restore

There's the feeling of anxiety that rises up inside every time I walk into our garage. I think maybe it's the fear of drowning... in all the boxes, precariously placed odds & ends stacked on themselves, random homeless objects that so desperately need a place to call their own. I get a similar feeling when I walk into a casino, with all that sensory overload; except instead of blinking lights & smoke to stress me out & make me want to run for the door, it's the panic of knowing that all the sensory overload is coming from my stuff-- that it belongs to me, or at least is under my umbrella of responsibility, and that no one else is going to make it better except for me & my hubby.

About every-other week, we make a valiant effort to tame the chaos, like taking a machete to the edge of a rain forest & trying to beat it back. Sometimes, there is a small sense of accomplishment, but after a few days, the futility of it all sweeps over me again as all the flat surfaces are consumed by papers, tools, clean & dirty clothes, and millions of work-related objects that crawl in during the night.

But the root of it is that all the chaos really is just a physical representation of how I'm feeling inside. It does feel like I'm drowning sometimes-- like I'm just barely keeping my head above water while I carry our work & ministry & family & all the regular everyday duties of life. I have spent so many weeks aching for the weekend, waiting to catch my breath, worn out & disconnected, and honestly a little whiny. The whiny, worn out ache sometimes compounds, as unexpected obstacles get in the way of the rest that we had been looking forward to.

What's strange, though, is how difficult it can be to take the moments of rest when they present themselves. It's tempting, when I feel like a limp rag after putting our toddler to bed, to flip open my computer and spend an hour online doing nothing of real significance; or to click on Hulu & catch up on a few TV shows. It is so much easier than thinking or conversing or engaging life-- nothing against all those activities, but sometimes at the end of the day, I've just had enough of all the relational stuff.

The thing is, though, I never really feel restored after shutting myself off like that. Yes, I've taken a break, and sometimes we just really need a break... but I know that it wasn't really what I needed.

Chris & I have been trying lately to set aside one day a week to just rest-- not to make plans with friends, or work on the house, or run errands, but to just spend time as a family & read books & take naps & go for walks (I know, we've invented something truly revolutionary-- don't tell anyone). I realize that this whole Sabbath concept has been around for a couple of years now, but to be honest, I don't know many people who actually observe it-- and I certainly never have made an intentional practice of it before. We haven't quite nailed it yet, either-- there are weeks where obligations creep in or activities get planned, and it seems like I can always tell, come Monday, when I haven't done a very good job of protecting my Sabbath.

Looking back over the last few months, it seems like a bit of the weight has been lifted from our shoulders. I don't carry that same semi-desperate feeling that used to always lie just under the surface, hoping for a free second to breathe. And in those moments when I get a little time to myself, it helps to ask, "Is this something that will actually restore me, or am I just looking for a fix?" Although I am rusty & clumsy at it after being out of practice, forcing myself to write is a step forward towards restoration.

We have also learned the beauty of asking for help, which has been a bit of a hard step for someone who prefers to be on the giving end of help. I suppose it comes from a fear of not earning my keep or being seen as needy or spoiled, but it can be tough to admit that I need help & to accept "charity". But as the drowning feeling increased, I threw out a need (for help with child care) and discovered dozens of people eager & willing to help. It has been amazing, beautiful and humbling to receive from so many generous friends, and to feel even more of that weight lifted off my shoulders.

So even though the garage is still a riot of boxes in various stages of un-packed-ness, and even though I noticed dark circles under my eyes the other day, I am confident that our tiny shuffling towards rest has actually brought about the restoration (even in tiny doses) we've been aching for. And I celebrate the little victories.

Harry's Story

I don't particularly like Harry Potter-- no offense to all of you who dress up for the opening night movies & book releases, and all that. I don't really have anything against the kid, he just doesn't wow me like Lucy Pevensie or Bilbo Baggins.

And yet, I find myself, in every spare moment, slinking back to this tattered old copy of Harry Potter. I stay up reading when I'm sleepy, I have to suppress little urges throughout the day to find out what happens next, and notice these strange, anti-social tendencies as I retreat back to a quiet space with this book that I'm not that into.

Today I realized why. It has to do with Story-- not necessarily the story of Harry & wizards & all that, but the greater concept of Story. Don Miller defines Story as a character who wants something & is willing to overcome obstacles to get it. The good stories, he says, are the ones where the character wants something good & worthwhile, and where the obstacles & conflicts are so great that he becomes a better character as he works towards his goal.

What I realized today from Harry is that I am drawn back to him over & over because I am a little bit stuck in my own story right now-- and it's easier & far more comfortable to curl up & watch someone else's story than to work at writing your own.

The last several weeks haven't told the most exciting story for me. Chris is trying with all his might to finish up his Masters degree, and is taking an intensive course, while I hang out at the parent's house with our little guy. Seriously, there's not much to complain about: I have a big, clean house, hardly any responsibilities, and a pool. Compared to the frazzled, stressed out season we've had buying a house, moving & drowning in home repairs, this is paradise.

But strangely it seems more like Limbo than paradise, and I admit I'm going a little bit crazy here in babyland day after day. I think that somewhere along the way, I have lost track of the Story that I am trying to tell. I paused today to ask myself "What is it that I want?" It's a pretty boring story when there is no great desire driving the plot, and it's honestly a pretty boring existence, as peaceful & mellow as it's been, to sit around all day with nothing driving or motivating me.

So I ask myself again: What do I want? What story am I telling? It's harder to answer than I thought.

I guess what I want is to live a life that illuminates life for others-- one that both allows them to see that there can be fullness & beauty & purpose, and that also helps them discover what their particular role is in that greater purpose. I want to be a part of a family that gives others hope in the concept of family, marriage, relationships & belonging, and to have a home that invites others to be at home. For those who are unable to reach that fullness & beauty & purpose-- because of something holding them back-- I want to help them get out from under that weight. And I want to do it within the context and energy that is found in my Creator.

I can tell that I need practice putting those thoughts into words. They feel rusty & forced as they come out, like some dusty, forgotten tool in the back of the garage.

I'm not sure what it looks like right now to live out that Story in this particular context, sitting in our parent's house day after day and talking baby talk. But I know that, if nothing else, I need to remember the Story that I am telling-- or rather, that is being told through me.

So I suppose this is the part of the story where patience & depth are rooted in me, if I will allow them to be. It's the part of the story where my partner takes the lead & I step back to support him; the part of the story where I get to know my little man a little bit better; the part where I soak in the quiet & the rest and gear up for the next chapter. The part where I curl up with a book and take a deep breath.

Super Human

When I got my nose pierced, I only knew one other person with a nose ring.
I got a tattoo on the small of my back before the whole "tramp stamp" thing was a thing.
I used to have pink hair and wear black nail polish.
I have lived in Compton, been in drive-by's, spent a summer in a mud hut in an African refugee camp, white water rafted down the Nile, and touched a lion in the wild.

I know, I'm fascinating.

But sometime last week, I realized that most of my life is spent in the kitchen, juggling a baby while washing dishes & making dinner. I wear the same clothes several days in a row because I share a bedroom with a baby, and it's easier to wear yesterday's clothes than sneak back into the room & pick out something in the dark.

A while ago, I was driving behind a mini-van in traffic with a bumper sticker that said "I used to be cool". I wanted to bump my fist on my chest in acknowledgement.

You know that scene that happens in every super hero movie? It's the one where the light bulb turns on, and the girl realizes that Peter Parker is Spiderman, or Clark Kent is Superman. Suddenly she understands that the ordinary, geeky guy she's always overlooked is actually amazing-- super, to be specific.

Well, sometime after 18ish hours of labor (I lost count), I left the hospital a sleep deprived, exhausted, hormonal mess, and the light bulb turned on: All these women around me, all these frumpy, baggy-eyed moms walking the streets were actually super heroes in disguise.

I had always known that being a mom involved sacrifice, that it is a life-long act of selflessness to become a mother, and that it's hard, hard work. But I never really understood. Something happened after I joined their ranks, and I was in awe. We are amazing. No really, we are. I constantly wanted to sing "I am Woman, Hear Me Roar" at the top of my lungs, and congratulate every female pushing a stroller.

After nine months of motherhood, some of the initial awe has worn off, as I'm sure it did for Superman, once he had been flying around for a while. But I'm glad that we have one day out of the year when children can make breakfast in bed, dads can make reservations, and moms can receive cards & flowers & chocolate as small tokens of the super-human acts they perform everyday.

And so, all you mothers out there, I salute you, and give a knowing little wink: While the rest of the world may think you're just some frumpy unkempt woman in a mini-van, I know that doing dishes while balancing a curious crawler is nothing less than heroic, and that no one will ever see the millions of things you do everyday for other people.

But I think the best part is that it really doesn't matter. It's okay that no one sees. It's okay that "cool" is gone forever. Honestly, it really doesn't matter. I don't say this in a mushy, martyr kind of way-- I really mean it when I say that it's completely worth it.

And in those moments where I'm sick & tired of standing in front of the kitchen sink, or I can tell by the look in someone's eye that I am just an out-of-touch mom, I can remember-- and honestly believe-- that it is all worth it. Although I can't put words to it, something shifts-- everything shifts, really-- and this un-glamorous, self-sacrificing life becomes an unfathomable privilege. Weird, I know, but true.
Happy Mother's Day.

Justice

There's quite a stir in the cyber-world today. It's definitely a day for the history books, an event that I imagine will have a lasting impact on our world: the death of Osama bin Laden.

What is interesting to me-- what I've been chewing on all day-- is how to respond as a follower of Jesus.

I believe in justice. A fire lights up inside of me when I hear about abuse, oppression, slavery.

I can remember when I was a Junior in college, I spent a summer working at an after school tutoring program for inner city kids. A beautiful 8yr old boy named Danny became my little buddy one week & we were inseparable. One day, he pulled me aside into an empty room & lifted his shirt, revealing bruises & scars covering his chest & stomach. He quietly confessed that his father abused him, and told me stories that turned my stomach & brought me to tears. That afternoon, his father picked him up from the church, and it was all I could do to keep myself from going after that man with a club, cussing him out, slashing his tires & smashing his windshield. I'm not proud to say it, but I hated that man.

I also believe in grace & mercy. Like any of us, I want mercy for myself-- to get out of the speeding ticket I deserve, to be forgiven for running late or making a hurtful comment, or on a great, grand scale, to go to heaven even though I am selfish & lazy. But I also recognize grace as being something sacred & holy-- something with the power to disarm, to turn things on their heads.

I remember being in Uganda and seeing the unspeakable things that Joseph Kony and the LRA had done to the people there. One of my friends prayed that Kony would have a change of heart, that he would come to follow Jesus, and change his ways. Something inside of me balked. I confess that in that moment, I would rather have seen him die than to have to accept him as a brother.

And that brings me to today. How do we respond to the death of a wicked man? Should we rejoice that he cannot bring further violence, injustice, pain & suffering to the world? What does it look like to love your enemy and hate injustice? Should we mourn the fact that he never found God, forgiveness, healing? Are there circumstances, like in the case of Dietrich Bonhoeffer joining in an assassination plot against Hitler, where we are called to kill our enemy? Is it wrong to want justice for people like him, but grace & mercy for ourselves?

So many people have been quoting (and mis-quoting) Martin Luther King today-- a man who gave a dignified strength to Grace & Mercy. When I read his speeches, I see Jesus in him in a way that I don't see in myself. And even though I can't pretend to carry this kind of grace inside of me, it gives food for thought today...

The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral,
begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy.
Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it.
Through violence you may murder the liar,
but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth.
Through violence you may murder the hater,
but you do not murder hate.
In fact, violence merely increases hate.
So it goes.
Returning violence for violence multiplies violence,
adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars.
Darkness cannot drive out darkness:
only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.

p.s. Great thoughts on this topic from Brian McLaren

Lenton Lessons: Presence

I am pretty good at multi-tasking. I used to knit during meetings at conferences (until it became the cool thing to do, then I had to stop), I can walk & chew gum, and even (don't judge me) talk on the phone & drive at the same time. Several times a week, I help lead staff meetings or coach a staff member while watching a curious, crawling baby. I know, you're impressed.

The last several weeks have felt so jam-packed that doing twelve things at once was the only way to keep my head above water. I felt a little like a Warner Brothers cartoon, moving in fast-motion as I ran from the kitchen doing dishes to catch my little guy as he fell, all the while talking on the phone & typing on the computer... or maybe like the goddess Durga, with six arms, who is said to be an indestructible Mother who can redeem us in moments of utmost distress. Too bad I'm not Hindu.

I do have little built-in moments of rest several times during my day, though, when I am forced to sit down & be still while nursing Nolan. You would think that being handed quiet, reflective time on a platter would be a welcomed gift, but I admit that most of those times, I am trying to answer emails one-handed, scrolling through Facebook, or watching the latest episode of Glee in increments over a few days.

I decided that during Lent, I would take those times to sit and be still, to be present with my little man and focus on him, rather than trying to find an escape from stress in mindless television or squeezing in a few more tasks while he ate. It was much harder than it seemed, and I realized how much I seek distractions through sources that just aren't life-giving.

Slowly, though, I began to enjoy the silence, to settle into the moments of stillness, and to be grateful for them. I began using that time to think through my day-- and the minutes of "doing nothing" actually helped me to be more thoughtful & productive throughout the rest of the day. I realized that I have a very limited amount of time where I could simply sit with my son on my lap in quiet stillness, and that there would actually come a time where I missed the intimacy & connection with him.

Last night, as Chris was on campus working late, I was at home in our disaster of an apartment, feeling overwhelmed by the mess, the lack of time to get our lives in order, and the lack of sleep from a teething baby. I was racing around, trying to tidy up, while dragging Nolan out of every dark corner of our home that he could find with electrical cords, outlets, glass bottles & expensive electronics. Every time I went into the kitchen to try to tackle the mountain of dishes, he followed me in there, getting himself into trouble (and the dog bowl), until I finally realized that what he needed was simply for his mom to sit and spend time with him.

I remembered some of the lessons I had learned over Lent of simply being present and putting off the important things for the Most Important thing. Turning on the radio, I sat on the floor & played with my little guy, watching him learn, seeing his eyebrows raise as his index finger moved up and down a fuzzy book. Occasionally, he would reach out his hand and touch my leg next to him, just to make sure I was still there.

At first, I kept my eyes on the clock: two more hours until I can put him to bed and finish the dishes & clean up. But, for a brief space, something changed. Have you ever been struck by a certain moment-- the kind that would be in a flash-back sequence of a movie; the kind that you knew you would want to re-live someday; the kind that was worth bottling up & keeping? No photograph or video could quite capture it, but for some reason, something about it is just is mysteriously sacred.

A song came on the radio, and it was as though God cleared my vision & focused my mind for a moment. I picked up my little guy and danced around the living room with him singing at the top of my lungs, throwing him in the air, holding him upside down by his legs, listening to him squeal & giggle. I was exhausted, and had a million other things that I wanted to be doing, but I felt that if I let that moment slide by, I would be missing something almost Holy. The sweetness of it stayed with me all evening-- and even into a long night of teething tears & sleeplessness.

I hope it will stay with me through rough patches of adolescence and other hairy times of motherhood. If it took forty days of Lent to prepare myself to simply be present in that one moment, it was definitely worth it.

I hope I can have the sensitivity to recognize more of those moments as they come.

Better Than All Those Others

Despite the steady buzz of conversation in the room, my group sat in an awkward silence, looking at the floor. I wondered what I was doing there, then I wondered if the other women in the group were wondering the same thing.

It was one of those Meet & Greet things for new moms to help form playgroups & life-long friendships & arranged marriages & that sort of thing. There were probably about one hundred women in the room, but it seemed like the only ones who weren't talking were surrounding me. We had just heard the ground rules: pick a time & place to meet, exchange info, become best friends, etc. But my group wasn't doing any of that. I tried asking questions, suggesting times & places, but they all seemed really reluctant to commit to anything. Finally, one of them said she had to go, and within a matter of moments, I was sitting alone in a crowded room. No times, no places, no life-long friendships... just me, Nolan, and a piece of paper with pointers on how to get your group started.

Now, even the most secure & confident person is going to start wondering "What did I say?" in a moment like that. I realized that shortly before the mass exodus, I had sheepishly confessed (after being asked) that my little guy sleeps for twelve hours most nights. Coincidence? Okay, I'm sure that wasn't actually it, but I did notice how strange it is that when mothers get together, they compare their babies: how much do they weigh, how long to they sleep, will they take a bottle, are they crawling, walking, teething, and on & on. Why this is interesting, I really don't know, but I confess that I do it too.

And of course, every mom feels a little twinge of pride if their wee one seems brighter than the average rug rat-- or stronger, or more agile, or whatever the case may me. But why is that, I wonder? What advantage does one human have over another because they can walk, talk, read or ride a bike sooner than the rest? Will it make them happier? Will they live a more meaningful life?

Because really, in the end, I think that's what most mothers want for their babies. The hope is that this little bundle that you are investing so much in will one day live a rich life of meaning, have deep relationships, and great joy.

Which makes me wonder: What does that even look like? How many people do I know that are living that way? Am I living that way?

All of those hopes, dreams & aspirations that were placed on me as a baby-- how am I living them out? And how will my little man ever know what it looks like to live a life of meaning & depth if he doesn't get to see it modeled to him?

Now, I promise, I did not ask these questions at my Meet & Greet time tonight (that would give an easy answer to the "What did I say?" question), but stuck with the polite small talk. I do wonder, though, what it is we all want for our children-- and for ourselves.

Maybe that can be the topic of conversation at our next Mom's time... which is yet to be scheduled ;)

A Glutton for Punishment

I went a whole summer once eating only rice & beans. No joke.

Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but not much. Breakfast was a roll, [warm, fly-covered] pineapple, and insanely sweet tea, while lunch & dinner were almost always rice & beans, some form of greasy cabbage, and an occasional vegetable on the side. The beans always seemed to have rocks in them, so that if you forgot to chew slowly, you would chip a tooth. I'm not complaining, though. I was pretty spoiled, in that I had peanut butter granola bars stashed away in my bag, along with Tang, and a weekly chocolate bar or soda when I went to town.

We were living in a refugee camp in Uganda, and when I say that I was spoiled, I mean it. Although our home was a mud hut, sans electricity or running water... and although we had termite, ant, maggot & cow infestations in our huts, we were living better than 95% of the rest of the village. We had a door that locked. We had cement floors, hammocks with mosquito nets, malaria medicine, bottled water, shoes, several changes of clothes, laundry detergent... I could go on & on.

I remember at one point during our time in Uganda, taking a student to the medical clinic to treat dysentery. Knowing we would be there all day, and having run out of books to read, I grabbed a Martha Stewart magazine from my carry-on bag, and spent the day flipping through the pages of extravagant cakes, meals, crafts & what-not. It was surreal, ear-marking recipes, and knowing that the people around me in the clinic didn't have enough to eat, let alone an oven to bake a bee hive-shaped cake.

The reason I bring this up is because of Lent. The other night (after having eating a huge meal), Chris & I were driving home from campus, and he mumbled that he was the tiniest bit hungry. I agreed that I felt the smallest twinge of hunger, and we began thinking about what we would eat when we got home.

I started thinking about how often I turn to food when I don't need it-- for comfort, out of boredom, because of a random craving, or habit, or distraction from things I don't want to do. I remember reading in The Screwtape Letters about gluttony-- how it's one of those "out-dated" sins that we never really think about anymore. We think of some anonymous slob, too over-weight to walk, stuffing his face with greasy food, when really gluttony is defined as "a misplaced desire for food, or its withholding from the needy."

Now let me tell you something: I love food. I mean, I love it. I read magazines about it. I flip through cook books, plan means, fantasize about hosting parties, think of ways to reinvent old recipes. I get short of breath at Farmer's Markets, think of neighborhoods & geography in terms of restaurants, and plan entire days, weekends & vacations around food. While some people paint, sculpt, or sketch, I create in the kitchen. In fact, a Guatemalan woman is happiest when she is feeding someone... and this is one of those areas where I inherited some strong blood.

Although cooking & eating gives me so much joy, I have started to wonder if I am placing too much importance on it. And so, like everyone else, I am giving up sweets for Lent... but that's really just a small part. The idea behind Lent is to examine the broken parts of us that are in need of healing-- to feel that brokenness & need as we ache for Easter.

I don't know why Gluttony has become a laughable sin-- something that we brush aside as small or insignificant. In Ezekiel, it says that Sodom's sin (as in Sodom & Gomorrah... as in fire falling from the sky) was being "overfed & unconcerned" and not "caring for the poor & needy". I don't mean to get all fire & brimstone over a Bon Appetite magazine or anything, but simply to spend some time examining my own heart & actions and redirecting some of my energy.

So here's my Lenten action point: As I mentioned, no Sweets. My life is sweet enough-- and not in a Precious Moments saccharine kind if way, but in a way that I take for granted and want to intentionally remember. I am setting aside my cookbooks & foodie magazines and sticking to simple meals-- making a point to cook what's there, rather than rushing out to the store with every craving or inspiration. I also want to be intentional about giving more to the hungry-- not just money, but time, resources, and actual physical food to actual physically hungry people. There's a little more detail to all of it, but those are the basics.

I look forward to seeing what grows inside, as I make room for change. More Lenten thoughts & action points to come...