I grew up in a small church in a small town. We were there everytime the doors were open - Sunday morning, Sunday night, Wednesday night and every prayer meeting, youth group, bake sale or revival that fell in between. I learned Bible stories there, I cried and prayed there, I was baptized there, I made dear lifelong friends there and probably most importantly to my faith life, I sang there. Now, just so you know, I can't sing. I used to think I could and at one time, someone felt sorry for me and let me sing in the choir and tour with the state youth choir, but let me be really clear again - I. Can't. Sing. But I love to. And I particularly love to sing church songs - old hyms and choruses that I learned at the First Church of God in Somerset, Kentucky.
I love to sing those songs to my boys. I would rock them to sleep at night when they were babies and every old hym I ever sang would come back to me. Trevor still loves for me to sing to him (momma's voice is always sweet, no matter how out of tune it is).
When the words of those songs come out of my mouth, something that transcends this time and place happens to me. I forget all that causes me stress and I sit in the presence of my creator. I am comforted and reminded of the origin of peace.
I love the simplistic, but at the same time, almost mind-boggling, theology:
When peace like a river attendeth my way. When sorrows like see billows roll. Whatever my lot. Thou hast taught me to say. It is well. It is well. With my soul.
My Jesus I love you. I know thou art mine. For thee all the follies of sin I resign. My gracious redeemer. My savior art thou. If ever I love you, my Jesus tis now.
There is a name I love to hear. I love to sing its worth. It sounds like music in my ear. The sweetest name on Earth. Oh how I love Jesus. Oh how I love Jesus. Oh how I love Jesus . . . because he first loved me.
My faith has changed and grown since I learned those words, but the basic message has never left me. My mom and I were discussing that church where I learned those songs last week and I told her that it made me who I am. It laid the foundation for my entire life. From "I am a Child of God," to "Precious Lord" and "Amazing Grace," I am so grateful to those who wrote those words on my heart and allowed me the opportunity to sing them to my beutiful boys.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
heartbreak
I always knew the day would come when I would have to comfort my child after someone said something to mean to him, but I never thought it would come so soon and I never thought the "mean" thing said would be quite so mean or so hurtful.
Last week, we were on vacation in Myrtle Beach. It was probably the second day there, and Jordan, my five year old, was at the pool with me, trying to make friends. He approached a little boy who appeared to be his age who was playing catch with another little boy and that boy's father. I saw Jordan approach him and went about setting up my chair for relaxing by the pool when I overheard Jordan, in his typical upbeat, but very matter-of-fact voice saying "I am white. See, my skin is a little white and a little brown, so I am brown and white, but I am white." I was perplexed. This used to be a pretty normal conversation. When Jordan was about 3 and attending a beautifully racially diverse preschool/daycare, he started noticing differences in people and he would say to complete strangers in the grocery store, "You're brown. My daddy is brown and my mommy is white. I am ____ (this changed regularly -sometimes he was white and sometimes he was brown)." But I hadn't heard a conversation like this in years and I couldn't figure out why he was having it with this little boy. So, I called Jordan over and said, "Jordan, why are you telling that little boy what color your skin is?" He replied:
Because he told me that only white people could play that game.
Yes, you read that right. And no, you don't need to check your calendar. It really is 2011. I was in shock and I wish I could say I had something very wise and meaningful to say, but instead, I took a deep breath, restrained myself from yanking the little boy out of the pool and walking him over to his parents to yell at them (because even in that moment of anger/hurt/confusion, I knew that little boy didn't just come up with that on his own), and said, "well, then, find another friend." And my little boy walked off with a very sad face. Not sad because of racial injustice, but because I told him he couldn't be friends with someone.
Later, I had another talk where I asked him if the boy made him sad and told him he never needed to explain who he was, but that if (God forbid) something like that ever happened again, he should just say, "I'm just like you - it doesn't matter what color my skin is." I've rethought that a million times. I can't think of any more appropriate thing to say to a kid his age, but when I type it, it seems very naive of me.
I have to say in that very moment, I didn't know whether to cry, yell or just hold on tight to my child, but now, I have a hard time even having emotion about it because I just can't believe it happened. Again, maybe some would call me naive, but I have to say, I have heard a lot of racist things come out of the mouths of adults in my life, but I have never, ever heard something so simplistically horrible come out of the mouth of a child. I am under no illusion that we have moved past race issues, but I really thought we were past people saying and doing things like that - and clearly, this child has learned this somewhere.
All I can say as I think about it today is - I am shocked and heartbroken that my child has to grow up in a world with people like the ones who taught this little boy something so mean.
Last week, we were on vacation in Myrtle Beach. It was probably the second day there, and Jordan, my five year old, was at the pool with me, trying to make friends. He approached a little boy who appeared to be his age who was playing catch with another little boy and that boy's father. I saw Jordan approach him and went about setting up my chair for relaxing by the pool when I overheard Jordan, in his typical upbeat, but very matter-of-fact voice saying "I am white. See, my skin is a little white and a little brown, so I am brown and white, but I am white." I was perplexed. This used to be a pretty normal conversation. When Jordan was about 3 and attending a beautifully racially diverse preschool/daycare, he started noticing differences in people and he would say to complete strangers in the grocery store, "You're brown. My daddy is brown and my mommy is white. I am ____ (this changed regularly -sometimes he was white and sometimes he was brown)." But I hadn't heard a conversation like this in years and I couldn't figure out why he was having it with this little boy. So, I called Jordan over and said, "Jordan, why are you telling that little boy what color your skin is?" He replied:
Because he told me that only white people could play that game.
Yes, you read that right. And no, you don't need to check your calendar. It really is 2011. I was in shock and I wish I could say I had something very wise and meaningful to say, but instead, I took a deep breath, restrained myself from yanking the little boy out of the pool and walking him over to his parents to yell at them (because even in that moment of anger/hurt/confusion, I knew that little boy didn't just come up with that on his own), and said, "well, then, find another friend." And my little boy walked off with a very sad face. Not sad because of racial injustice, but because I told him he couldn't be friends with someone.
Later, I had another talk where I asked him if the boy made him sad and told him he never needed to explain who he was, but that if (God forbid) something like that ever happened again, he should just say, "I'm just like you - it doesn't matter what color my skin is." I've rethought that a million times. I can't think of any more appropriate thing to say to a kid his age, but when I type it, it seems very naive of me.
I have to say in that very moment, I didn't know whether to cry, yell or just hold on tight to my child, but now, I have a hard time even having emotion about it because I just can't believe it happened. Again, maybe some would call me naive, but I have to say, I have heard a lot of racist things come out of the mouths of adults in my life, but I have never, ever heard something so simplistically horrible come out of the mouth of a child. I am under no illusion that we have moved past race issues, but I really thought we were past people saying and doing things like that - and clearly, this child has learned this somewhere.
All I can say as I think about it today is - I am shocked and heartbroken that my child has to grow up in a world with people like the ones who taught this little boy something so mean.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
the journey
First, you might notice that I dropped the "i am _____" for the title this time. I always knew I could only keep that up for so long. I'm just not that creative. Now on to the topic . . ...
Our family is on a new journey. As you saw in my last post, we are moving to Louisville and becoming renters for the first time in over 7 years. My husband is embarking on a new career path. He is going to pursue a master's degree in marriage and family therapy - hopefully at Louisville Seminary. I say "hopefully" because this is the first element of the "leap of faith" part of this journey. And let me tell you, there are a lot of elements. He hasn't been accepted to the program yet, and can't be until next spring - when he would then start full-time in the fall of 2012. Because we were so moved and encouraged by the people we met on our campus visit and because they were so positive about his potential for joining the program, we decided to act now - allowing him to start taking classes as a non-degree seeking student (which will hopefully increase his possibility of admission) and allowing our oldest son to start first grade in Louisville, rather than moving between first and second. This is the honest rationale for our timing, but I have to tell you, there was no hesitation on my part.
We have lived in Lexington for almost 7 years and I love it, but there are parts of me that can't get out of here fast enough. That really has very little to do with the town and more to do with our history here. It has been a long and rocky 7 years and there are memories and emotions here that I want to leave behind. And I receive confirmation of it over and over again as people act surprised that my husband is going to seminary. This is the complete opposite reaction of all the people he grew up with and all of our friends in California. No one who really knows him blinks an eye when he tells them his plan. But here, people act shocked. Some even make it into a joke. This is when I respond, "you know, I tell people all the time that even though he knows every one in this town, very few people in Lexington have ever actually met the man I married." The great thing is, they are starting to meet him now and I have him back. The man I married is loving, compassionate, committed to his family and God and has a call on his life to serve people. I know that people here have seen some of those elements, but they haven't seen them all together on a consistent basis. We all go through seasons in our life when we struggle with who we are. Carl has been through his and I have certainly been through mine, but for the first time in a very, very long time - frankly, maybe even ever, I feel like we are on the same page, moving in the same direction.
What's most remarkable about this journey is that there are so many unknowns, but we both have so much peace. Besides the uncertainty of school, we have cut an income and are stretching our budget beyond what we knew we could do, we are having faith that Jordan will get into a decent school, we are moving the day before we leave for a vacation, we can't sell our house - so we are renting it out, we are renting a house and depending on the rental income from our Lexington house to pay our mortgage, and I am keeping my same job but working from an office that will make me less accessible to the executive management whom I work with on a daily basis. There have been days when we didn't know how we were going to write the check for the next cost associated with this process and days when we weren't sure if the next piece of the puzzle would fall into place, but at every turn, the money, or the decision, or the call from the renters has come at exactly the right time. And at every moment when I should have had a complete breakdown, I have felt perfectly content.
I love this journey and I love not knowing what will happen next. Whatever it is, I am more confident than ever that it will be the right thing at the right time.
Our family is on a new journey. As you saw in my last post, we are moving to Louisville and becoming renters for the first time in over 7 years. My husband is embarking on a new career path. He is going to pursue a master's degree in marriage and family therapy - hopefully at Louisville Seminary. I say "hopefully" because this is the first element of the "leap of faith" part of this journey. And let me tell you, there are a lot of elements. He hasn't been accepted to the program yet, and can't be until next spring - when he would then start full-time in the fall of 2012. Because we were so moved and encouraged by the people we met on our campus visit and because they were so positive about his potential for joining the program, we decided to act now - allowing him to start taking classes as a non-degree seeking student (which will hopefully increase his possibility of admission) and allowing our oldest son to start first grade in Louisville, rather than moving between first and second. This is the honest rationale for our timing, but I have to tell you, there was no hesitation on my part.
We have lived in Lexington for almost 7 years and I love it, but there are parts of me that can't get out of here fast enough. That really has very little to do with the town and more to do with our history here. It has been a long and rocky 7 years and there are memories and emotions here that I want to leave behind. And I receive confirmation of it over and over again as people act surprised that my husband is going to seminary. This is the complete opposite reaction of all the people he grew up with and all of our friends in California. No one who really knows him blinks an eye when he tells them his plan. But here, people act shocked. Some even make it into a joke. This is when I respond, "you know, I tell people all the time that even though he knows every one in this town, very few people in Lexington have ever actually met the man I married." The great thing is, they are starting to meet him now and I have him back. The man I married is loving, compassionate, committed to his family and God and has a call on his life to serve people. I know that people here have seen some of those elements, but they haven't seen them all together on a consistent basis. We all go through seasons in our life when we struggle with who we are. Carl has been through his and I have certainly been through mine, but for the first time in a very, very long time - frankly, maybe even ever, I feel like we are on the same page, moving in the same direction.
What's most remarkable about this journey is that there are so many unknowns, but we both have so much peace. Besides the uncertainty of school, we have cut an income and are stretching our budget beyond what we knew we could do, we are having faith that Jordan will get into a decent school, we are moving the day before we leave for a vacation, we can't sell our house - so we are renting it out, we are renting a house and depending on the rental income from our Lexington house to pay our mortgage, and I am keeping my same job but working from an office that will make me less accessible to the executive management whom I work with on a daily basis. There have been days when we didn't know how we were going to write the check for the next cost associated with this process and days when we weren't sure if the next piece of the puzzle would fall into place, but at every turn, the money, or the decision, or the call from the renters has come at exactly the right time. And at every moment when I should have had a complete breakdown, I have felt perfectly content.
I love this journey and I love not knowing what will happen next. Whatever it is, I am more confident than ever that it will be the right thing at the right time.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
i am a renter
We are on a new journey. After 7 years of being homeowners, we are going to become landlords and renters at the same time. More about the impetus for this soon, but we are taking a huge leap of faith and moving to Louisville. I am super excited and scared at the same time, but I am absolutely beside myself about this house we are renting. I love, love, love it and I cannot wait to make it ours - even if it's temporary.
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Tuesday, May 3, 2011
i am uncomfortable
The recent media coverage of Osama Bin Laden's death has disturbed me maybe even more than it should. I have been shocked, perplexed and saddened by the response of educated, compassionate people who are celebrating the death of a human being. Yes, I said it, human being. An evil human being. A murderous human being. A sick, and twisted, and awful human being. But a human being. And child of God.
I very intentionally am not making this a blog about politics, so I will not opine on war, our president or a particular polictal party. I will not debate whether justice was served or whether we are safer. My opinions on those things might or might not surprise you. I will, however, lament the reaction of Christian people over the loss of life. I will agonize over how to instill in two boys that every single life is precious to God and that God does not love me, or them, more than Osama Bin Laden.
Carl and I have been trying to figure out a way to talk to our five year old about what he might hear or see. It really hits close to home because he has taken an interest (some might say obsession) in Star Wars and when I object that maybe he shouldn't be watching the movies and shows, or others like them, too often because they are too violent, he likes to draw distinctions between the killing or hurting of "bad guys" as opposed to "good guys." It's OK when they are bad guys, according to him. And I often let it go because I don't know how to explain to a five year old that it's not. That human beings should not take the lives of other human beings, . . . but that sometimes its necessary.
Ugh. This has been one of those painful reminders that faith and parenting are both really, really hard.
I very intentionally am not making this a blog about politics, so I will not opine on war, our president or a particular polictal party. I will not debate whether justice was served or whether we are safer. My opinions on those things might or might not surprise you. I will, however, lament the reaction of Christian people over the loss of life. I will agonize over how to instill in two boys that every single life is precious to God and that God does not love me, or them, more than Osama Bin Laden.
Carl and I have been trying to figure out a way to talk to our five year old about what he might hear or see. It really hits close to home because he has taken an interest (some might say obsession) in Star Wars and when I object that maybe he shouldn't be watching the movies and shows, or others like them, too often because they are too violent, he likes to draw distinctions between the killing or hurting of "bad guys" as opposed to "good guys." It's OK when they are bad guys, according to him. And I often let it go because I don't know how to explain to a five year old that it's not. That human beings should not take the lives of other human beings, . . . but that sometimes its necessary.
Ugh. This has been one of those painful reminders that faith and parenting are both really, really hard.
Monday, April 11, 2011
i am disorganized
I crave organization. Spacious closets and neat drawers. Clear countertops and floors clear of clutter. A garage you can park in. But it isn't natural for me. I don't know why - clearly, it isn't an inherited gene, disorganization, because my mother's house has a storage bin or a drawer for everything. She has three drawers in a dresser dedicated solely to her jewelry. And her garage is like toys r us. With bins for race tracks, games, action figures and toy kitchen supplies. I can't even keep all the puzzle or game pieces in one place.
But my mom's house is not what gets to me the most. It's those ads for organization from places like The Container Store. Have you ever noticed that they have like three shirts hanging in a closet or one fork in the slots the silverware tray? My house would be organized also if I only had five pieces of silverware or 2 pairs of pants.
Seriously, why would I need a shelf if this is all I had to put on it?
Or why would I need a tray if these are all the utensils I had?
Something about these ads is freeing to me. I realize how ridiculous the standard we set for ourselves is. Who lives like this?? I'm all about downsizing and simplifying, but I'll take my disorganization any day over the need to meet an iimpossible standard.
But my mom's house is not what gets to me the most. It's those ads for organization from places like The Container Store. Have you ever noticed that they have like three shirts hanging in a closet or one fork in the slots the silverware tray? My house would be organized also if I only had five pieces of silverware or 2 pairs of pants.
Seriously, why would I need a shelf if this is all I had to put on it?
Monday, April 4, 2011
but (at least) i am NOT "that" woman
On the topic of judgment, and therefore insecurity (because that's where judgment comes from isn't it?), we all like to compare ourselves. We all like to know someone is more neurotic, messier, less organized, less put together, not as smart, or generally, crazier, than us - don't we?
I had a series of weird things going on with my body for almost two months. This led me to more doctor's visits than I have had in the past several years combined. And lots of tests. Seriously - two CT scans, an ultrasound (not the kind for pregnancy - just to be clear), blood tests, and lots of evaluations. These very expensive hoops I jumped through led to two conclusions. (1) I was stressed out (really? someone gets paid to tell me that?) and (2) I had a sinus infection - no kidding, a CT scan told me I had a sinus infection. While all this was occurring, I worried every time I called the doctor. Not that I had some life threatening illness, but that that there was some flag on my file that said "hypochondriac" or that my insurance company was going to start denying my visits.
I seriously felt like a crazy person. And then, of course, I would have to compensate for that. Every time I called to make an appointment, I would say something like "it's me again. ..." Or when I would go into the exam room, I would make sure to say to the nurse AND then again to the doctor, "you know, this isn't like me. I feel like you must think I'm crazy."
Most of the time, they brushed me off, but on one visit, the nurse said, "honey, you have no idea, we have one lady who is here 3 times a week and inssits on calling several times a day." Amazingly, just her saying this made me feel SO much better.
How sad is that? Some poor lady out there has serious issues that cause her to constantly be calling the doctoer, but somehow that makes me feel better. I need someone to be crazier than me. So I can say "at least I'm not her."
I know we all do it, but I want to move past that level of insecurity - to where I don't care if I'm "that" woman and hopefully, "that" woman doesn't care if I approve of her or not.
I had a series of weird things going on with my body for almost two months. This led me to more doctor's visits than I have had in the past several years combined. And lots of tests. Seriously - two CT scans, an ultrasound (not the kind for pregnancy - just to be clear), blood tests, and lots of evaluations. These very expensive hoops I jumped through led to two conclusions. (1) I was stressed out (really? someone gets paid to tell me that?) and (2) I had a sinus infection - no kidding, a CT scan told me I had a sinus infection. While all this was occurring, I worried every time I called the doctor. Not that I had some life threatening illness, but that that there was some flag on my file that said "hypochondriac" or that my insurance company was going to start denying my visits.
I seriously felt like a crazy person. And then, of course, I would have to compensate for that. Every time I called to make an appointment, I would say something like "it's me again. ..." Or when I would go into the exam room, I would make sure to say to the nurse AND then again to the doctor, "you know, this isn't like me. I feel like you must think I'm crazy."
Most of the time, they brushed me off, but on one visit, the nurse said, "honey, you have no idea, we have one lady who is here 3 times a week and inssits on calling several times a day." Amazingly, just her saying this made me feel SO much better.
How sad is that? Some poor lady out there has serious issues that cause her to constantly be calling the doctoer, but somehow that makes me feel better. I need someone to be crazier than me. So I can say "at least I'm not her."
I know we all do it, but I want to move past that level of insecurity - to where I don't care if I'm "that" woman and hopefully, "that" woman doesn't care if I approve of her or not.
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