Grandparenting, revisit

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We’ve had two consecutive weekends of family reunion.This past Saturday, July 27 2019, my mother and her brothers gathered with their children and grandchildren. As we talked and laughed, I remembered my grandparents, the patriarchs of this crew, and the impact they had on me, so I re-share this post from March 2015 — my thoughts on grandparenting.

I have so many memories of my grandparents. I was blessed to have a great-grandmother until I was twenty-four, and grandparents until I was in my forties. Growing up, these three were central to my life. They were at every birthday and major celebration, and we often visited them since they lived just an hour away. Time with my grandparents was a highlight of my childhood; I eagerly looked forward to every visit.

Now, when my husband and I are anticipating a visit with our own grandchildren, I can clearly…

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Making it happen, for 28 years and counting, Revisit

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This weekend we will celebrate 29 years of marriage, so I thought I’d recycle this post from last year to remind myself of how blessed we are to be together in His hand.

Yesterday, when a friend heard that today was our twenty-eighth wedding anniversary, she said, “Sometime we’ll have to talk about how you madethathappen…”

Yeah, so, that’s not exactly how I would characterize the last three decades.

I didn’t make anything happen.  What I’ve made are numerous mistakes, countless swift judgments, and repeated poor choices. I started off strong — making the assumption that I knew how to be the best wife and mother ever, and I’ve spent the last twenty-eight years learning humility. I’m not an expert at communicating, loving, being patient, or putting someone else first. The fact that we’re celebrating twenty-eight years of marriage is not a reflection of our success, but a testimony to the…

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Carrying Sorrow and Finding Joy, Re-visit

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I brought out this post, written in February 2018, on this weekend in July 2019 — a weekend where I simultaneously carried deep sorrow and experienced great joy.

Brené Brown says in Braving the Wilderness says we “can lean into pure joy without denying the struggle in the world” My husband says, “two realities can coexist.”

We can hold two things at the same time.

Photo Credit: Anna Rathje

This is hard for me to wrap my mind around.If I am really hurt, I want to really be sad.I want to grieve, mourn, and wail.I want to go all-out Old Testament and rend my garments, put on sackcloth, and smear my face with ashes. I want to fully commit to my feelings.

Once in junior high, I came home at night feeling betrayed by a friend.I ran through the front door of my house, flew up the stairs to my…

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Reunited, and it feels so good! (Revisit)

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As I prepare for family reunions this week and next, I share this post, written in November 2015 and dusted off in July 2019. It celebrates family and friends, and echoes some of the thoughts from last week’s post about eternity.

One of the blessings of moving back to Michigan has been the chance to reunite with people we hadn’t seen in a long time, or at least hadn’t seen as often as we would’ve liked to for a long time. I will never get tired of locking eyes with familiarity, embracing family, or laughing with dear, dear friends.

When we lived in St. Louis, a trip to see our parents, any of our parents, took thoughtful planning, time off work, and long hours in the car. Now that we are in Michigan, we can be with parents in as little as 2, 3, or 4 hours. And often, when…

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Of writing and making meaning

Every week I feel a hum of anxiety around Thursday or Friday….”what am I going to write about this week?” Usually by Friday an idea is forming — an image, a topic, or the sharing of an experience. On Saturday I put words on the page. Sunday is for revising, slashing, and rewriting in order to form a cohesive draft before I fine-tune on Monday morning and finally click “publish”.

Last weekend, I dug out a months-old draft and decided to carry it to completion. I wrote most of the day Saturday — drafting and deleting, writing and revising. By Sunday morning, I had a completed draft. I felt I was about ready to post, so I clicked on the “preview” button at the top of my draft. A dialog box popped up:

I paused, and thinking my most recent changes were the only portion that was unsaved, I took a quick snapshot of the last three paragraphs, and then ‘proceeded’.

To my shock and horror, I lost much more than the last few paragraphs. I lost most of my draft. Because we’d been without power at our home, I had changed locations twice over the weekend, connecting to different internet sources, and had apparently failed to save all of my changes during several hours of drafting the previous day. I fumbled and clicked around the WordPress platform trying to find what I’d lost, but it was all gone.

This Sunday morning, I started with nothing. I had no topic or image on Friday, no drafting on Saturday, not one word on the page at 8:15am. So, rather than staring at a blank screen waiting for inspiration, I just started typing, because that’s what I tell my students, “Don’t just sit there — write something!”

I’m writing from the coffee house at our church while my husband stands one floor above me in the sanctuary, delivering a message about storytelling and how we attach meaning to the events in our lives. He puts a graphic on the screen something like this:

Experience —> Story —–> Feel/Act

He, the therapist (and educator and pastor) explains that all humans have experiences, they tell stories about those experiences, and the stories they choose to tell direct the feelings and actions that grow from those experiences. The stories we tell about our experiences are where we find meaning.

And I realize that I just told you a story about my experience with with my writing last weekend. And I’m starting to tell you a story about my experience with writing this weekend. I’m trying to find some meaning here.

A few times in the past several months, I have come to the keys frustrated — about events that to me seem unjust, inhumane, misdirected, and born of ill motive. On those days, my fingers can barely keep up with the words as they throw themselves onto the page. I dump that draft and then come back later to soften, to add complexity, to explore my feelings, and to find the meaning buried in my messy spill of words.

Other times, when I’m more contemplative, my writing feels like a letter to a friend, a telling of the truths of my life, longing for a listener who will resonate, someone who will say, “Mhmm, I get that.” My fingers move slowly, words coming from my heart and my guts rather than my mind. Often through tears I work to translate emotion into print, to share my story, to create meaning out of pain, joy, sadness, or celebration.

Sometimes I battle thoughts of insecurity, “Why do you think anyone would want to read anything that you write?” Or, fear that I will offend, “Yikes, do you really want to say that? What will your family think? your friends? the people at church?” Or that I will share something too dear and personal for those that I love the most, “Is this story really mine to tell?”

In those moments, I come back to my motive. Why do I write? I write because whenever I put words on the page something shifts for me. As the words form themselves into sentences and paragraphs, meaning takes shape. The shift is subtle. I can’t always tell that it’s happening, but it always does.

Even in my re-telling of last weekend’s lost draft, I see the variety of stories I had the opportunity to tell, I could’ve said, “Sorry, guys, I had an excellent draft, but I lost it. I’ll try again next week.” And certainly the world would’ve kept turning. Or, I could’ve told the story of what an idiot I am — how could I make such a careless mistake? WordPress even warned me! Instead, in the moment, I chose a different way: I gathered myself, and began step by step to rebuild what I’d lost, telling myself over and over, “You can do this. You are not finished. The thoughts that were true in the first draft will find their way onto the second draft. Do not give up.”

I had an experience, I told myself the story of persistence, and I was able, through my frustration, to rewrite the post. All 1400 words of it.

And in coming to the keys this week, having no topic in mind at all, and telling the story of that experience, I have discovered that writing about my process of writing is really writing about more than just that. As I sit in the coffee shop below the sanctuary where my husband is preaching about Jesus’ storytelling and His way of making meaning, I’m being prepared for when I will join him for the second service to take in the meaning he’s been making.

He’s been pouring over scripture, writing his own thoughts, creating the slides that appear on the screen behind him, and practicing his delivery. He’s been staying late at the office, getting up early in the morning, and reviewing his notes as he lies next to me before falling asleep each night.

He, all week, has been putting words onto a page, watching them form into sentences and paragraphs, and, he’s been writing stories, and, in the process, has been making meaning.

I can’t speak for him and how his process works, but I can tell you how it happens for me. Never do I know, when I first sit down, what I will ultimately say in my writing. I come to the page and write about what I have experienced. I share my stories and am often surprised by what I learn as I draft, re-read, revise, and edit. I pay attention to what I keep and what I toss — what resonates and what is dross.

And usually, I discover that the pieces of life that I’ve put on the page have somehow transformed into meaning. It’s as though the experiences have been crafted, or at least allowed, by a Creator who delights in story. The one who wrote us into His own story — imagine it! — allows us the time and space to experience our own stories. He invites us to see the intersections, the co-existence, the interconnectedness — to find meaning.

A lost draft becomes an opportunity to build resiliency. An empty page offers a time to reflect. An hour in a coffee shop becomes a necessary pause — a chance to write and see the making of meaning.

“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.”

Matthew 7:7

Mutual Friendship, revisit

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This post, written in April 2017 and dragged back out in July 2019, was written before my current friendships really had a chance to show their strength. They’ve now proven themselves even stronger than I thought. I hope to one day reciprocate the kind of love and support I have received from my friends.

I have underestimated the power of friendship. If I sit and think about all the people I have loved or been loved by over the years, I have to admit that I have taken my friendships for granted. I have had the kind of friends who drive hours just to meet me for lunch. I have had the kind of friends who drop what they are doing to stay with my kids for the weekend. I have had the kind of friends who, after having not heard from me for months, will pick up the phone…

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The Great Crowd

When I was about twelve years old, I sat on a folding chair at a long table in confirmation class watching my pastor draw a line — probably 10 or 12 feet long — on the chalk board. He said, “Imagine all of eternity as this long, long line. If this line fully represented eternity, it would keep going beyond both ends of this board and never end.” I listened attentively and mentally extended the line and put little math class arrows on both ends. He then, with one quick dab of his chalk, touched the line and said, “your life is that dot.”

I have no idea, forty years later, what the context of this illustration was. He probably intended to convey the power of God to exist beyond my little arrows, but I missed all that. I had already, way before age twelve, lain awake at night pondering the vastness of eternity — how, I wondered, would I endure a never-ending life in heaven? What did never-ending even look like? I imagined myself floating in a vast black expanse and I was terrified.

Such thoughts kept me awake at night.

But this, this image of my dot-long-life compared to the expansive line of all eternity shifted the focus of my fear from that endless expanse of time to the insignificance of my life. I was one little dot. God must care very little for me — just one of many million dot-sized-lives. How in the world could he hear my prayers? Certainly my voice would be drowned in the cacophony.

Those thoughts could keep me awake, too.

Eternity and and my relative insignificance in its scope are difficult concepts to grapple with, so I learned over time to mentally place all such thoughts in a mental file marked, “to be understood later”. With those images safely tucked away, I have avoided wakeful nights fearfully spiraling alone in the dark expanse.

Not too long ago, my current pastor was teaching from Revelation (hear the sermon here). The content of Revelation, like the topic of eternity, has also been for me fairly daunting, what with all the beasts and horses and blood and fire. Unable (or perhaps unwilling) to wrap my mind around the imagery and symbolism, I typically place all Revelation-y thoughts in that same closed file folder –“to be understood later.”

So when our pastor said that he was going to “explain” a passage of Revelation and then share the application, I may have mentally rolled my eyes. I was already prepared to stash this sermon, too, in the file. However, as he used the language of Revelation to paint a new image of eternity, I felt compelled to take some notes.

An image that stood out was of the church — the collection of all believers in Christ — which he said is spread over time and space and is enduring into eternity, strong and clothed in majesty. As he spoke, I saw images of my grandparents and their parents and grandparents and all the parents and grandparents of all the people I know and love and many that I did not know, spreading out in all directions from me into time and space. I saw all these hundreds and thousands as though they were standing in the dark sky among the stars, a great cloud of witnesses — witnesses who had endured all the attacks of the evil one, all the traumas of their years, all the distractions of their days –bearing witness among the stars.

I imagined them cheering me on, like spectators that line the course at a marathon. They were standing resolute, watching my journey and saying together, “Come on! Come on!”

It dawned on me that they had already run this course — they knew what was coming, the challenges I would face, the relief that would be provided, and how far I was from the finish.

I shouted at them in disbelief, “Really? You finished? You made it?”

“Yes! Keep going! You can do it!”

“Easy for you to say! Can’t you see I’m struggling here?”

“We struggled, too!”

“You did?”

“Of course…sometimes for long stretches.”

“This has been a very long stretch. I’m tired.”

“He’s got you! You’ll make it!”

I turned my eyes back toward the road, pressed forward by their voices. Of course they were right. My difficulties are not beyond what is common to man, surely I have not be given more than I could bear.

“Keep your eyes up. Relief is coming!”

What had I been thinking, that I was the only one who struggled? Did I think my challenges were more difficult than those of anyone else?

I glanced to my right and saw an older man, sweat band across his forehead, eyelids at half-mast, jaw slack. His faded singlet exposed his thin, leathery arms. His feet, in worn trainers, pounded the pavement wearily, one step after the other.

In front of me, I saw a pony-tailed girl, clad in neon-orange and fresh kicks, trotting beside her dad who intermittently dispensed encouragement: “Gatorade just ahead….drop your shoulders and that cramp will go away…you’re doing great!” She determinedly pumped her arms, believing his words.

What had I been thinking? That the road would be easy? Hadn’t I expected that it would take work, focus, and determination? Hadn’t I realized that life is full of ups and downs, unexpected turns, and difficult paths? Where had I gotten the message that if I got it right, I could avoid trouble, tragedy, and pain?

Why hadn’t I realized that my focus should not be on avoiding trouble, but on responding to trouble? What kind of person would I be in the face of difficulty? The kind who stomps off the course? Or the kind who grabs a cup of Gatorade, leans into the encouragement of those who have gone before, and keeps stepping?

Anyone who’s run a long race knows that crowds gather at the starting line and at the finish. They also often show up at easily accessible mile markers, but on the steep inclines, the difficult hair pin turns, and the long desolate stretches, the sidelines are often empty. You might see others far ahead on the course or others way behind, but you can feel pretty lonely as you hear the sound of your feet hit the pavement and struggle to control your ragged breaths.

Yet at these times, when the cloud of witnesses has seemed to evaporate and the cheering has gone silent, a still small voice can be heard.

In the world you will have trouble. But take heart, I have overcome the world.

I will never leave you nor forsake you.

See, I have engraved you o the palm of my hands.

And before you know it, you’re rounding a curve and you can hear the roar of the crowd, “Come on, come on! You are almost there!”

Your knees start to lift, your face starts to smile, your pace picks up. You run to join those in front of you, as you turn to those behind yelling, “Come on, we’re almost there!”

This picture — this new picture — of a great crowd of those who have gone before cheering the rest of us on — this one I won’t tuck into that file. This one I will keep out on my desk, on the dashboard of my car, on the doorposts of my house.

I am not a solitary dot on the line of eternity. I am one of millions of dots forming a visible cloud — a collection of those to whom God has been faithful. The expanse of eternity is large enough for all of us, and not so large that I will feel alone.

That won’t keep me up tonight. Not at all. In fact, I plan to sleep in peace.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such hostility against himself from sinners, so that you may not grow weary or lose heart.”

Hebrews 12: 1-3

Celebrating Freedom?

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Donned in red, white, and blue many of us today will find our way to picnics and gatherings; we’ll light sparklers and watch fireworks. It’s a national holiday to celebrate independence — freedom from tyranny, freedom to vote, and freedom to speak our minds.

What a privilege we have to live in a country that is free — that for hundreds of years has been a destination for those fleeing oppression, longing for liberty, hoping for a better life.

So, it seems a bit ironic to me that as we celebrate our freedom, hundreds of children whose parents dared to walk a road toward what they hoped would be a better life, are held in crowded rooms, clutching tinfoil blankets, unaware of when they will see their families again.

Source

It seems impossible that in the land of the free and the home of the brave, children going to…

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Celebrating Freedom?

Donned in red, white, and blue many of us today will find our way to picnics and gatherings; we’ll light sparklers and watch fireworks. It’s a national holiday to celebrate independence — freedom from tyranny, freedom to vote, and freedom to speak our minds.

What a privilege we have to live in a country that is free — that for hundreds of years has been a destination for those fleeing oppression, longing for liberty, hoping for a better life.

So, it seems a bit ironic to me that as we celebrate our freedom, hundreds of children whose parents dared to walk a road toward what they hoped would be a better life, are held in crowded rooms, clutching tinfoil blankets, unaware of when they will see their families again.

Source

It seems impossible that in the land of the free and the home of the brave, children going to school, families attending church, or friends going to a concert can be gunned down in moments by an assailant with a semi-automatic weapon; that kindergartners learn how to Run, Hide, or Fight; and that whole webpages, programs, and organizations exist for the sole purpose of training people how to respond in the event of a violent attack.

One hundred fifty-six years after the end of slavery and fifty-five years after the Civil Rights Act outlawing discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, or national origin, African Americans are 75% more likely to face a charge carrying a mandatory minimum sentence than white offenders committing the same crime (University of Michigan School of Law), Muslims are subject to travel restrictions and hate crimes, and women receive 80% of the pay men receive for comparable jobs (AAUW). Injustice persists for Native Americans, Hispanics, Jews, and members of the LGBTQ community.

Aren’t all men (and women and children) created equal and endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights?

In the United States, where someone is sexually assaulted every 92 seconds and 1 out of 6 women will be the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime (RAINN), where 84% of women and 43% of men experience sexual harassment in the workplace (NPR), who, I ask, is free?

Is this what our ancestors fought for? Is this their more perfect union?

Did they fight to give us the freedom to lock up children away from their families?

Did they consider just white Christian men to be created equal? not people of color, women, or children? Do we?

Did they ensure the right to bear arms so citizens could freely gun down innocents as they live their daily lives?

Did they include among our unalienable rights the freedom to take the innocence and safety of others?

Is that what freedom looks like?

Or can we do better? Is it possible to live in a society where all can experience the same freedoms? Or is that simply an American dream?

As we light our grills and watch our fireworks, can we pause to consider the high price that was paid for American freedom and the high price that some are still paying? Can we think about what we’d be willing to sacrifice to offer safe haven to the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free?

Can’t we find a way to provide life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness to all inside our borders? Wouldn’t doing so ensure domestic tranquility? provide for the common defense? promote the general welfare? ensure the blessings of liberty?

Wasn’t that the hope in creating one nation, under God — the God who created all men, women, and children, who loves all people?

The God who commanded that we not only “love the Lord our God with all our hearts, souls, and minds” but also “love our neighbor as ourselves”? The God who, when asked “who is my neighbor?” told a story of mercy to strangers and perceived enemies (Luke 10:25-37)?

The God who told us to “seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow” (Isaiah 1:17)?

The God who requires us “to act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with our God” (Micah 6:8)?

Aren’t we free to do just that?

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.”

Galatians 5:1

I am just a human, being, revisit

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This post, written in July 2014 at the beginning of my quest to do less and be more, seems appropriate even in July 2019, at the end of a weekend where I hung out with my granddaughters, simply being.

Many have pointed out the irony of being called ‘human beings’ in a culture that is so focused on ‘doing’. We often find our worth, meaning, and identity through what we do. Strangers, upon meeting, ask one another, “so what do you do?” The child comes home from school, and the parent asks, “what did you do today?” The husband says to the wife, “what have you been doing?” It’s fine if what youdidwas close a million-dollar deal, get an A on a paper, or promote world peace, but not so great if what you did was file for bankruptcy, get in a fight with a friend…

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