Dear God,
The sunshine was nice today. So nice that I skipped the church scene and headed to Mom and Dad's farm. . . with Grace in tow. Oh, and Will tagged along, too.
Grace and I walked the hills and found deer bones and other treasures. She rolled in turkey poop and drank from the holler. I felt my leg muscles cramp a little as I walked up the hill. The kind of cramp that lets you know you exist and that you're not just dreaming.
Today your creation was more beautiful than the stained glass windows in the sanctuary, and the sound of the birds singing in the trees was sweeter than the stately pipe organ that played at my church today. You were with us, Grace and me, as we walked, and you were with my friends at the church as they gathered. Kind of like magic, but better.
There were people I don't know who were suffering today, Were you there, too?
Amen
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Prayer #2
Dear God,
Thank you for a 70 degree day in February.
Thank you for good friends and long visits over good food.
Thank you for conversations that weave in and out, over and under, with laughter and tears and deep affection.
Thank you for an evening walk with my dog and my boy.
Thank you.
Amen
Thank you for a 70 degree day in February.
Thank you for good friends and long visits over good food.
Thank you for conversations that weave in and out, over and under, with laughter and tears and deep affection.
Thank you for an evening walk with my dog and my boy.
Thank you.
Amen
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
A Prayer
O God,
A colleague of mine, actually a teacher who retired a couple of years ago, committed suicide on Monday, but, of course, you already know that. She was only 59 years old, but then you know that, too. But, I guess the answer that you know but I don’t is, Where were you?
When I think about her, God, all alone and desperate and hopeless and exhausted, my chest actually hurts. You see, I know what that feels like. I know what it feels like to appear to the world that you have everything when deep inside you there is nothing but fear and chaos and loneliness. A little more than three years ago, her obituary could have been mine.
Why didn’t you whisper a little louder in her ear, God, like you did for me? Why didn’t you send friends and family that refused to let go? Her mother, God, why didn’t you send her mother to hold her together until the confusion and fear subsided?
Since it seems to me that you kind of let the ball drop for her here on earth, please, God, meet her in heaven and hold her tight and remind her that the scary stuff is over and that she can rest well in your arms.
Teach those of us who remain in this crazy world to care for each other rather than judge, to listen more than we talk, to speak and share honestly of our hurts and struggles and fears, to wrap our arms around one another until the pain eases.
Let her sleep, dear God. Let us all sleep well tonight; knowing that your Peace will comfort us, even on the darkest night.
Amen
A colleague of mine, actually a teacher who retired a couple of years ago, committed suicide on Monday, but, of course, you already know that. She was only 59 years old, but then you know that, too. But, I guess the answer that you know but I don’t is, Where were you?
When I think about her, God, all alone and desperate and hopeless and exhausted, my chest actually hurts. You see, I know what that feels like. I know what it feels like to appear to the world that you have everything when deep inside you there is nothing but fear and chaos and loneliness. A little more than three years ago, her obituary could have been mine.
Why didn’t you whisper a little louder in her ear, God, like you did for me? Why didn’t you send friends and family that refused to let go? Her mother, God, why didn’t you send her mother to hold her together until the confusion and fear subsided?
Since it seems to me that you kind of let the ball drop for her here on earth, please, God, meet her in heaven and hold her tight and remind her that the scary stuff is over and that she can rest well in your arms.
Teach those of us who remain in this crazy world to care for each other rather than judge, to listen more than we talk, to speak and share honestly of our hurts and struggles and fears, to wrap our arms around one another until the pain eases.
Let her sleep, dear God. Let us all sleep well tonight; knowing that your Peace will comfort us, even on the darkest night.
Amen
Friday, February 10, 2012
Puberty and Menopause
It's been a crazy week, and I'm not exactly sure why. I'm starting to think that it might have something to do with (I'm swallowing hard before I type this) my age.
I like to think that I could not possibly be vain enough to have any concern about something as arbitrary as a number, but I then remind myself that I'm the same person who used to weigh herself every hour all night long. So, on second thought, maybe it's appropriate for me to be a little wigged out about the big 5-0 that will catch up with me this November.
I was reminded this week by a friend (ok, my therapist, I just wish she was my friend) that this time in my life (euphemistically called middle-age, even if I seriously doubt to see 100) is similar to puberty. Certainly my hormones are going crazy. For the first time in my life, I find myself boiling from the inside out at the most random times, with the need to rip off my clothes and stand in front of the freezer. I also feel like I spend more time looking for my keys than actually using them and I've started keeping my movie ticket stubs so I can remember the movies I've already seen.
It's funny as I'm writing this, but in the throes of struggling to find a word that is on the very tip of my tongue, it's really not so funny. Just like puberty, I suppose.
Dealing with unpredictable acne, first loves, and the poorly-timed realization that tampons are much easier to put in than take out, wasn't very funny. Feeling like no one understands and it is quite possible you are losing your mind but no one seems to care, isn't very funny either. I just thank God that all of those old people in their 40s and 50s were so wrong when they tried to convince me that being 14 was the best time of my life. (Note to audience: If your life was better in high school than now, your time on the therapist's couch is overdue.)
Besides the physical changes that come with nearing 50, I find myself asking many of the same questions I asked at 14. What is my purpose? When is "too late?" Does the phrase "better to be safe than sorry" have an age-limit? When I retire, who will I eat lunch with? Will there be more people for me to love who will love me back? Will I have that hump on my back? Can my teeth last another 50 years?
Thankfully, I'm not 14. I'm 49. Old enough to know that tomorrow has a way of taking care of itself. Old enough to know that each season of life is a gift to be received and embraced. Old enough to know that God is only in this present moment -- even if that moment finds me standing in front of the freezer.
I like to think that I could not possibly be vain enough to have any concern about something as arbitrary as a number, but I then remind myself that I'm the same person who used to weigh herself every hour all night long. So, on second thought, maybe it's appropriate for me to be a little wigged out about the big 5-0 that will catch up with me this November.
I was reminded this week by a friend (ok, my therapist, I just wish she was my friend) that this time in my life (euphemistically called middle-age, even if I seriously doubt to see 100) is similar to puberty. Certainly my hormones are going crazy. For the first time in my life, I find myself boiling from the inside out at the most random times, with the need to rip off my clothes and stand in front of the freezer. I also feel like I spend more time looking for my keys than actually using them and I've started keeping my movie ticket stubs so I can remember the movies I've already seen.
It's funny as I'm writing this, but in the throes of struggling to find a word that is on the very tip of my tongue, it's really not so funny. Just like puberty, I suppose.
Dealing with unpredictable acne, first loves, and the poorly-timed realization that tampons are much easier to put in than take out, wasn't very funny. Feeling like no one understands and it is quite possible you are losing your mind but no one seems to care, isn't very funny either. I just thank God that all of those old people in their 40s and 50s were so wrong when they tried to convince me that being 14 was the best time of my life. (Note to audience: If your life was better in high school than now, your time on the therapist's couch is overdue.)
Besides the physical changes that come with nearing 50, I find myself asking many of the same questions I asked at 14. What is my purpose? When is "too late?" Does the phrase "better to be safe than sorry" have an age-limit? When I retire, who will I eat lunch with? Will there be more people for me to love who will love me back? Will I have that hump on my back? Can my teeth last another 50 years?
Thankfully, I'm not 14. I'm 49. Old enough to know that tomorrow has a way of taking care of itself. Old enough to know that each season of life is a gift to be received and embraced. Old enough to know that God is only in this present moment -- even if that moment finds me standing in front of the freezer.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Love - Redneck Style
I've made a new friend this school year -- David's* mom.
David is in my third grade class. He is a few pounds overweight, wears his jeans like most good plummers, writes journal entries about a dad who uses drugs and doesn't answer the phone when his son calls. He takes his backpack to the office on Friday so that it can be filled with enough food to get him through the weekend. He takes medicine twice a day to help him be able to attend to his own thoughts for more than a few seconds and his favorite word is "actually."
Looking at David with middle-class, white eyes, it was easy to put him on the shelf with the other kids that come from poor, unstable homes, with too little love and support, but then I met his mom and I looked at David with new eyes.
That first meeting was unforgetable. It consisted of a conversation between the two of us that one of her boys kept interrupting. In my best teacher-voice, I said, "Your mom and I are talking now. When we're finished, then you will have a turn to talk and ask questions."
With the next interruption, David's mom looked at her younger son and said, "Didn't she just tell you to shut the hell up?! This is important!" (Translation: Your teacher and I are discussing your education right now. She asked you to be quiet. Now show a little respect.)
Since that encounter, she has been a regular Tuesday morning volunteer in our classroom community. She comes in at 10:00 with a 20oz. Diet Mountain Dew and purse with a clasp that says "Redneck." She lets my students use her iphone's internet for research and loves on them like they were her own. She sometimes struggles with thirds and sixths during math games, but who among us doesn't?
You see, David's mom is much like a Mama Bear when it comes to her cubs. She will seriously take you out if you mess with one of her boys. No one is safe. You can say what you want about the woman when you compare her to the world I live in. . . she spends too much money on Bingo and cigarettes. The food choices she makes are not the healthiest and pro-wrestling might not be the best spectator sport. But the woman loves those boys, and it's not a passive love either.
She makes sure that her kids do not fall through the cracks. She wants them to be educated with challenging work while guided with a gentle hand and heart. She will not tolerate bullies or office staff that sometimes tries to dismiss her as an uneducated, second class mom. She wants her children's case workers to do their job and she dreams of the gentle, strong men she is raising her sons to be.
Underneath her rather gruff exterior, she has a heart of gold and a tender spot for all women who are struggling to raise their children. She even offered her home to another mom who was in danger of losing her own kids, due to homelessness. In her words, "It's just not right to have your kids snatched away just because you can't pay your damn bills."
She's taught me a lot this year, that love is honest and sometimes loud. It is persistent and has strong opinions as to what is "just not right." She's taught me that sometimes love drinks diet Mountain Dew and smokes too many cigarettes.
Turns out David is probably the luckiest little boy in my class. I pray that all of my children experience that same kind unflinching love.
*name changed to protect the very fortunate
David is in my third grade class. He is a few pounds overweight, wears his jeans like most good plummers, writes journal entries about a dad who uses drugs and doesn't answer the phone when his son calls. He takes his backpack to the office on Friday so that it can be filled with enough food to get him through the weekend. He takes medicine twice a day to help him be able to attend to his own thoughts for more than a few seconds and his favorite word is "actually."
Looking at David with middle-class, white eyes, it was easy to put him on the shelf with the other kids that come from poor, unstable homes, with too little love and support, but then I met his mom and I looked at David with new eyes.
That first meeting was unforgetable. It consisted of a conversation between the two of us that one of her boys kept interrupting. In my best teacher-voice, I said, "Your mom and I are talking now. When we're finished, then you will have a turn to talk and ask questions."
With the next interruption, David's mom looked at her younger son and said, "Didn't she just tell you to shut the hell up?! This is important!" (Translation: Your teacher and I are discussing your education right now. She asked you to be quiet. Now show a little respect.)
Since that encounter, she has been a regular Tuesday morning volunteer in our classroom community. She comes in at 10:00 with a 20oz. Diet Mountain Dew and purse with a clasp that says "Redneck." She lets my students use her iphone's internet for research and loves on them like they were her own. She sometimes struggles with thirds and sixths during math games, but who among us doesn't?
You see, David's mom is much like a Mama Bear when it comes to her cubs. She will seriously take you out if you mess with one of her boys. No one is safe. You can say what you want about the woman when you compare her to the world I live in. . . she spends too much money on Bingo and cigarettes. The food choices she makes are not the healthiest and pro-wrestling might not be the best spectator sport. But the woman loves those boys, and it's not a passive love either.
She makes sure that her kids do not fall through the cracks. She wants them to be educated with challenging work while guided with a gentle hand and heart. She will not tolerate bullies or office staff that sometimes tries to dismiss her as an uneducated, second class mom. She wants her children's case workers to do their job and she dreams of the gentle, strong men she is raising her sons to be.
Underneath her rather gruff exterior, she has a heart of gold and a tender spot for all women who are struggling to raise their children. She even offered her home to another mom who was in danger of losing her own kids, due to homelessness. In her words, "It's just not right to have your kids snatched away just because you can't pay your damn bills."
She's taught me a lot this year, that love is honest and sometimes loud. It is persistent and has strong opinions as to what is "just not right." She's taught me that sometimes love drinks diet Mountain Dew and smokes too many cigarettes.
Turns out David is probably the luckiest little boy in my class. I pray that all of my children experience that same kind unflinching love.
*name changed to protect the very fortunate
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