A Fish Story

They say that a fish can't describe the water it swims in; it's all the fish has ever known.  Sometimes the things that come most naturally to me are like that - the water I swim in and can't describe.  What do you mean you can't picture a calendar in your mind or you don't love to remember numbers?  Of course this is the water I swim in....don't we all?  But every once in a while you realize there are many different types of animals looking down into the pond...wondering why you are so content in the water.  Animals that wouldn't want to swim in the water if given the choice.  I first realized this idea when I spent time overseas with missionaries in Romania.  I remember one missionary named Susan describing to me how coming to Romania was like coming home for her.  Romania gave her a sense of place and belonging that she had never known back in New York.  And I stared at her and wondered how it was possible that she loved this foreign place.  And I knew I never would be a long term missionary in Romania without a heart like Susan's.  It is rare for me to go out with the children without someone stopping me and saying, "Are all those children yours?".  Once I answer, it is quickly followed with a phrase along the lines of "you must be so busy". The tone conveys worry and pity in most instances.  I have friends with large families that are offended by these frequent questions.  I don't find them offensive;  to me they are a reminder that I swim in a pond not everyone would choose to swim in.  I love having five children and most people would not be so excited about the proposition.  And that is OK.  At times I have felt guilty that I would get to stay at home with five children.  What a gift I think!  And yet, not everyone would think this is a gift.  I have been slow to realize that I really like this pond, and I always have.  It's the way I was made;  it's the water I've always been swimming in.  The families I remember enjoying spending time with as we grew up were families with several children.  I seriously dated a guy who came from a large family that I loved.  I spent my summers as a children's camp counselor and my weekends babysitting.  I have always loved little people and watching them grow and change up close is a real privilege for me.  So, yes, dear lady at Target (Publix, Costco, etc.), I am busy, but I am very thankful to be so....And I just can't believe you aren't jealous!  

A Surprise Vocation

I met another post-professional mother this week.  A former lawyer, now staying at home with her first -borne daughter and doing flowers for weddings on the side.  She enjoys arranging flowers, doesn't miss practicing law, and is glad for time with Florence.  She doesn't share it loudly, it was in quiet voices that we spoke; but there was a smile in her eye and certainty in her voice as she said "No, I don't miss it."  Another mother I spoke with this week, also a former lawyer, told of her awareness she had growing up that she shouldn't be a physician,"too many hours".  But she had had no concern for law school.  No sense that any and all professional choices, vocations are really life-callings, with life shaping and changing requirements.  The good doctor is a good doctor to his or her core, not simply as the coat comes on and off, but training as a physician shapes the way a doctor sees people, responds to passing a car accident, hears a child's cry at the pool....And a lawyer will consider thoughts and ideas on a case not simply while pouring through the details at the desk, but late at night while trying to sleep, and early in the morning while showering.  It is a life; it is person-shaping.  It is not something to pick up or put down. And here is where a woman is astounded...when she finds that being a mother is a vocation.  It is person shaping deep down to the core.  It also changes reflexes, shapes thoughts.  It is not something to clock in or out.  And how do I live with two vocations?  For many of us, it is a dissociative experience to travel back and forth from one vocation to another within the span of several hours.  And while some manage well, I did not manage well at all.  I found myself wondering why no one had told me that motherhood was a vocation of it's own.
Was it all a waste?  Those years, that tuition?  I know there are some who are certain that it was.  How ludicrous to waste government loans, government contribution on our training?  What about the people that could have trained in our place?  How are we possibly using that training at home with diapers and dishes and laundry?  Our experiences mold and shape us, and the experience of professional training is significant.  It contributes not only to what we "do" but to who we are.  But could we have circumvented the journey?  Was there a short-cut to take that in our modern culture has grown covered with brambles and well-hidden, hard to find or discover along the main road?  I think there may have been a path I missed, a road I walked right by while listening to the voices of so many ambitious and intelligent people around me.  It is marked with signs that motherhood is a vocation.  It is not something that can be done easily or lightly.  Take care, pay attention, choose wisely.  I am not sure I would have known enough of myself to read the signs, to listen well, but I am glad to know the fullness of the requirements on the other side.

How to Really Celebrate....

     John Mac turned five last week and he taught us a few things about a great birthday celebration.  He started the excitement way in advance of the actual birthdate.  On bike rides through the neighborhood during the week before his birthday, he would wave to people he has not yet met and gleefully share, "I'm turning five on Saturday!".  He told our next door neighbor, Ed, about his upcoming birthday.  He shared it with the possible new cello teacher he met three days before his birthday.  John Mac was sure it would bring everyone else as much joy as it did for him, so why not share?  On his actual birthday we drove to Charlotte to ride the "train".  We used the city's Lynx railservice, and for a small fee, were able to give our small town kids the time of their lives.  They loved buying tickets, listening to the announcement of the train's arrival, finding seats, watching interesting looking people boarding and exiting....John Mac was so excited.  A birthday was a reason to celebrate and he took joy in inviting us all in to be a part of the ride.  He did mention presents, and he was concerned about how many and when they could be opened, etc.  But overall, he was glad to be in the position of the birthday boy and he saw it as a seat of generosity, inviting others to the party of being five.  Thanks for taking us along on the ride John Mac....here's to many more rides together.

Grins and Giggles

Caroline turned eight this week.  Eight years ago, she arrived differently than I expected.  She was two weeks late with a long body that was as strange to me as her red hair and blue eyes.  I knew she was mine because I had worked for it, but if I hadn't, I would not have believed.  We took her to the American Girl doll store in Atlanta for her eighth birthday; a special trip with just Mom and Dad and Caroline.  We spent the day watching her, like we did the day she was born.  Watching her make decisions, watching her ride in the back seat grinning, watching what foods she chose when there is no one to share with, what movies she watched when she did not have to negotiate.  It was good to have time to "learn" her some more; time to see what makes her Caroline.  Her hair is not as red now, though it's reddish.  But she still has a sense of herself that is unwavering.  She picked a doll that is native american, Kaya.  She liked the doll's long hair.  She didn't want a doll that looked like her or was familiar in some way.  She chose what she would enjoy.  A good step in growing to be a strong woman. 

Condemnation

The eighth chapter of Romans begins with "Therefore, there is no condemnation...".  But so often condemnation simply rings in my head.  Like a song from the radio that you cannot escape, it is all that I can hear today.  All that comes into my mind is black, a voice of accusation; The three year old has not gotten even a hug this morning because you are too busy.   The kitchen rug is not right and it won't be for a while because you can't afford a new one.  Do you ever have a kitchen that is actually clean? You are selfish to check email. The seven year old is not doing her math problems correctly because you have not required her to write them legibly each time.  The six year old is not reading well and you will ruin his life because you have not done more for him.  The baby is fussing and it is because you cannot understand what he needs.  You don't even know what you want to eat for lunch, much less what you want to get out of life.  Your hair looks awful.  Can you see all the gray that is growing?  You are too lazy to run well.  You can't quit coffee even though you think of quitting every day.  Your middle child will continue to read life's situations with pessimism because you cannot convince him of your love.
And after going around and around in despair, I cry out.  Help.  It is too much for me.  And then I can see the darkness for what it is really.  "For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing."  And my sin and despair are keeping me from seeing God, seeing His goodness and love, stepping out of myself and ministering in His name.  I have to run and hide when I see the awfulness of me.  But there is more to see.  "For to set uthe mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace."  Set my mind on higher things.  Fill me with truth.  Not just the little truths of my mistakes but the large TRUTH of your grand renewal of all things that includes me.  "Who will rescue me from this body of death?  Thanks be to God who gives me the victory in Christ Jesus."  Come and rescue me Spirit.  Keep me from myself.  

Twinkle, twinkle...

      Every night, when I tuck Hannah into bed, she places her hands firmly on each of my cheeks, turning me to face her and asks with a grin:"Would you sing me Twinkle, twinkle?" And every night I sing her Twinkle, twinkle,with the hand motions of course.  And every night, she stops me and places her petite pink forefingers and thumbs together to form a diamond and she asks, "Is this a diamond?".  Every night.  Same shape.  Same song.  Same motions.  She just turned three, and the past few months (these same few months of Twinkle, twinkle repetition), she has often held her bunny during the day and reverted to frequent thumb sucking.  I think somehow her world has gotten suddenly fuller, bigger.  Every once in a while Hannah will say something very profound while eating cereal or getting dressed.  "Daddy was very upset with Henry".  And I know she is thinking, she is trying to understand new layers of life.  And the bunny, the thumb, the song, the diamond shape...they are things that are staying the same.  The truth is, age three or age fifty-three (I'm blissfully somewhere in between), none of us really love change.  I can remember an older successful businessman telling Brandon that in his life as a pastor, he would always find people resistant to change. This man described how half of the work of good business was actually work to motivate people to change...to try a new debit card, a new system of managing information, an updated company logo.  Hannah has such a joyful happy spirit that her resistance to change doesn't often come in the form of anger and tantrums so characteristic of three year olds.  It's a dirty pink bunny dragged everywhere, a quick draw on the thumb, and chronic Twinkle, twinkle requests at night.  Makes me wonder...where is my bunny?  I feel certain I keep it here somewhere....

The little luxuries..

There are some small parts of life that I have realized in this time with "littles" I have moved in my mind to the category of a luxury.  When present, they are the small signs of a good day, a fun surprise. Things like:

-applying lotion after getting out of the shower

-closing the door completely to use the restroom, blissfully unaware of life on the other side

-painting nails

-applying lipstick (as I write this midday, it is still not yet on...)

-reapplying lipstick

-a haircut at normal and timely interval, say every 6-12 weeks

-sitting down to eat breakfast or lunch

-answering the phone promptly and without concern for the current context

-shopping alone in a store

-browsing in a store, blissfully unaware of time or needs

-sleeping through the night

When I was in residency, I called my bed "the safe place".  It was where I could hide from my beeper after a long day of call.  I no longer have a safe bed.  Now my shower is the "safe place".  I always shower when Daddy is at home and I go and close the door.  For 10 minutes, I am all alone.  The water bill is higher, but it is the luxury I afford myself daily!