity to see a PG-13 movie with her friend because she doesn't like violence. I share some thoughts about the book and she moves on.
Soon, my coffee will kick in and the day will move on. My sons will wake and everyone will need assignment lists, meds and breakfast. The painter will call -- or not -- about my living room wall and ceiling. Laundry, housework and meals, pets and crises met or avoided...those are my days.
But for just this morning, just this moment, I am peaceful.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Ruled by fear
The concept of rule by fear is nothing new, even in the literature and history my children currently are studying.
Squirt and I are reading The Epic of Gilgamesh, in which the people of Uruk complain to the gods because "none could withstand his arms." Gilgamesh did whatever he wanted because he knew no one could defeat him.
European explorers and settlers -- well, we all know how they treated Native Americans. Vikings were such war-mongerers that their entire concept of the afterlife hinged on dying in battle. In virtually every one of Andrew Lang's Blue Fairy Book tales, a menacing person or creature keeps someone cowering in fear.
As for the Bible, tyrants abound in the Old Testament and in the New Testament we are often warned to be on our guard against the devil because "he prowls around like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour." (1 Peter 5:8, NIV)
Yet I find myself, even armed with this knowledge and a deep and abiding faith in God, worrying. Squirt and I will be on our way to the doctor in an hour to have his head checked out. He has a lump that has been there since at least summer, although I only became aware of it yesterday. It looks and feels like a harmless type of calcium deposit. My mom has had them. So has my brother. I say I'm not worried, and then...I do.
What if? I wonder. Cancer is the scourge of Geddy's family. His grandmother, his mom, his dad, his uncle. At around midnight last night, cancer took a fine man just a few years older than we are, a much-loved husband and father. Monday, a good friend will have what we all pray is her last breast cancer-related surgery. Another friend is recovering from reconstructive surgery after a radical double mastectomy. Our 10-year-old neighbor nearly died last fall from the toxic effects of chemotherapy he had as a toddler, when he was diagnosed with a rare form of bladder cancer. What if?
I don't know, but God does. And that's the key: every tyrant has his challenger and every oppressed people its champion. Enkidu was Gilgamesh's; Jesus is ours. I can continue to be ruled by fear as I always have been, or I can choose to follow my champion. I want to be strong enough to let go of my worry and live the life of abundant joy I've been promised, even when the threat is toward my children instead of myself.
Squirt and I are reading The Epic of Gilgamesh, in which the people of Uruk complain to the gods because "none could withstand his arms." Gilgamesh did whatever he wanted because he knew no one could defeat him.
European explorers and settlers -- well, we all know how they treated Native Americans. Vikings were such war-mongerers that their entire concept of the afterlife hinged on dying in battle. In virtually every one of Andrew Lang's Blue Fairy Book tales, a menacing person or creature keeps someone cowering in fear.
As for the Bible, tyrants abound in the Old Testament and in the New Testament we are often warned to be on our guard against the devil because "he prowls around like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour." (1 Peter 5:8, NIV)
Yet I find myself, even armed with this knowledge and a deep and abiding faith in God, worrying. Squirt and I will be on our way to the doctor in an hour to have his head checked out. He has a lump that has been there since at least summer, although I only became aware of it yesterday. It looks and feels like a harmless type of calcium deposit. My mom has had them. So has my brother. I say I'm not worried, and then...I do.
What if? I wonder. Cancer is the scourge of Geddy's family. His grandmother, his mom, his dad, his uncle. At around midnight last night, cancer took a fine man just a few years older than we are, a much-loved husband and father. Monday, a good friend will have what we all pray is her last breast cancer-related surgery. Another friend is recovering from reconstructive surgery after a radical double mastectomy. Our 10-year-old neighbor nearly died last fall from the toxic effects of chemotherapy he had as a toddler, when he was diagnosed with a rare form of bladder cancer. What if?
I don't know, but God does. And that's the key: every tyrant has his challenger and every oppressed people its champion. Enkidu was Gilgamesh's; Jesus is ours. I can continue to be ruled by fear as I always have been, or I can choose to follow my champion. I want to be strong enough to let go of my worry and live the life of abundant joy I've been promised, even when the threat is toward my children instead of myself.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
A most beautiful ending: "How the Animals Die"
Something calls the creature away from his daily round; age or natural disease touches him gently in a way that he has not felt before. He steals away...and picks out a spot where they shall not find him till he is well again. The brook sings on its way to the sea; the waters lap and tinkle on the pebbles as the breeze rocks them; the wind is crooning in the pines,—the old, sweet lullaby that he heard when his ears first opened to the harmony of the world. The shadows lengthen; the twilight deepens; his eyes grow drowsy; he falls asleep. And his last conscious thought, since he knows no death, is that he will waken in the morning when the light calls him.
(William J. Long, School of the Woods)
(William J. Long, School of the Woods)
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Irrelevant religion
Some days I am amazed that anyone's relationship with Jesus Christ can survive church.
Loving other people is hard. Putting other people first is hard. Setting aside your own needs is hard. We go to church and our leaders remind us that our first ministry is family, which happens to be our own personal conviction as well.
We choose hard over busy. We scale back and prune and weed and say no until all that remains is a child's handful of Very Important Things. Youth group and dance, music and library and AV and praise team and leadership. Homeschooling, especially now that Squirt is a high-schooler. Individual time with Squirt and Squish and Squonk. Couple time with Geddy and me. Doctors, dentists, allergists, groceries and Target. Still a formidable schedule, only with the right priorities.
But wait.
We need to get you plugged in, our spiritual higher-ups protest. You're not plugged into a small group. Your kids are not plugged into ministry. It's our turn to protest; small group would be the fifth night of seven that our family would be apart each week, and if family is our first ministry, that cannot be. Our children minister in small ways every day as they learn to be the same Christ-followers away from church as they are at church.
Our family befriended a child in state care and has visited her regularly for nearly a year, meeting some of her emotional and physical needs and praying for the complete restoration of her family. Is that not ministry?
For years, we have participated in the Toys for Tots program and for the past couple, our children have helped fill orders and package toys for delivery. It has changed the way they see Christmas. We have played Bingo with elderly and disabled residents at the housing authority. We have donated toys, clothes, books, blankets and food; baked for the hospice holiday sale; tutored, mentored and encouraged. Ministry? Yes!
In the past two months, we have spent hours clipping coupons and carefully shopping sales so we will have enough to quietly share with people who need, but don't ask. We have set aside a certain amount of money each month and used it for immediate needs like helping fund friends' mission trip to Africa and a grocery card for grandparents who recently won custody of their son's young children. Our Haitian princess, whom we've supported through Compassion International for more than three years now, would argue that we are involved in ministry, I think. The five Central American children who are being adopted by families here will never know that our asthmatic 9-year-old kicked 1,000 soccer goals during a dangerous flare-up to raise a measly $150 toward their cause, but if they did? Definitely ministry.
Maybe that's our problem. Maybe we should post our list of services on a sandwich board and walk it around at church, to prove we're worthy members. Or abandon some of our "unimportant" service projects -- insist our little friends find their own ride to youth group instead of driving them, watch our neighbor's beloved old dog die on the highway instead of walking him home, giggle at the old lady who can't read the small-print labels at the market instead of offering to help -- and focus our efforts on warehousing other Christians so we can, on solemn Sundays, be very glad we're not those needy people.
Or, we could encourage those who don't look very closely to do so. Instead of assuming ministry is not happening if we don't see it, we could assume that it is because that's what God asks of us, all day, every day. That the people who say they are Christ-followers are acting like it, even off-campus, even on their own, even in an unsanctioned area.
Serving other people, putting their needs first, is hard. So is feeling out of place in church, somehow out of favor with the leaders we depend on to teach us spiritual truths. But even if it means becoming more of a Christ-follower and less of a church member....we choose hard.
Loving other people is hard. Putting other people first is hard. Setting aside your own needs is hard. We go to church and our leaders remind us that our first ministry is family, which happens to be our own personal conviction as well.
We choose hard over busy. We scale back and prune and weed and say no until all that remains is a child's handful of Very Important Things. Youth group and dance, music and library and AV and praise team and leadership. Homeschooling, especially now that Squirt is a high-schooler. Individual time with Squirt and Squish and Squonk. Couple time with Geddy and me. Doctors, dentists, allergists, groceries and Target. Still a formidable schedule, only with the right priorities.
But wait.
We need to get you plugged in, our spiritual higher-ups protest. You're not plugged into a small group. Your kids are not plugged into ministry. It's our turn to protest; small group would be the fifth night of seven that our family would be apart each week, and if family is our first ministry, that cannot be. Our children minister in small ways every day as they learn to be the same Christ-followers away from church as they are at church.
Our family befriended a child in state care and has visited her regularly for nearly a year, meeting some of her emotional and physical needs and praying for the complete restoration of her family. Is that not ministry?
For years, we have participated in the Toys for Tots program and for the past couple, our children have helped fill orders and package toys for delivery. It has changed the way they see Christmas. We have played Bingo with elderly and disabled residents at the housing authority. We have donated toys, clothes, books, blankets and food; baked for the hospice holiday sale; tutored, mentored and encouraged. Ministry? Yes!
In the past two months, we have spent hours clipping coupons and carefully shopping sales so we will have enough to quietly share with people who need, but don't ask. We have set aside a certain amount of money each month and used it for immediate needs like helping fund friends' mission trip to Africa and a grocery card for grandparents who recently won custody of their son's young children. Our Haitian princess, whom we've supported through Compassion International for more than three years now, would argue that we are involved in ministry, I think. The five Central American children who are being adopted by families here will never know that our asthmatic 9-year-old kicked 1,000 soccer goals during a dangerous flare-up to raise a measly $150 toward their cause, but if they did? Definitely ministry.
Maybe that's our problem. Maybe we should post our list of services on a sandwich board and walk it around at church, to prove we're worthy members. Or abandon some of our "unimportant" service projects -- insist our little friends find their own ride to youth group instead of driving them, watch our neighbor's beloved old dog die on the highway instead of walking him home, giggle at the old lady who can't read the small-print labels at the market instead of offering to help -- and focus our efforts on warehousing other Christians so we can, on solemn Sundays, be very glad we're not those needy people.
Or, we could encourage those who don't look very closely to do so. Instead of assuming ministry is not happening if we don't see it, we could assume that it is because that's what God asks of us, all day, every day. That the people who say they are Christ-followers are acting like it, even off-campus, even on their own, even in an unsanctioned area.
Serving other people, putting their needs first, is hard. So is feeling out of place in church, somehow out of favor with the leaders we depend on to teach us spiritual truths. But even if it means becoming more of a Christ-follower and less of a church member....we choose hard.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Well, hello there
I've been making friends with adult ADHD. Been kinda busy.
Squirt and I were "officially" diagnosed in tandem last fall. His difficulties in a regular classroom setting were back of our decision to homeschool nine (yes, NINE!) years ago. He's done well, but puberty and increasingly lengthy math computation required a trip to the local behavioral psychologist for 20 trees' worth of questionnaires. A frill-free diagnosis of ADHD-inattentive type and 25 milligrams of daily Vyvanse later, he's doing pretty well.
Me, not so much.
Apparently, you can't just take a pill and expect your brain to function normally. Bummer. Next step: higher dosages, and maybe timed-release delivery. Then, co-existing conditions like "generalized anxiety disorder" and possibly "sensory integration disorder." Finally, more questionnaires and guess what? You just hit nine out of nine markers for adult presentation of hyperactivity!
I AM grateful to have a reason -- not an excuse -- for some of my life-long struggles. I've always had major personal space issues, but I never knew people with ADHD often have poor spatial recognition. At five feet tall, I now understand why I feel assaulted during middle school worship and not during elementary worship. Why? Everyone's taller than me by middle school and they invade my personal space with their elbows, right at my face level.
Hopefully, a day will come when I don't need medication any longer because I will understand more about how I'm wired. The panic and anxiety already are lessened when I know why I react like I do. Undoing 42 years of coping may take some undoing, on the other hand, but then I'm optimistic by nature.
Read: Women With Attention Deficit Disorder by Sari Solden; ADD Ways to Organize Your Life by Judith Kolberg and Kathleen Nadeau; Delivered from Distraction by Edward M Hallowell and John J. Ratey. Watch: Escape Velocity ($1.99 at iTunes); ADD and Loving It?!
Best advice: Be prepared to re-negotiate your relationships (Solden, paraphrase) and allow yourself to watch TV because it does all the work for you (Hallowell, paraphrase).
Squirt and I were "officially" diagnosed in tandem last fall. His difficulties in a regular classroom setting were back of our decision to homeschool nine (yes, NINE!) years ago. He's done well, but puberty and increasingly lengthy math computation required a trip to the local behavioral psychologist for 20 trees' worth of questionnaires. A frill-free diagnosis of ADHD-inattentive type and 25 milligrams of daily Vyvanse later, he's doing pretty well.
Me, not so much.
Apparently, you can't just take a pill and expect your brain to function normally. Bummer. Next step: higher dosages, and maybe timed-release delivery. Then, co-existing conditions like "generalized anxiety disorder" and possibly "sensory integration disorder." Finally, more questionnaires and guess what? You just hit nine out of nine markers for adult presentation of hyperactivity!
I AM grateful to have a reason -- not an excuse -- for some of my life-long struggles. I've always had major personal space issues, but I never knew people with ADHD often have poor spatial recognition. At five feet tall, I now understand why I feel assaulted during middle school worship and not during elementary worship. Why? Everyone's taller than me by middle school and they invade my personal space with their elbows, right at my face level.
Hopefully, a day will come when I don't need medication any longer because I will understand more about how I'm wired. The panic and anxiety already are lessened when I know why I react like I do. Undoing 42 years of coping may take some undoing, on the other hand, but then I'm optimistic by nature.
Read: Women With Attention Deficit Disorder by Sari Solden; ADD Ways to Organize Your Life by Judith Kolberg and Kathleen Nadeau; Delivered from Distraction by Edward M Hallowell and John J. Ratey. Watch: Escape Velocity ($1.99 at iTunes); ADD and Loving It?!
Best advice: Be prepared to re-negotiate your relationships (Solden, paraphrase) and allow yourself to watch TV because it does all the work for you (Hallowell, paraphrase).
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Your Squonk-ism for today
Said Squonk, when faced with the possibility of a dairy-free diet and its effect on his most beloved food:
"Cheeseless pizza is like a featherless bird -- it serves absolutely no purpose!"
"Cheeseless pizza is like a featherless bird -- it serves absolutely no purpose!"
Monday, March 22, 2010
On top of Mt. Hormone...
Now that I'm finally free of Facebook, I'm noticing important stuff like my children.
Squonk turned 9 last month, and he gets funnier every day. He still battles allergies and I thought he understood some of our conversations about better food choices....until the day he conquered Mt. Hormone.
We spent part of our gorgeous Friday afternoon at Mt. Cheaha, shooting a family portrait on a very scary rock. Later, we explored less scary rocks. Squirt and Squonk made their way up to a point above us, where Squonk claimed the highest point in the name of the L. boys.
"Hey, Mom!" he shouted. "I'm up here on the top of (pause) Mt. HORMONE!"
We offended him by bursting into laughter, and he defended himself with crossed arms and a frown: "Well, all the good names like Rushmore and Everest were already taken."
I teased him again later, at home, until his sister Squish asked the dreaded question: "What is a hormone, anyway?" Geddy opened his mouth to answer but Squonk had it all under control.
"A hormone," he solemnly explained, "is something they give cows to make milk taste good."
Wisely, I think, we left it at that.
Squonk turned 9 last month, and he gets funnier every day. He still battles allergies and I thought he understood some of our conversations about better food choices....until the day he conquered Mt. Hormone.
We spent part of our gorgeous Friday afternoon at Mt. Cheaha, shooting a family portrait on a very scary rock. Later, we explored less scary rocks. Squirt and Squonk made their way up to a point above us, where Squonk claimed the highest point in the name of the L. boys.
"Hey, Mom!" he shouted. "I'm up here on the top of (pause) Mt. HORMONE!"
We offended him by bursting into laughter, and he defended himself with crossed arms and a frown: "Well, all the good names like Rushmore and Everest were already taken."
I teased him again later, at home, until his sister Squish asked the dreaded question: "What is a hormone, anyway?" Geddy opened his mouth to answer but Squonk had it all under control.
"A hormone," he solemnly explained, "is something they give cows to make milk taste good."
Wisely, I think, we left it at that.
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