Were my eyes playing tricks on me, or was something up with that guy's tire?
"Mom, what's wrong with his tire?"
Okay, it wasn't just me. The driver of the pick-up truck in front of me was clearly losing the tire off the back of his trailer. "I think," I said, as bits of rubber started flying toward my windshield, "that he's having a blow-out." I slowed down, anticipating that he would pull off to the side of the road as soon as he realized what was happening.
Except he didn't. He kept going 65 miles an hour as the tire continued to rip apart. And then the entire thing came off and flew across the road, the rim of the trailer blazing along the pavement. He didn't even slow down. Smoke started billowing up behind him. I honked several times. Surely that would make him look in his rear view mirror and see the cloud of smoke. Nope. Nothing.
The kids and I started laughing in disbelief. "Wow, Mom, he must be really determined to get where he's going!"
When he finally pulled over, I thought to myself that there was probably a lesson here. Everyone knows that you can't drive looking in the rear view mirror. You can't move forward if you're always looking back. It's the same with life. If we focus on the past and spend hours contemplating our childhood and reevaluating past choices, we won't make forward progress. Ecclesiastes tells us that it is better not to "dwell unduly" on the things that happen in our lives. (Ecc. 5:19-20) We have to travel with our eyes forward.
The pick-up truck driver had that lesson down. No looking back for that guy! He had his eye on the goal and he was moving forward. He was off to work and nothing was going to distract him. But he didn't take the time to realize that things were falling apart behind him. Every once in awhile, we need that rear view mirror. A quick glance back here and there can give us information that will help us reach our destination.
After all, how can we learn life's lessons if we don't take some time to look back and evaluate? There are many who spend far too much time pondering and reconsidering every step, but the hyper-charged people out there- we know who we are- are guilty of the opposite folly: Moving toward a goal at a breakneck speed at the expense of letting the past instruct us. I find it's far easier than I'd like to admit to fall into that trap, especially in the little day to day areas. After all, when something huge happens, you pretty much have to stop and take notice. If your house burns down, there will be inspections and reports. What caused this massive disaster? But in our day to day life, it's easier to ignore the warning signs.
Take parenting as an example. One of the advantages (other than having a fail-safe retirement plan) of having a lot of children is being able to learn from your mistakes and change tactics. That's why we firstborn children are all so tightly wound and high strung, parents just have no idea what's a big deal and what isn't. So with the first child, we usually decide that EVERYTHING is a big deal. When Nathan was seven, he started lying. Oh my goodness! What kind of future con artist were we raising? And then, he stopped. And when the next child turned seven and started to lie, we said, "Hasn't this happened before?" By the third or fourth time, I was able to say, "Well, it looks like it's time to start teaching the required seven-year-old curriculum on the value of honesty." I could look in the rear view mirror and apply those lessons as I moved forward.
A look back can also remind us of all the ground we've covered in the past. Sometimes, the destination is too far ahead to even see. There are just too many turns in the road between us and where we're going. We have to remember, then, how far we've come, how many times the Lord has sustained us in the past, how we've overcome obstacles that seemed insurmountable before. And as we look back, we get the courage to move forward.
"A wise man considers well his steps." (Prov. 14:15) On the highway of life, we'd all do well to check the rear view mirror every now and again.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Live Fast
I was listening to some great Keith Green music. I love his songs. His passion and zeal shine through in his lyrics, and when I sing along with him, I am inspired to follow the Lord without compromise. His life was short. He was killed in a plane crash, along with two of his children, at age 28. He left behind a pregnant wife and one more little one, and a legacy of speaking the truth through music:
For some reason, that made me think about how short Bryan's life was. Just 44 years, and he was a Christian for less than half of that time. And yet he accomplished so much and touched so many. He lived fast. He packed as much as he could into his short life, and I think there's a lot to be learned from his example.
Bryan, you see, was busy, very busy. He had a job, a family (a big one!), and all of the usual "responsibilities." And yet somehow, he still managed to teach Bible studies, plan and lead Passover Seders, teach Sunday school, lead AWANA at our church (a Sunday night Bible memory club), and invite people to our home for celebrations and fellowship. Then, of course, there were the comments he'd make that made people wonder what on earth he read in his spare time (Irenaeus, Tertullian, Justin Martyr, and the like.)
He did all of that while dealing with chronic pain. Some nights before Bible study, when his ankles hurt so badly that he could barely walk, I can remember him debating whether or not he should rearrange the room so that he could sit instead of stand. He usually stood. One afternoon before a large Passover Seder at our home, he went to the emergency room to get a splint for his wrist. (Collapsed joints are very painful.) He had every reason to take it easy. Oprah would have told him to practice saying no and work in some more "me time." And no one would have blamed him if he had chosen that path.
But Bryan felt blessed to have so many opportunities to share the zeal he had inside. He would say, "Well, you've got to do something with your life." How often do we forget that we're supposed to be doing something with our lives? How often do we say, "I'm just so busy. I need to slow down"?
And maybe we are too busy. But there's a good chance that we're busy doing the wrong things. We turn down the opportunities for service that are meaningful and eternally enduring, and absorb ourselves in little distractions that won't matter much in the end. Plus, there's always the chance that we're stronger than we think, capable of doing more than we think we can, if we just choose to follow the passion that God has given us. Are we squandering years that may turn out to be all too short?
God hasn't called us to an easy path, a path with lots of time to pursue idle pastimes. He's called us to serve, to reach out, to think carefully about what we can do to impact those around us. And when we do things for His glory, He gives us the strength, even if it seems impossible at the outset.
A few months before he died, Bryan asked me, "Honey, do you think we can do a public Seder at church again this year?" I was kind of surprised he asked. I figured he would have taken it for granted that we would. (When Justin was born two weeks early, he said, "Oh good, we can invite some people over at Passover. He'll be 6 weeks old!" We had 20 guests that year.) I asked him why he was asking me, and he said, "Because I know it's hard, and I don't want you to do it if you don't think you can."
It's true. It was hard. We were busy. We had an infant and six other kids under ten. Bryan was putting in long hours at work. By all the standards of this world, I should have said, "No, it's too much." But I knew how much it meant to him. I knew that God had placed a burning desire inside of him to share the wonder of the Word. And I didn't say no, I said we'd make it work.
And that was his last Seder. Was it worth it? I think so.
"The world is sleeping in the dark,
that the church just can't fight,
because it's asleep in the light.
How can you be so dead
when you've been so well fed?"
Conviction and inspiration, all from a life- though brief- lived well, lived passionately, lived fast.
For some reason, that made me think about how short Bryan's life was. Just 44 years, and he was a Christian for less than half of that time. And yet he accomplished so much and touched so many. He lived fast. He packed as much as he could into his short life, and I think there's a lot to be learned from his example.
Bryan, you see, was busy, very busy. He had a job, a family (a big one!), and all of the usual "responsibilities." And yet somehow, he still managed to teach Bible studies, plan and lead Passover Seders, teach Sunday school, lead AWANA at our church (a Sunday night Bible memory club), and invite people to our home for celebrations and fellowship. Then, of course, there were the comments he'd make that made people wonder what on earth he read in his spare time (Irenaeus, Tertullian, Justin Martyr, and the like.)
He did all of that while dealing with chronic pain. Some nights before Bible study, when his ankles hurt so badly that he could barely walk, I can remember him debating whether or not he should rearrange the room so that he could sit instead of stand. He usually stood. One afternoon before a large Passover Seder at our home, he went to the emergency room to get a splint for his wrist. (Collapsed joints are very painful.) He had every reason to take it easy. Oprah would have told him to practice saying no and work in some more "me time." And no one would have blamed him if he had chosen that path.
But Bryan felt blessed to have so many opportunities to share the zeal he had inside. He would say, "Well, you've got to do something with your life." How often do we forget that we're supposed to be doing something with our lives? How often do we say, "I'm just so busy. I need to slow down"?
And maybe we are too busy. But there's a good chance that we're busy doing the wrong things. We turn down the opportunities for service that are meaningful and eternally enduring, and absorb ourselves in little distractions that won't matter much in the end. Plus, there's always the chance that we're stronger than we think, capable of doing more than we think we can, if we just choose to follow the passion that God has given us. Are we squandering years that may turn out to be all too short?
God hasn't called us to an easy path, a path with lots of time to pursue idle pastimes. He's called us to serve, to reach out, to think carefully about what we can do to impact those around us. And when we do things for His glory, He gives us the strength, even if it seems impossible at the outset.
A few months before he died, Bryan asked me, "Honey, do you think we can do a public Seder at church again this year?" I was kind of surprised he asked. I figured he would have taken it for granted that we would. (When Justin was born two weeks early, he said, "Oh good, we can invite some people over at Passover. He'll be 6 weeks old!" We had 20 guests that year.) I asked him why he was asking me, and he said, "Because I know it's hard, and I don't want you to do it if you don't think you can."
It's true. It was hard. We were busy. We had an infant and six other kids under ten. Bryan was putting in long hours at work. By all the standards of this world, I should have said, "No, it's too much." But I knew how much it meant to him. I knew that God had placed a burning desire inside of him to share the wonder of the Word. And I didn't say no, I said we'd make it work.
And that was his last Seder. Was it worth it? I think so.
Walk as children of light...
Redeem the time,
because the days are evil.
- from Ephesians 5:8,16
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Tiny Texan
I finished my first sprint tri!
Sunday was the annual Tiny/Small Texan Triathlon in Boerne. I've had my eye on this race for a few months, and I finally decided to sign up and go for it. The sprint (Tiny) race is an 800 m. swim, 25K bike, 5K run.
I got there early, got everything set up, and nervously bounced around waiting for the race to start. The pro triathlete who's helped me with some of my swimming, Travis, was there for the Small Texan (olympic distance race), and he talked me into a short, slow jog before the race started. That sounded pretty crazy to me, considering that I was just hoping that I'd have the endurance to finish the race, but it was better than standing still, so I went along with it.
The Small Texan racers started first, and Travis was the first one out of the water by a minute and a half. Then, it was time for the Tiny racers to start. (You're probably picturing elves right now.) I had done one open water swim before the race, so I knew I probably wouldn't panic in the water, but I wasn't willing to fight it out with the other racers at the start. I'm not a fast swimmer and I had no intention of getting run over. I hung back and started nearly last. Apparently, I then passed other swimmers, but since everyone was fairly spread out in the water, I didn't really realize that. I am terrible at swimming straight in open water. It's harder than it looks. The buoys were placed 200 m apart, and I stayed on track by looking up every so often and course correcting. In politics and in swimming, I lean right. After about 500 meters, I became pretty convinced that I was coming in dead last. I wasn't really looking for a fast finish, but it made me remember what Nathan had said after his first tri, "You just don't want to be in the water so long that everyone knows your name and is cheering for you." That made me laugh- yes, even while I was swimming- and I just kept going. Turns out I wasn't last by a long shot, but since I could see people ahead of me and no one was passing me, it just felt like it.
Coach Eddie, Boerne's swim coach extraordinaire, was there to watch Travis, and Travis' mom and girlfriend came as well. I got to borrow them to be my cheer squad too! I ran up the hill (uphill proved to be the theme of the day) out of the lake and into the transition area, hopped on my bike and headed out. (Thanks, Katlyn, for the pictures!)
The ride started out along the I-10 access road. It was a little hilly (something I never realized when driving in the car!) but not too bad at all. I started to feel pretty confident. We Tiny racers turned around just after the Welfare Country Club (ritzy place, let me tell you) and PoPo's restaurant. (All the German speakers should feel free to snicker. No, I've never eaten there.) We actually had to head back just as things were getting scenic. The announcer had said before the race that, on the way back, we would pass the lake and go in the other direction "for a little bit" to make it a true 25K ride. No problem, I could do a little bit.
Well, his definition of a little bit and my definition of a little bit are clearly different. Oh my goodness, the hills! I just became determined not to walk up any of them. And I didn't. It was beautiful and scenic in a Texas sort of way, with a view of the lake after the turnaround, but my lack of training on the road started to become apparent. I don't care how much I crank up the resistance on my trainer, it's not the same as actually riding uphill.
I still felt good coming out of the bike, though I knew I had slowed considerably during that last "little bit" (which I think was at least 1/3 of the ride.) I got back into transition, slipped on my running shoes, and took off up the rocky hill for the run. And then I hit the dam. I had heard people mention the dam- how hot it was, how hard it was to run at the end of the race- but now I knew what all the fuss was about. It was soooo hot! I felt like an egg in a frying pan, and I was pretty certain that I had used every last ounce of power in my legs biking up those hills. At this moment, I was really worried that I was going to have to walk the run, but I pushed ahead, and kept going as best I could. The run revealed another problem with my training- no heat acclimation. I work out on a treadmill in the air conditioning. My body had no idea what to do with the temperatures I was dealing with. The aid station and its cold water seemed forever away! And I have to admit, I was kind of shocked with how I was feeling. I'm not a fast runner, but my 5K pace is pretty consistent, so I felt confident that I could handle the run. Halfway through, my legs were cramping so badly (holdover from the bike) that I could see my muscles spasming. I stopped to work that out, and then, coming back across the dam, I finally realized that I just HAD to keep an even pace. There was a lady who was running more slowly than my usual pace, but she was being consistent. I got behind her and just followed her to the finish line. Thanks #177!
At the finish line, I picked up my medal and WATER, carefully made my way down to the lake and cooled off!! My final times were 800m swim: 23:57; 25K bike 1 hr, 9 min; 5K run 37:04. Total time: 2:13:34. I actually came in third in my age group, which surprised me because I felt SO slow. I guess it helps that everyone else was having to deal with the same hills and heat. (Travis came in first in his age group and third all around for the olympic distance. The top three finishers were all pros. And it actually took him just 10 minutes longer to finish twice the distance that I covered. Ah, well, the joys of being young.)
I had a great time, and there wasn't a single moment during the race that I regretted signing up for it (not even on the dam!) I had some great inspiration along the way: On the swim, I could hear Coach Eddie: "Steady, even pace." Coach Travis: "Ten strokes then look up or else you're going to end up in the middle of the lake." On the bike, "Coach" Dad: "Don't coast- keep pedaling!" Amanda, who got me started on this craziness: "You've got to start taking these hills, Aimee!" Trust me, after struggling up the hills- I wasn't chickening out and braking on the way down. And the most inspiring of all, little Carsten, "Mommy, I hope you win your race!"
Not win, buddy, finish. And that's a win in my book.
Sunday was the annual Tiny/Small Texan Triathlon in Boerne. I've had my eye on this race for a few months, and I finally decided to sign up and go for it. The sprint (Tiny) race is an 800 m. swim, 25K bike, 5K run.
I got there early, got everything set up, and nervously bounced around waiting for the race to start. The pro triathlete who's helped me with some of my swimming, Travis, was there for the Small Texan (olympic distance race), and he talked me into a short, slow jog before the race started. That sounded pretty crazy to me, considering that I was just hoping that I'd have the endurance to finish the race, but it was better than standing still, so I went along with it.
The Small Texan racers started first, and Travis was the first one out of the water by a minute and a half. Then, it was time for the Tiny racers to start. (You're probably picturing elves right now.) I had done one open water swim before the race, so I knew I probably wouldn't panic in the water, but I wasn't willing to fight it out with the other racers at the start. I'm not a fast swimmer and I had no intention of getting run over. I hung back and started nearly last. Apparently, I then passed other swimmers, but since everyone was fairly spread out in the water, I didn't really realize that. I am terrible at swimming straight in open water. It's harder than it looks. The buoys were placed 200 m apart, and I stayed on track by looking up every so often and course correcting. In politics and in swimming, I lean right. After about 500 meters, I became pretty convinced that I was coming in dead last. I wasn't really looking for a fast finish, but it made me remember what Nathan had said after his first tri, "You just don't want to be in the water so long that everyone knows your name and is cheering for you." That made me laugh- yes, even while I was swimming- and I just kept going. Turns out I wasn't last by a long shot, but since I could see people ahead of me and no one was passing me, it just felt like it.
Coach Eddie, Boerne's swim coach extraordinaire, was there to watch Travis, and Travis' mom and girlfriend came as well. I got to borrow them to be my cheer squad too! I ran up the hill (uphill proved to be the theme of the day) out of the lake and into the transition area, hopped on my bike and headed out. (Thanks, Katlyn, for the pictures!)
The ride started out along the I-10 access road. It was a little hilly (something I never realized when driving in the car!) but not too bad at all. I started to feel pretty confident. We Tiny racers turned around just after the Welfare Country Club (ritzy place, let me tell you) and PoPo's restaurant. (All the German speakers should feel free to snicker. No, I've never eaten there.) We actually had to head back just as things were getting scenic. The announcer had said before the race that, on the way back, we would pass the lake and go in the other direction "for a little bit" to make it a true 25K ride. No problem, I could do a little bit.
Well, his definition of a little bit and my definition of a little bit are clearly different. Oh my goodness, the hills! I just became determined not to walk up any of them. And I didn't. It was beautiful and scenic in a Texas sort of way, with a view of the lake after the turnaround, but my lack of training on the road started to become apparent. I don't care how much I crank up the resistance on my trainer, it's not the same as actually riding uphill.
I still felt good coming out of the bike, though I knew I had slowed considerably during that last "little bit" (which I think was at least 1/3 of the ride.) I got back into transition, slipped on my running shoes, and took off up the rocky hill for the run. And then I hit the dam. I had heard people mention the dam- how hot it was, how hard it was to run at the end of the race- but now I knew what all the fuss was about. It was soooo hot! I felt like an egg in a frying pan, and I was pretty certain that I had used every last ounce of power in my legs biking up those hills. At this moment, I was really worried that I was going to have to walk the run, but I pushed ahead, and kept going as best I could. The run revealed another problem with my training- no heat acclimation. I work out on a treadmill in the air conditioning. My body had no idea what to do with the temperatures I was dealing with. The aid station and its cold water seemed forever away! And I have to admit, I was kind of shocked with how I was feeling. I'm not a fast runner, but my 5K pace is pretty consistent, so I felt confident that I could handle the run. Halfway through, my legs were cramping so badly (holdover from the bike) that I could see my muscles spasming. I stopped to work that out, and then, coming back across the dam, I finally realized that I just HAD to keep an even pace. There was a lady who was running more slowly than my usual pace, but she was being consistent. I got behind her and just followed her to the finish line. Thanks #177!
At the finish line, I picked up my medal and WATER, carefully made my way down to the lake and cooled off!! My final times were 800m swim: 23:57; 25K bike 1 hr, 9 min; 5K run 37:04. Total time: 2:13:34. I actually came in third in my age group, which surprised me because I felt SO slow. I guess it helps that everyone else was having to deal with the same hills and heat. (Travis came in first in his age group and third all around for the olympic distance. The top three finishers were all pros. And it actually took him just 10 minutes longer to finish twice the distance that I covered. Ah, well, the joys of being young.)
I had a great time, and there wasn't a single moment during the race that I regretted signing up for it (not even on the dam!) I had some great inspiration along the way: On the swim, I could hear Coach Eddie: "Steady, even pace." Coach Travis: "Ten strokes then look up or else you're going to end up in the middle of the lake." On the bike, "Coach" Dad: "Don't coast- keep pedaling!" Amanda, who got me started on this craziness: "You've got to start taking these hills, Aimee!" Trust me, after struggling up the hills- I wasn't chickening out and braking on the way down. And the most inspiring of all, little Carsten, "Mommy, I hope you win your race!"
Not win, buddy, finish. And that's a win in my book.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
School Supply Madness
In the late 1800s, two girls followed the wagon track from their home to the schoolhouse in town, carrying a slate, a primer, and a penny to buy a piece of chalk. Armed with these items, they received an education that equipped them to read great works, calculate math problems, and narrate two hundred years worth of history from memory. The younger girl, Laura Ingalls, went on to write a series of books that have been beloved by generations of children and their parents.
Well, those days are over, my friends. Now, we need stuff- LOTS of stuff- to be educated.
I am new to the school supply madness game. In the past, I have bought a few packages of pencils, some pens, paper, a package of 64 crayons (because I'm a cool mom who lets her kids have lots of different colors), and checked to make sure that we had some glue and scissors on hand. Then, if I was feeling especially generous, each child got to pick out a binder. This year, however, the kids will be in private school part time, and I had school supply LISTS. I went to Wal-Mart armed with the lists and started to fill my cart.
I couldn't believe how much stuff we ended up with! I have five school age kids, so the effect of the LIST is greatly magnified in my house: 104 pencils, 60 dry erase markers, 30 folders, and on and on. Now, please understand, I'm certain that all this stuff will be put to good use (or at least it better be!), and I'll be teaching too, so I put out my own LIST, but I'm wondering if all of this is really necessary. Nice, sure, but is it necessary?
There's something to be said for limiting oneself and working within certain parameters. In fact, limitation can actually breed creativity. When we say, "this and no more," we force ourselves to think, "How can I accomplish my desired result with what I've got right here?" I realized when I looked at the LIST for the classes I'll be teaching that some of my requests were omitted. That's okay. With a little thought, I came up with a work-around. Maybe we don't need all the extra stuff to make a Roman history timeline. Maybe we can come up with a method that uses what we already have on hand. It takes a little brain power, and a lot of willpower, but it saves money and hassle. Remember, the more stuff we have, the more effort we have to put into storing, maintaining, and replacing it.
But, for now, I'm just going to be the mom who sends her kids to school with half of the stuff on the list, and then waits to see how much they're really going to need. And maybe next year, I'll just buy them all slates.
Well, those days are over, my friends. Now, we need stuff- LOTS of stuff- to be educated.
I am new to the school supply madness game. In the past, I have bought a few packages of pencils, some pens, paper, a package of 64 crayons (because I'm a cool mom who lets her kids have lots of different colors), and checked to make sure that we had some glue and scissors on hand. Then, if I was feeling especially generous, each child got to pick out a binder. This year, however, the kids will be in private school part time, and I had school supply LISTS. I went to Wal-Mart armed with the lists and started to fill my cart.
There's something to be said for limiting oneself and working within certain parameters. In fact, limitation can actually breed creativity. When we say, "this and no more," we force ourselves to think, "How can I accomplish my desired result with what I've got right here?" I realized when I looked at the LIST for the classes I'll be teaching that some of my requests were omitted. That's okay. With a little thought, I came up with a work-around. Maybe we don't need all the extra stuff to make a Roman history timeline. Maybe we can come up with a method that uses what we already have on hand. It takes a little brain power, and a lot of willpower, but it saves money and hassle. Remember, the more stuff we have, the more effort we have to put into storing, maintaining, and replacing it.
But, for now, I'm just going to be the mom who sends her kids to school with half of the stuff on the list, and then waits to see how much they're really going to need. And maybe next year, I'll just buy them all slates.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Little Graces
Be nice to single parents. It's harder than it looks.
You married parents think it looks hard- really hard. Well, it's harder than that. Trust me.
Single parenting is like being handed a script for a play. "Okay," you think, scanning the roles, "This one must be mine. Looks challenging, but with enough rehearsals I think I can get it down. So," you say, turning to the director, "When does everyone else get here?"
"Who?"
"You know, the other actors, the ones who play the other roles. When do we start rehearsing?"
"Oh, this is your play. Those roles are yours."
"What? That's impossible! There are ten roles listed!"
"Now, now," the director reprimands, "Let's not whine."
"I am not whining. Seriously. These roles overlap. There are lines that are spoken at the same time- characters on opposite sides of the stage. I am only one person. This is impossible."
"You'll be fine. Oh, and one more thing," the director says as he fades away, "This isn't a rehearsal. It's live. You're on."
And on you are. The kids are hungry? You're on. Baby's sick? That's you! Car registration expired? You again. Bills? That's definitely you. Emotional meltdowns, broken appliances, lost homework, laundry? You, you, you, and you.
There is no way to survive this play without grace. And sometimes it's the little graces that make the biggest difference. This morning, I got an encouraging word from a friend. A timely word- a little grace. A few minutes later, I found myself interrupted halfway through my shower, wrapped in a towel, trying to direct kids to capture our escaped dog. (Single parents should not have pets.) Just as I was beginning to think that I had reached my limit (a scary thought at seven in the morning) the dog walked into the house, all of her own accord. She never does that. Another little grace.
So it goes. One little grace at a time. Never enough to make me feel confident in the ten roles, but always enough to keep me from jumping off the stage.
You married parents think it looks hard- really hard. Well, it's harder than that. Trust me.
Single parenting is like being handed a script for a play. "Okay," you think, scanning the roles, "This one must be mine. Looks challenging, but with enough rehearsals I think I can get it down. So," you say, turning to the director, "When does everyone else get here?"
"Who?"
"You know, the other actors, the ones who play the other roles. When do we start rehearsing?"
"Oh, this is your play. Those roles are yours."
"What? That's impossible! There are ten roles listed!"
"Now, now," the director reprimands, "Let's not whine."
"I am not whining. Seriously. These roles overlap. There are lines that are spoken at the same time- characters on opposite sides of the stage. I am only one person. This is impossible."
"You'll be fine. Oh, and one more thing," the director says as he fades away, "This isn't a rehearsal. It's live. You're on."
And on you are. The kids are hungry? You're on. Baby's sick? That's you! Car registration expired? You again. Bills? That's definitely you. Emotional meltdowns, broken appliances, lost homework, laundry? You, you, you, and you.
There is no way to survive this play without grace. And sometimes it's the little graces that make the biggest difference. This morning, I got an encouraging word from a friend. A timely word- a little grace. A few minutes later, I found myself interrupted halfway through my shower, wrapped in a towel, trying to direct kids to capture our escaped dog. (Single parents should not have pets.) Just as I was beginning to think that I had reached my limit (a scary thought at seven in the morning) the dog walked into the house, all of her own accord. She never does that. Another little grace.
So it goes. One little grace at a time. Never enough to make me feel confident in the ten roles, but always enough to keep me from jumping off the stage.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Shopping
"Shopping? No! I hate shopping!"
"Not as much as your mother does, bud."
It's true. I really hate shopping. Grocery shopping. Clothes shopping. Shoe shopping. Especially shoe shopping. I find it exhausting- not physically exhausting, but mentally exhausting. I walk into a store and I'm just overwhelmed by all of the STUFF, the decisions, the price calculations. I've hated shopping ever since I was little, but now that I've added seven kids to the mix, shopping is just no fun at all.
Bryan, on the other hand, LOVED shopping. He'd go to the mall during his lunch break and comb sales racks, the whole bit. It was his idea of stress relief, and I was more than happy to let him take on that task. (But not grocery shopping. He liked grocery shopping too, but he could spend the food budget for the entire week and come home without a single item that could be made into an actual meal.) Now, of course, if something's going to be bought, I'm the one who has to do it.
I have learned many things shopping- especially by shopping with kids. Things I never would have known otherwise. For example, it is possible for a child who cannot yet walk to wriggle out of the grocery cart strap, climb over the seat and land in the basket. Plastic containers will break if they're hurled across the aisle (but usually only if they contain liquid.) The clothes racks at Gap are not always fully secured. (And clothes rack repair, apparently, requires the attention of every associate in the store.) Six year olds think waving their hands in front of the door so that it dings OVER and OVER again is funny- really funny. Kids have no concept of money- "It's only $20!" Boys think the open aisles at Wal-Mart were designed for light saber battles. Dress shoes were invented by evil gremlins to torture young men.
And then there are the many things I find out by listening to my kids talk while we're shopping. Because no matter how much overload my brain is registering, talk they will. The whole. entire. time. The Samsung Galaxy S4 is faster than the iPhone. All the other girls have closets full of cool clothes. None of the other boys ever have to dress up for church. (Remember when suits gave way to khakis and then khakis to jeans? Now, apparently, jeans have given way to shorts and t-shirts. Only very uncool moms require "business casual" for church.) Anakin is the most powerful Jedi of all times. Jedi do not have to eat food that they don't like. Carsten, when he grows up, is going to "watch military movies" in his room so that his kids won't be scared but he can still enjoy them. Steffen, on the other hand, is more specific,
"When I grow into a man...when I'm four...I'm going to watch the 'Wevengers' and I'm really going to like it, because it's not really 'biolent.'"
The good thing about shopping for myself when the kids are along is that I never have to worry about them not being honest when I try something on.
Me: "What do you think of this outfit?"
Justin: "Your shoes aren't good. They're not high and not fancy."
Megan: "You are definitely going to need to buy a pair of heels."
Carsten: "And a new belt."
Nathan: "How much is that going to cost? Do you know how many games we could buy for that?"
Thanks, guys, next time, I'll just stick with Amazon.
"Not as much as your mother does, bud."
It's true. I really hate shopping. Grocery shopping. Clothes shopping. Shoe shopping. Especially shoe shopping. I find it exhausting- not physically exhausting, but mentally exhausting. I walk into a store and I'm just overwhelmed by all of the STUFF, the decisions, the price calculations. I've hated shopping ever since I was little, but now that I've added seven kids to the mix, shopping is just no fun at all.
Bryan, on the other hand, LOVED shopping. He'd go to the mall during his lunch break and comb sales racks, the whole bit. It was his idea of stress relief, and I was more than happy to let him take on that task. (But not grocery shopping. He liked grocery shopping too, but he could spend the food budget for the entire week and come home without a single item that could be made into an actual meal.) Now, of course, if something's going to be bought, I'm the one who has to do it.
I have learned many things shopping- especially by shopping with kids. Things I never would have known otherwise. For example, it is possible for a child who cannot yet walk to wriggle out of the grocery cart strap, climb over the seat and land in the basket. Plastic containers will break if they're hurled across the aisle (but usually only if they contain liquid.) The clothes racks at Gap are not always fully secured. (And clothes rack repair, apparently, requires the attention of every associate in the store.) Six year olds think waving their hands in front of the door so that it dings OVER and OVER again is funny- really funny. Kids have no concept of money- "It's only $20!" Boys think the open aisles at Wal-Mart were designed for light saber battles. Dress shoes were invented by evil gremlins to torture young men.
And then there are the many things I find out by listening to my kids talk while we're shopping. Because no matter how much overload my brain is registering, talk they will. The whole. entire. time. The Samsung Galaxy S4 is faster than the iPhone. All the other girls have closets full of cool clothes. None of the other boys ever have to dress up for church. (Remember when suits gave way to khakis and then khakis to jeans? Now, apparently, jeans have given way to shorts and t-shirts. Only very uncool moms require "business casual" for church.) Anakin is the most powerful Jedi of all times. Jedi do not have to eat food that they don't like. Carsten, when he grows up, is going to "watch military movies" in his room so that his kids won't be scared but he can still enjoy them. Steffen, on the other hand, is more specific,
"When I grow into a man...when I'm four...I'm going to watch the 'Wevengers' and I'm really going to like it, because it's not really 'biolent.'"
The good thing about shopping for myself when the kids are along is that I never have to worry about them not being honest when I try something on.
Me: "What do you think of this outfit?"
Justin: "Your shoes aren't good. They're not high and not fancy."
Megan: "You are definitely going to need to buy a pair of heels."
Carsten: "And a new belt."
Nathan: "How much is that going to cost? Do you know how many games we could buy for that?"
Thanks, guys, next time, I'll just stick with Amazon.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
What To Say
I never used to know what to say to a grieving or hurting person. I was too afraid that anything I might come up with would do more harm than good. It seems I wasn't alone in my dilemma. Many people feel the same way, and their caution and uncertainty is warranted. It's incredibly easy to say the wrong thing. I have had my fair share of "I can't believe I'm sitting here listening to this" moments. And I'm not the only one. Just last week, a young widow told me that two days after her husband committed suicide, a guy felt the need to give her a lecture on the importance of gun control. Don't be that guy. Here are some tips on what to say and do, gleaned from my own personal experience, conversations I've had with others, and things I've read.
- The less said, the better. Rabbi Harold Kushner, author of When Bad Things Happen to Good People, summed it up this way: "Show up and shut up." It's hard to do that. If we feel the need to show up, we feel the need to talk. While my experience has been that grieving people definitely need company, they are much less helped by words, particularly in the early days and months.
- Avoid cheering them up. Timing is important when we speak. Cheerful encouragement in the midst of intense grieving is kind of like a cymbal crash at the wrong point in a symphony. It's bad. This applies to Bible verses too. They're all good, they're all inspired, but "played" at the wrong moment, they can come across as cruel ironies. (I'll give one specific example- completely free of charge- Jeremiah 29:11. The Lord's plans to give a "future and a hope" don't really seem to apply when somebody dies, do they? Save that one for graduation.)
- Be there. What I've just said might tempt you to just stay away. But don't! It's good for grieving people to have others around. Hang out. Be available. LISTEN, but keep your words few. After his wife died, CS Lewis said, "I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me." (A Grief Observed, 1961) Head over with some friends and talk among yourselves. I'll be forever grateful to the friends who came over with their kids during Bryan's last week so that my kids would have other little ones to play with. I know that was a tough assignment for them to accept, but they did it with grace, and I don't know what we would have done without them.
- Give some space. As much as it helps to have a houseful of people around in the early days, it's important for the person to have some private space to withdraw to. He might retreat to the bedroom for a few minutes, and then reemerge. It's challenging to be present and yet hang back at the same time, but that's the type of sensitivity that's called for. Friends who can strike this balance are pure gold in the tough times.
- Find comfort for your own grief. When someone you care about is in a dark valley, chances are good that you may be hurting too. Perhaps it was a death that touched you too, or maybe it's a divorce or a job loss that makes you feel insecure about your own life. You may need help dealing with your feelings. I know I spent time comforting and calming others after Bryan died and even during his final week, and others who are in the middle of a storm have had the same experience. We can play the role of comforter because of the special grace we've been given, but it can nevertheless be exhausting. Talk to other friends and family. Go to your pastor. Life's battles affect us all.
- Remember that you don't know what it's like. We've all had tough times. We've all lost loved ones. The main lesson we should all take from that is that grieving is a deeply individual process. Every little variable gets magnified. Unless your situation really is stunningly similar, don't try too hard to establish commonality. Losing a father is different than losing a husband is different than losing a child, and even within all of those categories, the manner of death and the nature of the relationship is going to make things different. You can't comprehend someone else's grief any more than you can understand someone else's nightmare.
- Go easy on the books. I have found that those of us who have lost loved ones share a joke: the stack of books on our nightstands that well-meaning friends have given us. And depending on the fad of the moment, we probably have multiple copies of some books. Books are helpful, but it's hard to say which ones are actually going to be the helpful ones. If you must give a book, I'd recommend going for something that's stood the test of time. You've noticed that I personally liked A Grief Observed because I'm a CS Lewis fan and the Lord of the Rings trilogy and Jane Eyre. (Reading stories of epic struggles by authors with a keen understanding of the human heart is far more beneficial to me than any pop psychology volume.) Elisabeth Elliot has some great books as well. And no, those weren't the books people bought me. I'll admit to being quirky in this regard, but from what I've heard from other grieving people, the book deluge is usually unnecessary.
- Cards are great. Getting a card with a little "I'm praying for you" note is very refreshing during any of life's difficulties. The great thing about a card is that it conveys sympathy, but it doesn't intrude. I tended to set the cards aside when they came in the mail and opened them a couple of times a week. They were a nice encouragement, and opening them in batches allowed me to choose when I wanted to "hear" what my friends and family had to say and react in privacy.
- Share your memories. If it's a death and the person who died touched you in some way, definitely bring it up, either in a card or in person. It's encouraging to know that a loved one will be remembered fondly.
As time goes forward, needs change. Life has to go on, but it's much more difficult than it seems to move forward. In some ways, support from friends becomes even more important as the early days give way to weeks and months. Here are a few more tips for that period:
- Assess what the person needs. It might be good to just ask. My experience tells me that asking, "What do you need?" will probably be met with, "I don't know," or, "I think I'm okay." One's brain is so fuzzy for such a long time in these situations. It's better to consider the person's life and roles (mom, grandma, employee) and ask specific questions. "I'd like to take your kids to soccer next week if they're going. What time should I pick them up?" People can always say no, but it really helps to know that help is available if needed.
- Keep checking in. Depending on the severity of the situation, long term help and emotional support might be important. Help six months out can sometimes be even more precious than help six days out. It's a real encouragement to know you haven't been forgotten.
- Ask around. If you're part of the person's circle of friends, ask around to see who's keeping in touch as time passes. If everyone thinks someone else is, check with the person to make sure that support is staying strong.
- Don't complain. There's seems to be a general consensus among grieving people that hearing other people complain about what they have (spouse, children, job) is pretty maddening. Widows don't really care that your husband's snoring kept you awake, and moms who've lost children would give anything to deal with that two year old tantrum that you found so annoying. And if you do slip up and complain, take the sarcastic comment you might get with a little humility. It might be a good reminder to be thankful even in the midst of life's little hassles.
- Never, ever, ever corner the person at a social event. It takes a herculean effort to force oneself out of the house and into "normal" life. If you bring up the situation when everyone's trying to act "normal," you risk making that poor person wish she'd never left the house. CS Lewis bemoaned the fact that he had become in his widowhood "an embarrassment" to everyone he met. He'd watch his friends and colleagues "trying to make up their minds whether they'll 'say something about it or not.'" Then, he wondered if, perhaps, "the bereaved ought to be isolated in special settlements like lepers." (A Grief Observed, 1961) Let's not make things worse by making sad people feel like they have a disease.
- Let the person bring it up. You may find that you become the confidant, you may not. Just let the one doing the grieving decide and follow his lead.
- Ask someone who's been there. If you know someone who's been in a similar situation, they probably would be able to give specific advice on what might be helpful. They'll remember what people did for them, and they'll have the added benefit of hindsight to help them know what might be welcome.
- Pray. Not only does prayer carry with it the power of healing grief, it can also give you the guidance of the Holy Spirit on what to say and what to do.
Finally, from all of us who have gone through tough times: Thank you! It's the encouragement and support of our friends and family that keeps us going. I have been blessed by an amazing bunch of supportive and helpful individuals, and when I hear that someone's hurting, my first thought, my first question, my first prayer, is that they will be surrounded by friends as wonderful as mine.
If you're experiencing loss or difficulty right now, feel free to email me: aimee(at)hillcountryvillage(dot)com. I promise not to talk about gun control.
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