Thinking about Mary

Yeah  Life has been busy.  Lots of lists, things to buy, how to budget the last few items I always forget about, extra good cleaning for overnight guests, how to share appreciation for all those around me who do so much to make my life better without going any further into debt, trying to remember just why it is we do all this preparation for this funny day so late in our calendar year.

I helped out with my church’s Christmas program this year.  It was quite honestly one of the most wonderful things I’ve done with children in awhile.  After all these years focusing on younger children, I had the chance to work with 5th graders.  Big kids. 

I helped them with the bible readings.  So for weeks before the program, I had the opportunity to go over and listen to the selected readings with these kids again and again.  The bible is definitely not a favorite book in my “arsenal”.  But the story of Jesus’ birth (as historically improbable the need to record people in their hometown is) makes me think. 

Being a mother, I’ve been lamenting over the story of Mary.  All that we know of her tells us that she was young, and held a very strong faith in God.  She was from a good family.  Okay.  So her fiancé was about to ditch her when she said she was pregnant with God’s child through the Holy Spirit.  Nice.  Not that I wouldn’t have done the same; her story sounds crazy, but his reaction doesn’t put Joseph in any “holy hierarchy” light.  He only agreed when the angel (Gabriel?) came to him and told him to man up and marry her. 

Then this nutty, and improbable travel to Bethlehem came up.  Mary is “well with child”, she’s getting ready to settle down and prepare for the birth.  And Joseph takes her on a trip, for what must have taken a good couple of weeks, to make the government happy.  Away from her friends and any family who might have helped her.  I’m not thinking that Joseph was either or brought along a midwife.  Then, he obviously didn’t “call ahead” cause they couldn’t find a room to rent for their stay.  Really? 

And in the two nativity scenes I have at my home, and pretty much all those currently produced, Mary looks calm and happy.  She gave birth to her first-born son, who she strongly believes to be the son of God, in a stable with smelly animals.  Then they open their “new digs” to visitors, important ones even. Sounds like a fun time.

So we will be hosting my husband’s wonderful parents off and on during their stay in Minnesota.  My husband is currently on a trip, and will return the same day his parents arrive.  He has taken a new position this year, and has needed to spend extra time reorganizing the program and such.  My calendar has at least one extra event on almost every day until the new year.  And just because we're extra busy, the paychecks don't come extra often, and I continue to juggle when I need to.  So it’s been pretty much up to me to take on all that is Christmas.  (*He did do a wonderful job decorating outside and in - thanks, sweetie!) 

Every time I get down when I’m dealing with these crazy-long lists of “must haves” we create for ourselves, I think about Mary.  She (seems to have) kept her calm, and held onto her faith in God that everything would work out.  Really.

Now I’m not about to give birth and going on a long, arduous journey.  I do not have worries about my honor and marital status (as far as I know :) ).  My main responsibility is to make sure my family and friends feel loved and appreciated and most welcome in my home.  I have often missed that mark in the past, as I held my focus on the shallow ideals of having all the perfect “things” for Christmas.  I have become frustrated with many, failed to be appreciative of loads, and become angry and sullen right in the midst of what should have been a celebration of a new life (His and mine). 

Honestly, I’m still going to push myself too hard.  Stay up too late.  Worry about too many little things.  Freak out about timing and perfection at least twice.  But I am making a commitment to myself to remember to take a deep breath and remember Mary.  And then, say a prayer of thanks that my calling is not her’s.  I’m pretty sure I would’ve told that angel, “Thanks, but no thanks.”  And then where would we be?

Grace in a land of Fear and Fury

I've been thinking a lot lately about what might be wrong with the way we, as citizens of the United States, see the world. I mean, there are plenty of examples of "what not to do" going on right now. Terry Jones' actions set off a new wave of anger and hatred toward Americans. The fear and subsequent bigotry toward those of the Muslim faith show in a million small and large ways, as in the calamity over the Islamic Community Center planned for Manhattan.

Reading yesterday's Pioneer Press Editorial section gave me a moment of pause. I read the submission by Mr. Tom Meek, "What I learned from the Dayton's bombing." Now this was a bombing in the department store Dayton's back in 1970. I wasn't born yet, and don't remember ever learning anything about this or any other types of "homeland terror" during my childhood. Especially here in Minnesota, known as the Nice state (we're just that passionate) it doesn't seem possible that a person could set off a bomb that would surely harm innocent people. I mean, good Minnesotan just don't DO that stuff. And not in a beloved Dayton's store, either. But I digress.

Reading the article brought forth something else to think about, other than, 'Yes, people in Minnesota CAN make that choice.' Mr. Meek's mother was right next to the detonated bomb, and was subsequently severely injured. She never fully recovered, and yet spent the rest of her life working to help the plight of those who set off the bomb. 'What?' Yes, she understood that the people who set off the bomb were doing so in retaliation to circumstances caused by greater forces than mere people. She saw the truth in the frustration and anger behind the creation and use of the bomb. And she knew that she had a choice in how to react to her own, newly altered place in that situation. She showed an amazing sense of grace, and the love of God for herself, her family and those who caused her life to change so drastically.

Places all over the world are dealing with groups of people who are frustrated and angry; generally over many lifetimes of not getting enough of their basic needs met to feel stable. These groups cause chaos and fear through bombs and attacks on innocent people. For many years, many decades really, our nation (and many more) have retaliated by focusing their counterattacks against those who are rising up. But I wonder if it wouldn't be more effective to focus a counterattack against those who are causing the frustration and anger in the first place? I mean, as a mother, I can see a child being naughty/making a poor choice, and I can focus my discipline against that inappropriate act. This may change the situation for a moment or more, but unless I figure out why the child is making this choice (that they surely know will get them into trouble) then I will be forced to repeat the battle again and again and again.

But if I realize that the child is hungry or tired or sick or bored, I can offer new opportunities for the child to meet those needs in a more appropriate manner.

I fully understand that adults who choose terroristic acts are far from those of a child. But are the influences behind terroristic groups that complex? It doesn't seem to be the case in those I've seen so far.

I pray that those who act out in fits of anger and frustration who spread terror and pain are somehow touched with the love of God (under whatever umbrella is available to them) and that their needs are met. And I pray for all those working toward ending those acts of terror, who rely on the direction of those in power far from the areas being attacked. I pray that more people can share in the grace that Mrs. Meek lived. That more people can see the humanity behind the terror; the struggles of all people to have food, shelter, safety, love and dignity.

There is never an acceptable act of terror. There is never an acceptable act that causes pain, harm and death. There is never an acceptable excuse for choosing to commit those acts, but there is always a place for understanding, empathy and sympathy for our fellow human beings, which we all, imperfectly are.

Am I done, yet?

I know I've said it before, but I still feel the same way, so I'll say it again. Being a stay at home mom is really tough. I love spending most of my waking hours (and a few of my non-waking hours) with my children. I mean, I'm a preschool teacher by profession (graduate school really pays off in this area... ha ha ha) so I am totally dedicated to making the most out of childhood. Really. But there's a bit to this vocation that I would like to avoid. Now, as I shower kudos to those wonderful moms who work for pay outside the home, I've gotta give a disclaimer. A "working for pay" mom is also really tough, but in a different way. Let me explain.

As a stay at home mom (which I am 75+% of the time) my day starts either when my little ones wake up or when my alarm goes off. I dress and feed everyone, and make sure our supplies are ready for whatever our day consists of. I shuttle little ones around, shuttle myself & my littlest one on errands, and make sure everyone in the house has the best of whatever they require (budget allowing).

I spend a good chunk of my day cleaning up the house. I come from a long line of tidy but not super organized houses, and my own home reflects that. A few years ago, I attended a baby shower at a cousin's home, and I honestly didn't believe that the family actually LIVED there, because there wasn't ONE thing out of place. No stack of mail, errant laundry basket, no pile of chewed up dog toys. The house looked staged. It was lovely, but without the slight mess of living, it didn't feel very homey. And I know this was just my weirdness. (Yes, I am weird).

I've found "Flylady.net" which has helped me tremendously in organizing how I spend my cleaning time each day. She's great at making the most awful tasks a little bit more fun. But I am never finished.

My husband is a finisher. He glorifies in starting and finishing a project. He does a wonderful job, and doesn't start on something until he has the time and focus to complete it. (This wonderful quality does have some sour points, but we'll focus on the positive today.) My day, in contrast, never has a beginning or an end. I will clean the bathroom today, and tomorrow, and every day there after for eternity. I will wash a load or two of clothes today, and no matter how quickly I fold, sort and store them, I will have more laundry to wash tomorrow. I will always have dishes to wash; children to supervise, play with and discipline; checkbook registers to balance & budgets to tinker with. And THIS is what is making me crazy today.

I understand that I am feeling this way right now because I have recently finished working my "big summer" hours teaching kids about science & engineering. Work is such a fun and rewarding experience - and I LOVE starting a week and finishing the week and having something new to look forward to. (This is the point where I share how I am a little bit jealous of my mom friends who find wonderful people to care for their little people while they spend their days working on things they actually finish, alongside lots of other grown ups.)

Right now, I have my mom's groups to attend, odd get togethers and book clubs, and always the husband & my date nights. But I will never finish everything I have set before me in my house. My children will be grown and gone and I will still be planning meals and gathering foods and cleaning up my own mess along with someone else's.

So now I take a deep breath, and dive back into the ocean of activities that I can choose from today. The first one of those being "change a poopy diaper." Yes, being a mom DOES make me feel like a glamorous rock star.


some quotes i thought fit my mood today: taken from BrainyQuote.com which is an awesome place to find cool & interesting quotes...

There is joy in work. There is no happiness except in the realization that we have accomplished something.
Henry Ford (I guess he never had the "joy" of keeping his house clean.)

Ya gots to work with what you gots to work with.
Stevie Wonder

Weather forecast for tonight: dark.
George Carlin

All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.
Buddha (I try my best NOT to concentrate on the present moment when I scrub around the toilet, thank you.)

Grandpa's eyes

I spent the evening with my extended family as my gorgeous young cousin married her sweetheart. I almost chose not to go. I am sure I could have found a few other ways to occupy my time, but I needed to see these people again right now. There have been so many moments in my life that I have chosen to be consumed with my own life and have missed out on making real connections with those wacky people who share my gene pool. What a gift the night was to me. "Thanks, Jennette, for getting married!" (The photo is part of my family, just not from tonight).

A bit ago, I read a few books by a local author, Kevin Kling. He writes in a similar but much more Minnesotan style as David Sedaris. Kevin wrote a story in which he traveled to a country from his ancestry, and was shocked to see people walking around with what he told his mother "all had Grandpa's eyes". It brought tears to my eyes while reading, and does again as I think about this experience tonight.

My grandparents have all passed on, and their faces, stories and comments are but memories for me now. As I looked around at my family tonight, I was struck dumb by how so many of us had the same eyes. Slightly hooded (especially with age), light in color, piercing but framed in laughing wrinkles. No matter what I do, I will always look like my father's sisters, and I sound like them too. Tonight I realize that it's a precious gift. I can look into the faces of a whole crowd that look just like home.

My own father was there tonight. I am especially thankful for that, because he recently had surgery to remove a cancerous tumor. His prognosis is very good, and the surgery was the only treatment needed. His own father died in his fifties. I don't know if he thinks of it often, but each day he breathes air is another gifted day he has outlived his own father's life. Selfishly, I would like to keep him around forever, of course. But I also understand that he will be out of reach for me at some point, so I cherish every day he's here and every moment I spend with him.

Both my parents have influenced my personality, and my tendency toward sharing my opinions possibly a bit too freely, with my dad having the stronger impact. Like my mother, he can take on a hard-edged, my way or the highway type attitude with those he's "debating" with, but most times I love how open he is to hearing me share my thoughts.

I am thankful for all those patient, kind people in my family who have given me the benefit of the doubt countless times. I am full of self-righteous, aggressively opinionated thoughts and actions that surely push people away. While I work on being more gracious, quiet and caring, I wonder if my personality quirks aren't also, in part, a product of my enormous family. We're all a bit out there (not in the same ways, of course) with what we hold sacred.

And now, as I look at my own body, all it's shortcomings (or overcomings, depending on what you focus on) seem a bit better. My short and wide feet look like my grandpa's. My small hands look just like my mom's. My voluptuous chest is a gift from my maternal grandmother (thanks for that, really I love it). My short stature comes from both sides, but the design of my face comes straight from my father. And that's wonderful. And my eyes must be a gift from the grandfather I never really got the chance to know. My dad's father died when I was very young, and I don't remember him at all. But as I looked out at all those people tonight, I saw his eyes all over the room.

Thanks, Grandpa. And all those other wacky people who just went along with the natural flow of life to help create me and all those people I call family in that room tonight. I do hope that those eyes keep passing along. It sure is nice to look out and see a piece of my family history. And it's a little easier to look out and see all those eyes, because they are all at about the same height as mine.

taking a dip into a few crazy pools

I haven't written in awhile, mostly because summer is my busiest time and because this summer has already been a ride of insanity that I can't seem to get off of. Therein lies my theme, or at least the lens that I"ve been looking at the world through lately.

I may have mentioned before that my mother is a little more than wacky. My father is on the more fun side of madness. My in-laws have their own version of what qualifies for reality. My siblings surely have jumped beyond normal, as well as most of my friends (mostly why I love them so). Then my husband and I have our take. Over the last few years, and more and more these last few weeks, I have developed a theory that we are all completely bonkers and only the best ones of us know it (and wear that title proudly).

I've been spending a good deal of time with all these people mentioned above. So as not to call any one person out, I'll just lump you all together. You are nuts. The guilt; whether implied or outright, stinks. The lack of communication between those you love is sad. I am not a phone operator or newspaper columnist. If you want to talk to someone, meet up with them or call them. If you want something, tell me outright. Otherwise, I don't care. (Blog-dumping ends here - sorry about that bit.)

But I do care about what you do. I want to know about it. About how you feel about it. About what you love to do. About what you really think and what you really care about. I love spending time with you, because I love you and you are a fascinating human specimen. Really. Why do you think I got a degree in psychology? Because I love to study people. So don't get mad when I over-analyze and all that. It's what I do everyday of my life. Because I am crazy too.

I just watched Tim Burton's take on the classic "Alice in Wonderland." I LOVED it, by the way, but it connected all these bits in this line of thinking. I love this story, and Tim Burton's telling of it, because it supports that ideal that you can only do what seems impossible if you are a little bit nuts.

I'm also reading "Running with Scissors" by Augusten Burroughs which makes me think that someone who dives too quickly and deeply into the belief that impossible is possible may just mean you need some serious therapy and medication. But then, through all that he went through as a child and young adult, Augusten has persevered and become an acclaimed author and seemingly successful, adjusted adult. Not sure if that gives me hope, or just makes me feel bad for Augusten.

Is it possible that I am more crazy than those that drive me bananas? Is it my problem that I can enjoy 90% of my time with someone and go right off the cliff by that other 10%? Do I always need to be the one to make adjustments or accommodations for the neuroses of others? Is it acceptable for me to allow my irritation to slide into rage and share my frustration with those causing it? Does everyone have these impossible internal dialogues going on all the time?

To all those questions, probably not.

And for the most part, I calmly and caringly accept that we're all doing the best we can with what we've got at our disposal. Man, I hope that's true. But if anyone else wants to share their own version of crazy with me, could you please wait a few weeks? I'm all full of crazy here.

See the Good

I have a great Dad. We seem to think the same way; have a similar life view; are both mostly happy go lucky with a tinge of the macabre. I have always enjoyed being around my dad, okay, maybe for a few years during my teens neither of my parents were really on the top of my list of people to hang out with, but the forced contact was usually quite nice.

My dad was recently in a pretty serious car accident, and while the doctors were checking him over with tests and scans, they discovered that 1) he was relatively unharmed by the accident while his truck was totaled and 2) he had a cancerous tumor on one of his kidneys. What? I guess doctors don't usually discover this type of cancer until it has spread and taken over other areas of the body, so his car accident was really a miracle.

We talked on the phone tonight - mostly about my little family's trip to the U.P. of Michigan (WOW! So amazing! More on that later) - but we also talked about faith and religion. About how so many people in our world use religion to tear others down and spread hurt and fear. My dad is such a wise and loving person; such a good role model; such a great person to talk to.

The subject of hatred and fear through religion keep coming up for me lately.

I just read the weekly email from our church and this is what is read:
There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.

1 John 4:18

"Amor omnia vincit. This old Latin saying means, "Love overcomes all things." There is no obstacle or any destructive force so great that love cannot overcome it. I am reminded of the words of the old French carol, "Now the Green Blade Rises" - a song that speaks of Jesus as a grain of wheat:

In the grave they laid him,
Love by hatred slain,
thinking that he would
never wake again,
laid in the earth
like grain that sleeps unseen:
Love is come again like wheat arising green.

Hatred is one power in this world that seeks to slay love. The rest of the carol is equally vivid in its description of other destructive forces in our lives: grief, pain, and, as 1 John points out, fear. But the power of love is pure and indestructible. The resurrection was proof of that. Perfect love casts out not only fear, but hatred, grief, and pain. The final line of each verse of the carol offers vivid testimony: no matter what we face in life,
"Love is come again, like wheat arising green."
Love overcomes all things.

Prayer: Lord Jesus, sometimes the harsh realities of life make me fearful and anxious. Thank you that your love always springs up in my life and gives me hope. Amen."

I'm still not sure if the faith that I have, the love that I share or the prayers that I give truly define me as a Christian, but tonight I know that I don't care one lick about what I am defined as by others. I know that the peace I feel in my heart is the way I determine how well I am following the path the God I believe in has set before me. I know that everyone has the opportunity for that peace and joy - and by everyone I mean every single person on Earth. Christian, Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Athiest, Agnostic, or in search of a flock.

However you see Jesus' role in human history, most agree that he was a great man who shared love and respect with everyone he came across in his short life. Man, that is so difficult! But it's a good example to strive for. See the good in everyone. A new mantra for my meditations. Especially when I find myself bristling against someone - see the good.

I hope others return the favor. (Thanks Dad)

Rediscovering Love

I tagged along with my husband during a trip to Puerto Rico. The trip consisted of quite a bit of down time, along with a perfect array of tours to see historical sites and different ecological variations that this tropical island holds. I had never been anywhere south of Florida before this trip, and never been to any Spanish speaking nation before (the west side of St. Paul doesn't count).

So I am a 37 year old mostly stay-at-home mom. I work out by walking the kids and the dogs, not at a gym. I have housed two huge babies, birthing them through two crazy c-sections so my body is battle-scarred. I also come from a mixture of northern European nationalities, all of which consist of peoples who thrive in the cold weather (and who apparently are covered with what I would consider less-than-feminine body hair). So, though I do believe that I am beautiful, I am far from any magazine cover.

My man and I have been together for the last fifteen years. I was never committed to any man before I met him, and I have never faltered in my commitment to him since we met. He is my best friend and all that mushy stuff. He loves me in such a crazy way that I never doubt it will last a lifetime.

All that said, I do enjoy witnessing the beauty of other men. Being raised on a steady diet of Benny Hill, Monty Python, Vicar of Dibley and such fine British comedy, my rather lewd sense of humor takes over and I fall into imagining people nude while I wait for life to get more interesting. No one would ever know, especially since I've realized that I have, for the most part, become indistinguishable from the crowd of other SAH moms that drive generic minivans filled with the required 2 or more young children to the routine destinations of the grocery store, preschool, church and playgroups. If anyone would ever care to extinguish their own feeling of sex appeal, live my life for a month. I've been living it for the last five and a half years. There are many days where I am amazed that my husband can see anything sexy in anything I do or wear. But my dirty-little-secret acts like a buoy of hope in my sea of a-sexuality. And then, I arrive on a six day trip, sans kiddos, to a beautiful tropical destination with my amazing husband...

The island has a definite rhythm to it, maybe being so close to the Bermuda Triangle has something to do with it, but it's there. Along with being free of my obligations to my life back home, I was immediately swept up by the pulse of the island life. And so many of the men there are beautiful! Having lived my whole life in Minnesota, the land of the pale and the blonde, walking around in a sea of dark, handsome men was a little more than I could handle. I spent the first few days just enjoying all there was to see and do beside my husband. We had a blast together, like we usually do. But while he was being "Band Director Guy" with his students, I had time to sit back and enjoy the view. And my "dirty-little-secret" just made me blush. Seriously. I've really gotta break that habit someday.

As my "soft" little self walked around, I had no intention of attracting any attention. I haven't done so back home for ages, so it never crossed my mind. But then, Puerto Rican women are known to be blessed with "junk in the trunk" and apparently curves are much beloved by the men there. Whoo Hoo! I suddenly felt so sexy that I was giddy. The husband loved it (to his defense he gives me compliments all the time, which I usually brush off) and I noticed that my walk changed, along with my attitude about myself.

The day before we flew home, we were sent out on a catamaran tour around the smaller islands that surround Puerto Rico. I wore my new one-piece suit that takes 10 minutes to put on because it does so much work for you. I was nipped and tucked and ready for some sunshine! I took two motion-sickness pills too, just in case, because there would be no turning back for my sake with two boats full of high school students and the adults in charge of them.

We met our Captain, Arturo, and his First Mate, Willard. Arturo was cute in a Campbell's soup kid sort of way, and Willard looked like he just stepped off the stage of either a Latin music tour or the set of a sailing calendar photo shoot. I know, the things I put up with for my marriage!

Two minutes into the trip, I started feeling sick. I had Willard filling cups of ice for me while I sat back and tried thinking settled thoughts. Nothing seemed to work very well, and I resorted to sitting on the deck of the front of the boat. (I've never been on a sailing vessel so I have no idea if it's the Poopdeck or what.) The 360* view and the fresh air helped tons and I started having a great time just sitting. We anchored in a bay so those who wanted could go snorkeling along a coral reef. I took great shots of my man in the water, swimming happily close to eels and all sorts of fish.

We pulled anchor and everyone on the boat moved all around. I had company for a bit from my husband and the other adults aboard, but I had a good time being calm by myself. Then Willard came and sat right next to me. At first I thought I was in his way, and he was being polite before asking me to haul my butt somewhere else. But then, he started chatting me up. Like I said before, I've been with my husband for 15 years. I hadn't had that much experience before him, so I am not any smooth sort of flirt. I tried to nudge my connection to my husband into our conversation as much as I could, but it seemed Willard either didn't care or didn't understand. I had the most exhilarating 5-10 minutes of conversation, knowing full well that I was more-than-happily married and knowing that this gorgeous man was flirting with me. His sailing duties called him away and my husband came up to sit next to me again. But that 5-10 minutes with Will (doesn't that sound better?) will be a moment I think back to for ages to come.

Now that I've been back home for a bit, and have had some time to get past the initial exhilaration and move into a mild giddiness, I know that this trip did more than give me a change in scenery. This trip gave me a chance to renew my love of myself: body and all. I had lost that during these years of marriage and children. It had been so lost that I never even thought about it as a loss, but now, I've rediscovered my mojo and damn it, I've got my Groove Back!