Feeling a little extravagant, we went to California for spring break to visit some friends. Normally Lee does his own packing, but this time because of time restraints I packed for him. We had an evening flight and he rushed home prior to our departure and reviewed the contents of his suitcase. Seeing his sneakers laying next to his clothes put him over the edge. I kid you not, this is what he snarled, "I knew you'd f_ck this up!" This sunny disposition had been created by many overnite shifts in the emergency room taking care of crack heads and homeless drunks. Not making it a practice to take inventory of his footwear, I had no idea that those were his "ER" shoes and as he put it, they might be "riddled with AIDS or some other funk" and they could potentially be intermingling with his underwear transferring cooties. As he repacked his clothes bitterness was oozing from his pours. Fast forward 6 hours later when we are at baggage claim in San Jose, CA and the only suitcase that didn't make it on the plane was mine. This wasn't an airline error, this was human error, more specifically my husband's error. It seems that somewhere between our bedroom and the curbside check-in, he lost my bag. I'm not sure if it was left on the park and ride shuttle or just left on the side of the curb, but it never made it onto the plane. I had the clothes that I was wearing, ski pants and a parka and that was it; no make-up, no contact lenses, no underwear, nothing else. Imagine my delight when I was able to remind him about his earlier statement to me. "What was it that you said to me before we left Houston, honey? I knew you'd do what? F_ck this up?" Ahh, retribution!
I took the boys with me to get the rental car. We took the shuttle to the car lot and in addition to the thrill of riding without a seatbelt, the shuttle bus driver was wearing a turban and he was yelling at one of the passengers. "You must get of the bus! You wait for the next bus! Get off the bus!" The boys had never witnessed discrimination and they were outraged. "Why couldn't the man get on the bus?" they wondered aloud. The man, confused and bewildered, grabbed his skis (which seemed to be the point of contention for the driver) and shuffled off the bus with his head hung low.
The excitement continued when we got to the rental counter. There behind the counter was not one, not two, but 3 Indian men in turbans. This was more than my eldest's mind could hold. Why did these men have these things on their heads? He was so baffled by the head gear that it took him awhile to notice the man with breasts and a blond wig and long red finger nails who kept flipping his/her hair and shifting his/her purse from arm to arm as he/she argued with the man in the turban about paying the security deposit because of all the dog hair that was in the car. Despite my lesson in tolerance and multiculturism, the take home lesson for my eldest son was guys in turbans are irritating because they yell all the time and it should be illegal to cross dress (my middle son is much more accepting. He said he wouldn't care if his best friend dressed in women's clothing. He'd still be his friend).
Based on my lack of willingness to pack my husband's clothes for him you might guess that playing the role of supportive wife has never come naturally to me. I've always been far too selfish and fearful. Even after close to a dozen years of marriage there has always been a part of me that just won't fully trust. I've always had my built in safety nets; my own job, my own checking account, my own last name. I had never thought that I'd be able to do something for my husband that didn't benefit me in some way. I know that sounds horrible, but I can only speak the truth. I mean, I love him and all and I'd probably give him a kidney, but usually there has always been a perk in it for me (like I'd get some fentanyl and sympathy and flowers if I gave him a kidney). I'm very me-oriented.
We went to his friends' (husband and wife) 40th birthday party. This is his friend from high school and for once I was going along for the ride. Before we left I had asked him if he wanted to go alone thinking he might jump at the opportunity to abandon his wife and kids for a weekend of drunken revelry with his friends. I didn't expect him to say that, yes, indeed he did want me to go with him, because as he put it, "You never do anything that involves my friends" (isn't that one of the rules of successful relationships, never make accusational statements that include the phrases, 'you always' or 'you never'). So, with that kind of an invitation, how could I refuse, besides, it was a chance to be away from the kids for a weekend. I suggested a hotel room so we could have true romantic get-away, but he wanted to stay at his friend's house. I complied without protest and I dropped the reins into his hands (after I made the travel arrangements, of course). I did something that I don't routinely do in my married relationship. I relinquished control. I didn't try to change his plans in any way. Even when he and his best buddy decided to spend most of their Friday afternoon sitting in Atlanta traffic, I kept my mouth shut (mostly). When we stayed at the bar till 12:30 am (though I haven't been out that late since I was 25) on Friday night, I never complained or asked to leave or acted bored. What suprised me the most was how much I enjoyed being the counterpart. If marriage were like the boy scouts, I would have earned a merit badge this weekend.
It makes me sad when I talk to people who don't hold themselves in high regard. Usually it is people who don't have obvious reasons to feel badly about themselves and by all outward appearances they are very succesful. When you talk to them they give off the sense that somehow they missed out on the opportunity to feel secure. For some reason, they think that everyone else on the planet is more deserving of this then they are. I just want to hug them and tell them that they can share in the good news that they were created for a reason. But often it is met with sadness and they think you are telling them some kind of elusive fairy tale in which happiness pertains to everyone else. I remember feeling this way in my life and it's not a nice feeling and you don't think you can ever get off that sinking ship. What I've come to realize is that God doesn't make garbage. (Psalm 139:16 You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. 17 How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They cannot be numbered!) We are all his sheep and we all deserve his love and grace. It is there for all of us, we just have to open ourselves to receive it. Who says that some things in life aren't free!
When we were in California, while hiking one day, my eldest and I had a very intense conversation. If it were up to him, all of our conversations would be intense because he has questions about everything. But as it is, there are other things in the day that I need to do like cook and care for his siblings and occasionally have my own thoughts. However, this day we had the luxury of unlimited time and he had my full attention. "I don't get it mom. Why did God make people who aren't smart?" he inquired. He's seven so his question was in earnest and not derived out of an oversized ego. In his school, the special education students are mainstreamed for a portion of the day. A boy, who I'll call Reese, visits my son's class daily. Per my son's account, Reese doesn't get along with anyone in his class even though they are all nice to him. Well we went round and round in this conversation, me trying to explain the biologic implausibility of someone with a very low IQ to function on a level equal to him and his peers. I provided a whole discourse on chromosomal abnormalities, cerebral palsy, etc and the fact that God's love for these individuals was no different than his love for us. My son still didn't understand why? Why would God allow children (whose parents would be devistated, but love them no less) to be born with defects? Knowing I hadn't yet answered his questions, I proceeded with a theological discussion with our world not being a perfect world after the whole Adam and Eve debacle. He could accept the 'not perfect world' theory. After all, he's experienced difficulties first hand. But at the end of the afternoon, after the entire discussion and explanations, he still didn't care for the boy in his class with a learning disorder so it boiled down to this: "Listen buddy, you are going to face challenging people and situations your whole life and the sooner you learn how to respond to these people and situations, the better off you will be . It's good for you and it's good for Reese to be in your class because you'll both learn from the experience. " I reminded him of a little boy in his class in kindergarten who had been diffult to get along with and how much easier it was this year compared to the last. By this point we had reached the car and as easily and quickly as had initiated the conversation, he became distracted by the water fountain and walked away.
What I loved about my walk in the woods that day was not so much the breathtaking scenery of northern California, but the company I kept. I will carry a picture of that day in my memory forever; his innocence and his curiosity and his eagerness to know all the answers and to be unafraid of asking questions. God knows I don't have all the answers or even a fraction of them, but I hope he does know how much I love him and no matter what, I will always listen.
Psalm 139
1 O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me. 2 You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away. 3 You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do. 4 You know what I am going to say even before I say it, Lord. 5 You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head. 6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand!
7 I can never escape from your Spirit! I can never get away from your presence! 8 If I go up to heaven, you are there; if I go down to the grave, you are there. 9 If I ride the wings of the morning, if I dwell by the farthest oceans, 10 even there your hand will guide me, and your strength will support me. 11 I could ask the darkness to hide me and the light around me to become night. 12 but even in darkness I cannot hide from you. To you the night shines as bright as day. Darkness and light are the same to you.
13 You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. 14 Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it. 15 You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. 16 You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.
17 How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They cannot be numbered! 18 I can’t even count them; they outnumber the grains of sand! And when I wake up, you are still with me! ...
23 Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. 24 Point out anything in me that offends you, and lead me along the path of everlasting life.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
This, That and the Other
My middle kid (the one who told me that he hated me), in a fit of melancholy, told me that when I died he would visit my grave. We were listening to a particularly sad song on the radio. When I asked him if he was worried about me dying (thinking it might have something to do with my cancer), he told me "Yes, because you are so old". We were on our way to school (late, of course) and I thought maybe we should talk about this. When I asked his big brother if he was worried too, he said "No, because you aren't really that old", but he was mostly concerned about getting out of the car. He didn't care about his brother's emotional state as much as he cared about not getting a tardy slip. Mostly, the middle one didn't want to be inconvenienced by his parent's theoretical death because it would likely involve a move to a school without his best friend.
Sometimes my daughter likes to play a game called "Psycho Kitty". This game consists of her lying or sitting on my lap and looking at me with her tongue sticking out and to the side while she dementedly meows. For added effect, she will flop her head to the side as if she were lacking all tone in her musculature. There is no point or objective to this game. I'm not sure who or what she is using as her character study. We have no cats in our life. However, whenever she does come across a cat (neighbor's or friend's) she will cuddle it without mercy and so, I guess, this is how she has gone about her analysis of cat behavior. Whenever she has contact with a cat, they are being held so tightly by her that they are almost anoxic and so they seem a bit limp. I think she wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up.
The oldest boy is in cub scouts this year. When asked if he wanted to continue with scouting next year, he replied, "No, because I thought it was just going to be about adventure and fun and all we do is sit around and talk about honesty and stuff. I don't really care about honesty." Ironic, huh? We are about to embark on a radical approach to activities by not signing up or joining anything. It feels so liberating. Again, when asked if he wanted to play little league he said, "No! I've been playing sports my whole life. I need a break." My middle son, concurred, announcing, "I'm done with sports!" I think we are going to ride bikes and play in the backyard for awhile.
My mother-in-law is in town and she is my personal interior designer. Because I lack all care or effort regarding home aesthetics, I let her do to my house whatever she wants. This is the same reason I don't care if our housekeeper hangs pictures on our walls or rearranges a bit. I figure at least someone is doing it. In preparation for her arrival, Lee and I decided to paint our front room. This task is proving to be a bit more than we anticipated. Especially because Sherwin Williams sold us black primer for yellow paint and it is taking about 72 coats of paint to cover the black base coat. The other night while Lee was on call, after a glass of wine, I decided I would let the boys help me paint. It seemed like a good idea. Mostly, I am lazy and I was calculating that they could cut down on the amount of time that I would have to be working. They didn't realize my motives and thought I was just being a cool mom. The two of them had very different techniques. My younger son was very methodical in his brush strokes. It was all very vertical and horizontal, though he was a bit free with the amount of paint on the brush. The older one was much more whimsical with his brush strokes. There wasn't any pattern or predictability to how he applied the paint to the wall. He was more conservative with the brush to paint ratio. After two glasses of wine, I didn't pay too much attention to details like spillage or tracking paint. I was more concerned with the beauty of the moment (and the fact that they got one whole wall painted). Four days later my husband is holding me responsible for the mustard yellow footprints that are on our bedroom carpet, in the hall and under the tarps. I blamed my sons, but he told me as the captain, I was responsible for my crew.
I have been irresponsible with my commitment to my quiet time this past week. I have been busy scurrying around with things that don't matter and I have neglected my time with God. It is coincidental that my Thursday morning group bible study was on Mary and Martha and the difference between the two. Martha, the older sister (I presume) became irritated with her younger sister Mary because Mary wouldn't help her with the preparations for a dinner party she was hosting in honor of Jesus. When she complained to Jesus about it, He told her that she was missing the point and that her younger sister Mary knew what really mattered and He woudn't take that away from Mary. Talk about harsh! The truth hurts sometimes. I don't think He was telling Martha that He didn't appreciate or care about what she was doing, but He loved her regardless of her busy work. What He was interested in was the amount of time she spent in her relationship with Him. That is what this season of my life is all about, sitting still. It is so foreign to me to sit quietly and patiently. It is so much easier to "do". I am learning a lot from God and also about how much my family requires my presence. There is no currency exchange for time and physical presence. It takes discipline and it is as though I am exercising a muscle. Some habits die hard and it is so easy to lapse back into a task oriented life. Especially if I am not working. I can fill my time with volunteerism. It's like falling off my bicycle and I'll have to just get right back on to it. Practice.
Luke 10: 38-42
"As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat at the Lord’s feet, listening to what he taught. But Martha was distracted by the big dinner she was preparing. She came to Jesus and said, “Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me.”
But the Lord said to her, “My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.”"
Sometimes my daughter likes to play a game called "Psycho Kitty". This game consists of her lying or sitting on my lap and looking at me with her tongue sticking out and to the side while she dementedly meows. For added effect, she will flop her head to the side as if she were lacking all tone in her musculature. There is no point or objective to this game. I'm not sure who or what she is using as her character study. We have no cats in our life. However, whenever she does come across a cat (neighbor's or friend's) she will cuddle it without mercy and so, I guess, this is how she has gone about her analysis of cat behavior. Whenever she has contact with a cat, they are being held so tightly by her that they are almost anoxic and so they seem a bit limp. I think she wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up.
The oldest boy is in cub scouts this year. When asked if he wanted to continue with scouting next year, he replied, "No, because I thought it was just going to be about adventure and fun and all we do is sit around and talk about honesty and stuff. I don't really care about honesty." Ironic, huh? We are about to embark on a radical approach to activities by not signing up or joining anything. It feels so liberating. Again, when asked if he wanted to play little league he said, "No! I've been playing sports my whole life. I need a break." My middle son, concurred, announcing, "I'm done with sports!" I think we are going to ride bikes and play in the backyard for awhile.
My mother-in-law is in town and she is my personal interior designer. Because I lack all care or effort regarding home aesthetics, I let her do to my house whatever she wants. This is the same reason I don't care if our housekeeper hangs pictures on our walls or rearranges a bit. I figure at least someone is doing it. In preparation for her arrival, Lee and I decided to paint our front room. This task is proving to be a bit more than we anticipated. Especially because Sherwin Williams sold us black primer for yellow paint and it is taking about 72 coats of paint to cover the black base coat. The other night while Lee was on call, after a glass of wine, I decided I would let the boys help me paint. It seemed like a good idea. Mostly, I am lazy and I was calculating that they could cut down on the amount of time that I would have to be working. They didn't realize my motives and thought I was just being a cool mom. The two of them had very different techniques. My younger son was very methodical in his brush strokes. It was all very vertical and horizontal, though he was a bit free with the amount of paint on the brush. The older one was much more whimsical with his brush strokes. There wasn't any pattern or predictability to how he applied the paint to the wall. He was more conservative with the brush to paint ratio. After two glasses of wine, I didn't pay too much attention to details like spillage or tracking paint. I was more concerned with the beauty of the moment (and the fact that they got one whole wall painted). Four days later my husband is holding me responsible for the mustard yellow footprints that are on our bedroom carpet, in the hall and under the tarps. I blamed my sons, but he told me as the captain, I was responsible for my crew.
I have been irresponsible with my commitment to my quiet time this past week. I have been busy scurrying around with things that don't matter and I have neglected my time with God. It is coincidental that my Thursday morning group bible study was on Mary and Martha and the difference between the two. Martha, the older sister (I presume) became irritated with her younger sister Mary because Mary wouldn't help her with the preparations for a dinner party she was hosting in honor of Jesus. When she complained to Jesus about it, He told her that she was missing the point and that her younger sister Mary knew what really mattered and He woudn't take that away from Mary. Talk about harsh! The truth hurts sometimes. I don't think He was telling Martha that He didn't appreciate or care about what she was doing, but He loved her regardless of her busy work. What He was interested in was the amount of time she spent in her relationship with Him. That is what this season of my life is all about, sitting still. It is so foreign to me to sit quietly and patiently. It is so much easier to "do". I am learning a lot from God and also about how much my family requires my presence. There is no currency exchange for time and physical presence. It takes discipline and it is as though I am exercising a muscle. Some habits die hard and it is so easy to lapse back into a task oriented life. Especially if I am not working. I can fill my time with volunteerism. It's like falling off my bicycle and I'll have to just get right back on to it. Practice.
Luke 10: 38-42
"As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat at the Lord’s feet, listening to what he taught. But Martha was distracted by the big dinner she was preparing. She came to Jesus and said, “Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me.”
But the Lord said to her, “My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.”"
Monday, March 3, 2008
Happy Anniversary
Today, my middle kid told me that he hated me. This leads me to believe that I am doing my job correctly. After the initial sting, I took it as a compliment. He has an aversion to school and wasn't on board with my 'tough love' approach when I told him that he would have to go to school today (even if it meant going in his underwear) despite the chronic headache and belly ache that he seems to develop every morning (or prior to other events or circumstances he finds undesirable). Being a parent is a thankless job (as my mother would remind me when I was growing up and now I see what she means). The part of their brain that takes in pleasure (like when the get what they want. Frequently) and the part of their brain that senses injustice at the hands of their parents don't connect. I think the synapses don't form till much later. Hopefully I'll be alive and lucid when that physiogical event occurs.
My mother, who forgets how mean she was when my brother and I were growing up, bought my children goldfish (she forgets about the mice that we had and mine and my brother's lack of parental duty which led to the mother mouse eating her young. Finally she made us let them go in the back yard figuring they had a better chance fending for themselves in the wild than they did surviving in our care). She did this without parental consent. She thought it was cute and that it would teach my children responsibility. My husband was seething last nite when my 7 year old was bawling after 'Money' moved on to the afterlife. Money went to 'swim with the fishes' down the toilet bowl and into the sewer system. We had a true Bill Cosby ceremony and my son said some kind words about the fish (which he had had for about 3 hours). "He was a nice fish. He was a good fish. I loved him." After Lee said a prayer, my son pulled the handle and Money went to meet his fishy maker in the sky. Needless to say, she was the one that was taking him to 2 different stores to pick out a new fish at 8 pm last nite. Let's hope that 'Colorful' has better luck than his predecessor.
We, along with my brother's family, went camping this weekend for my one year anniversary (my mom came out for the day). It was the perfect way to mark one year since my diagnosis. Lee pointed out that when I received my diagnosis, I was walking along the bayou, a man-made structure, and mostly trusting in my own self and my own abilities. This year, when the clock struck 1 pm (the time I received the phone call from the doctor with the pathology results), I was sitting on the banks of the Brazos River, a creation of God's and now all of my trust is in Him. As my friend Jennifer told me the day before, "What a difference a year makes." It was exactly what my family needed and what I needed. A weekend away to appreciate God's goodness.
I am lifting a lot from Oswald Chambers these days, but I guess that is why My Utmost For His Highest is as popular as it is.
"Don't just testify about how much you love Me and don't talk about the wonderful revelation you have had, just "Feed my sheep". Jesus has soem extraordinarily peculiar sheep: some that are unkempt and dirty, some that are awkward or pushy, and some that have gone astray!...The love of God pays no attention to my prejudices caused by my natural individuality. If I love my Lord, I have no business being guided by natural emotions-I have to feed his sheep."
My mother, who forgets how mean she was when my brother and I were growing up, bought my children goldfish (she forgets about the mice that we had and mine and my brother's lack of parental duty which led to the mother mouse eating her young. Finally she made us let them go in the back yard figuring they had a better chance fending for themselves in the wild than they did surviving in our care). She did this without parental consent. She thought it was cute and that it would teach my children responsibility. My husband was seething last nite when my 7 year old was bawling after 'Money' moved on to the afterlife. Money went to 'swim with the fishes' down the toilet bowl and into the sewer system. We had a true Bill Cosby ceremony and my son said some kind words about the fish (which he had had for about 3 hours). "He was a nice fish. He was a good fish. I loved him." After Lee said a prayer, my son pulled the handle and Money went to meet his fishy maker in the sky. Needless to say, she was the one that was taking him to 2 different stores to pick out a new fish at 8 pm last nite. Let's hope that 'Colorful' has better luck than his predecessor.
We, along with my brother's family, went camping this weekend for my one year anniversary (my mom came out for the day). It was the perfect way to mark one year since my diagnosis. Lee pointed out that when I received my diagnosis, I was walking along the bayou, a man-made structure, and mostly trusting in my own self and my own abilities. This year, when the clock struck 1 pm (the time I received the phone call from the doctor with the pathology results), I was sitting on the banks of the Brazos River, a creation of God's and now all of my trust is in Him. As my friend Jennifer told me the day before, "What a difference a year makes." It was exactly what my family needed and what I needed. A weekend away to appreciate God's goodness.
I am lifting a lot from Oswald Chambers these days, but I guess that is why My Utmost For His Highest is as popular as it is.
"Don't just testify about how much you love Me and don't talk about the wonderful revelation you have had, just "Feed my sheep". Jesus has soem extraordinarily peculiar sheep: some that are unkempt and dirty, some that are awkward or pushy, and some that have gone astray!...The love of God pays no attention to my prejudices caused by my natural individuality. If I love my Lord, I have no business being guided by natural emotions-I have to feed his sheep."
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