For the Times They are a Changin'

The only thing constant is change, right?

 

Yeah, yeah, whatev. . . as Carly would say.

 

We all do a good job of giving lip service to change, but when the shit hits the fan, that's a different story. 

 

I, for one, am not much of a risk-taker, which translates into I don't like to mix things up too much.

 

 If I'm feeling good just walking around, why would I want to chance that by getting on a roller coaster? If I always get the chicken quesadilla at Q-doba, why take a chance on the bean burrito?

But when you think about it, I'm not sure either of those would qualify as a real change. A radical change, anyway.

I think we've all heard those country songs about "the good ol' days when times were bad." In fact, after watching a marathon of Little House on the Prairie or The Waltons, it's fairly easy for me to romanticize those days. I mean I would seriously love to sleep in a loft and say goodnight to John-Boy -- except, well, when it's really really cold in the loft or I really want a Big Mac instead of the beans Grandma Walton is cooking.

I mean, let's be honest, in terms of political and social position, unless you were a white, rich, straight male, life pretty much sucked, even out there on the prairie or up on Walton's Mountain.

And, if we're talking political/social, maybe, we haven't changed at all. . . when you really think about it, with the exception of a light-skinned black president and a couple of women in positions of power, it's a little deja vu all over again.

I'm starting to think that the change most of us complain about maybe isn't change at all. A new schedule, a new route to get to work, the latest technology, even taking the chance on the bean burrito might be different, but at the most they are nothing more than a very insignificant change.  

More than just an updated cell phone or even a new bridge in the East End of Louisville, maybe what the change we need is a change of heart. A radical change.

Schools and churches are notorious for being behind the times when it comes to those easy changes like technology or structure or schedules. . . and in my experience, they have been just as notorious in complaining loudly to those fairly easy fixes.

What if they were mandated to go big? Radically big?

I wonder what would happen if the teachers in my building were given the following objectives in place of the state's newest academic curriculum.

 This year teachers will:

•  care about their students emotional growth as much as their cognitive growth
• make eye contact with each student every day
• know something non-school related about every student
•  share something about herself with her students
•  forgive
• love
• give second chances 

I've got a feeling that teaching the state's new curriculum would be a piece of cake within the context of those important changes.

Really, maybe everything would work out, if we only changed our hearts because if our hearts are changed nothing else would really matter. . . not even when things needed to change.

Do-Overs

In true anti-Norman Rockwell fashion, my Christmas holiday consisted of pretty good stuff AND one major scene, complete with stomping feet, raised voices and slamming doors. Of course, Sam was the main character in the scene, with me as the supporting actor. Translation: Sam was making the noise and the noise was directed at me.

This was a scene we've practiced several times in the last few years, but this one had a different ending, with me telling him very quietly that I would not allow him or anyone else to treat me in such a way and that if he continued he would need to leave my house. (Isn't it amazing that it only took three years of therapy before I was able to say those words!?)

He continued. . .

I told him to leave. . .

Tough words to say and tough words to hear.

Just this last week, he sent me an email apologizing for his behavior and asking me to forgive him.

Part of me wished that I could punch a rewind button that would give us both an opportunity to relive that moment of discontent and make choices that would have been healthy for both of us. But what fun would that be. . . besides it takes big mistakes to learn big lessons.

So, with his apology, I smiled to myself, thanked him for the note and returned him to his honored place in my heart and home. I didn't even bother to say "Go and sin no more." I'll just enjoy this calm and try to stay strong during the next round of thunder and lightning.

I'm thankful for love that is strong enough to endure a slamming door. I'm thankful that even after 25 years of being his mother there are still lessons that only I can teach him. (Who would have thought that teaching him to ride his bike would have been easier and take less time than teaching him how to treat women?)

 I'm thankful for being able to grant (and receive) do-overs. I'll be there to give them as long as my kids need them. After all, God is willing to do the same for me.

Radical Living

Apparently, all of the cool people this year have narrowed their New Year's resolutions down to where a single word is the focus, like "healthy," "thoughtful," and "quiet."

With this new trend, I'm thinking that the topic should be broad enough that I ought to be able to find enough wiggle room to actually find myself successful in  keeping a resolution.

On the other hand though, if you want to get philosophical, I suppose that the one word focus could actually call for a lifestyle change rather than just cleaning all the french fries out of the van or losing 10 pounds (just an example, Mom, no worries) and checking it off the list.

Anyway, not wanting to be left behind by the cool crowd, I went with the single word thing for 2012. After way too much thinking, I chose the word "radical." (I seriously hope that New Year's resolutions aren't like birthday wishes because I just blew it, if that turns out to be the case.)

Honestly, Will and Carly were a little shocked with my choice of words. . . seems that their working definition for radical took on a negative spin, as in terrorists and such. Certainly not what I was going for.

My friends at school seemed to think I was radical enough. I tend to say what's on my mind at faculty meetings and can turn into a mother bear when my 3rd graders are on the receiving end of any perceived injustice, but I think all of that falls into the category of opinionated or protective.

I want to be radical, as in "all in" or "no fear."

 I want to respond and receive and react with no regard for being thought a fool, for opening myself to hurt, for being judged. I want to love hard, with all of me. I want to laugh until I cry and when I'm sad, I want to do that ugly-I-might-throw-up cry.

 I want to pray without ceasing.I want to forgive my ex and, more importantly, myself. I want to give (and take) second chances.

 I want to believe when there is nothing around me that supports that belief.

It's taken years for me to finally embrace the simple life I've always known I was meant to live. I'm hoping this year will give way to radical living in the midst of simplicity.

If it doesn't work out, I can always clean the french fries out of my car or lose 10 pounds -- just kidding Mom!

A New Year

"For everything there is a season. . . "

This text from Ecclesiastes was the focus of Sunday's sermon.  Our youth pastor reminded us that there is never a day when everything is right for everyone. Christmas is always December 25, but death finds those we love, loneliness creeps its way into lives, addictions don't take a day off, even when you put the holiday on the calendar every year, for years and years.

But, the opposite is also true. Days that live in infamy like September 11, 2001, December 7, 1941, November 23, 1963. . . days that were too terrible to forget also recorded their share of joy. Somebody's child was born. Someone married. Sixteen year olds got their drivers' permits. Families were reconciled. A third grader learned her times tables. A biopsy came back negative.

Life is seasonal, and fortunately, our seasons rarely coincide with someone else's season. Kind of like at a funeral home where you hear random bursts of laughter. Sometimes the sadness is so overwhelming that without the cycling from tears to smiles our hearts and spirits would surely break.  And if we were all drunk with giddiness at the same time, I doubt if we would ever move forward, for often contentedness brings complacency.

In my own season of sadness, I found hope in seeing those who had made it to the other side, more or less, in one piece, often thankful for their own season of sadness. (I'm just glad they kept their thankfulness to themselves. Trust me, nobody wants to hear it until you're also on the other side.)

And in my seasons of joy, I find that I'm able to be present. . enjoying the goodness without too much fear as to the next season. Because finally I know, that God is in all seasons, that when I'm low there will be others in a different season that will keep me from the drowning in despair, that in my own spring I will care for those in the darkest part of winter.

Sometimes, it feels like my seasons drag on and on. Other days, I think I might go through the cycle a couple of times in an hour. I think the meaning of bittersweet is actually having a different foot in completely different seasons.

This life stuff is complex. My dog, Grace, refuses to do "seasons." She's prefers the Beatles to the Byrds. She chooses to just "let it be." She's much further along in her spiritual growth than most.