Gifts for me...

I have already opened a few gifts for me.  Small glimpses of goodness that were unexpected joys.  The first was a few days ago.  One of our children has always been our most generous natured child.  She is the one to share without question, to make gifts and plan parties of her own design.  The other day, she told me she was saving up her money for a compassion gift.  This is not surprising, in and of itself; I know she is a generous kid, I know she would enjoy giving gifts to anyone, even deserving children overseas.  But it went a bit further.  She started to explain about how little girls need bikes, in order to ride safely to school.  And how duck eggs are an important source of income for needy families in certain parts of the world.  She said that even goats can provide needed milk for a family.  She had studied this catalog.  She had spent time learning about the needs of others.  She was excited to be a part of making a difference in the lives of people she hasn't met yet.  It was a gift to see my child catch a glimpse of something bigger than herself and her own story...and want to be a part of it.

The other gift came this morning.  I was driving Hannah to church and we were talking about family.  In the middle of talking about her sister,  Hannah told me she asked God to be her King last night.  I responded tentatively but with encouragement, that it was exciting that she wanted God to be her King and that the fruit of His Spirit (love, joy, peace, patience, ...) would grow in her life if He was her king. We somehow started to talk about heaven and she asked me if our whole family would be in heaven.  I said that whoever has Jesus as their King will be in heaven with them, and that I didn't know if certain members of our family, like young William, have Jesus as their King yet.  She quickly turned to William, grabbing his hand in the carseat beside her and said, "William, you want Jesus to be your king, right?".  I loved her excited to include him, to be with him in heaven.  We talked about how God made Hannah and knows her and loves her best; how heaven will be full of just what Hannah needs because the God who made her is preparing a place for her.  As a typical parent, I said He will know the favor of ice cream she likes best, the things she likes to do best.  But Hannah quickly interjected with excitement,"And I will get to be with God!".  What a Christmas gift indeed!  To be reminded by my toddler that being in the presence of God is a great joy.

Playing host...(also Pretending Part 2)

One important character I left out of my blog on the importance of pretending...is the host or hostess.  I am thinking about this as I plan yet another Christmas party at our house and once again find myself woefully lacking in many of the hostess skills (thinking ahead, caring a great deal about decorations, and planning in detail about non-life-threatening matters).  The best host or hostess is actually a great pretender.  They smile and greet you as if they had not lifted a finger all day.  The floors always look this good, the bathrooms are always this clean.  They enjoy conversation at the party as if there is no carpet to clean, no food to clear away in just a few hours.  They pretend the moment of this party is all there is, nothing before and nothing to come, just this time to enjoy together.  They are never tired and do not yawn.  And so we settle in and enjoy, and we are blessed by their hospitality and kindness.  We laugh and talk and leave the details of real life far away.  The host or hostess gives us a gift as they pretend this hosting is effortless on their part.  We are all nervous in the presence of an anxious host; the one who worries aloud or seems unable to settle down and be with us.  You have seen this person, they move quickly, constantly refilling cups or moving food about tables.  They are never able to talk, just to be about the task.  The host or hostess who is unable to pretend takes away from the moment; we begin to worry for them.  Instead of being present at the party, we start to think ahead as well.  Should we go ahead and clear the dishes?  Do we need to leave early?  Are they tired already?  Children are very different from adults. They love parties without question.  Perhaps this is because they give no concern to whether or not their host/hostess is a good pretender.  They are able to enjoy the moment regardless.  I have a dear friend who is an excellent hostess.  I went and stole away at her home for solace and rest recently.  I knew I would feel no burden in being there.  I knew I could rest in the moment because she is always able to make it all effortless. And it was healing; it was a gift to me.  For us adults, we need a great pretender to help us enjoy the moment and leave the worries and details behind.  Is this what Jesus did at the Last Supper?  Did He invite them to a feast with a peace and calm despite terrible details he knew in his mind?  But he wasn't pretending.  He knew the events to follow this party were worth it.  He knew the real after-party, the life everlasting, the new heavens and new earth, was actually the best part.  Here's to a Christmas where we can enjoy the moment...because the real after-party is yet to come....

Pretending....

There is value in pretending.  Children already know this.  We adults think it is childish to pretend and so we discredit its power.  The other week the kids and I read about the Sun King, Louis XIV of France and how he attributed the success of his leadership to being a divinely appointed king, one due all manner of honor and privileges.  He pretended to be all worthy, exemplary in every way.  He made the little things in his daily life into great ceremonies, even giving individuals the "great privilege" of emptying his chamber pots.  The nobles of France were swept into his act, the theater of his kingship. And he served on the throne for many years.
 In medical school, they tell you to "pretend" that you know what you are doing as you enter the room with a patient those early years of practicing.  They explain that entering that room with clumsy manners and sweaty insecurity is actually harmful to the patient.  It creates anxiety for them instead of allowing them to be given the art of medicine, the reassurance of a doctor's presence.  And they are right.  The patient wants to believe that just the presence of the doctor is the beginning of a helpful path of healing.  I remember how hard this idea was for me to "pretend" prior to my clinical experiences.  Would I be lying to my patients?  And yet, when I stepped into the room, I found how much it seemed helpful.  I put aside my own self, full of insecurities and questions, and stepped into a role, a role in which I would better serve others.
I think that part of being a good parent is pretending.  Pretending that you do know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what you are doing when you tell them that it is important to obey and go to bed and stay there.  Pretending that you are most definitely worthy of honor and respect when you really feel that you make a thousand mistakes a day.  They are young.  As they are trying to understand the big-ness of this full-sensory adventure ride of a world, they need to know there is a steady guide, a calm hand at the stern of the ship.  One day there will be nuance and multi-layers of color to all of this, but for now it is simple.  No, as a five year old, you will not be allowed to decide  what you should eat or with whom you should play.  We know what we are doing up here in the cockpit.  Sit back and enjoy the ride.  And hopefully this "pretending" will give them grace to sit back and enjoy the much greater adventure of life; being a small part of God's big kingdom plan when His ways are much higher than your ways.

These days...

Time seems to be not marching, but skipping happily through our home.  While we still have one in diapers, there is no longer a baby in our home but a full-fledged toddler.  I think Brandon and I are especially aware of this new phase of life.  No cumbersome nap schedules or complex feeding issues to worry about when we head out as a family.  But also nothing to truly slow us down in the same way, and thus, the pace has picked up a bit.  Now, we have to fight it back ourselves rather than relying on a baby to tie us down.  Here is our new two year old, leaning over the dock at his grandparents house to explore the lake water.  It was a warm T'giving!

This is Hannah "reading" her book.  She too has seemed so old lately as her legs have finally grown a bit longer.  (She is truly a petite ball of fire.)  She calls her book, "The Fellowship".  She has asked us to pay her a penny for each book she "reads" at night.  Last week she insisted her father buy her a flashlight for reading at night.  She doesn't want to learn her abcs, or work on phonics, but she is certain that she wants to be a reader one day like her big brother and sister.  

This last picture is for me.  All our indians dressed up and playing together.  While we do have lots of days of bickering and quarreling, we also have some days where I marvel at how well the five of them play "together", across ages and stages.  They grow, they change, and they continue to learn how to work and play together in each new season.  Plus, look at that little indian on the left, isn't that face great?

The song in my head...

I recently have started playing a few of my old piano pieces from lessons I took as a child.  I hurry to sit at the bench for a few minutes while John Mac pulls out his cello and chair to practice, trying to get a whole song in while he adjusts his endpin. I have loved remembering old pieces, seeing how my fingers can still follow the old patterns better than I can read the notes.  The other day I found an old piece that I have played in my head over the years more than any other.  It was a comfortable pattern to go to and for years I have played it in my mind and on the invisible keyboard before me.  It's a piece that I would play on my fingers on a desk as I was thinking for a test, or in those moments of time where I was waiting anxiously before an interview.  I found the piece this week and it was just as I had remembered it.  It has a bright and regular tempo, but unusual notes that create a surprising melody for such a metered beat.  I guess the combination has a special key to some part of my mind.
As I watch my kids learn and grow, I feel like they each have a piece of music that God placed in their lives.  It is interesting to me that I actually see it best in moments of stress, just as my playing often came out at those times.  I watch as one child problem solves with such creativity.  Another builds and draws.  One is always singing and hugging.  Different melodies, different strengths...And here is the tough part...this momma resonates more easily with some pieces than others.  Some are quite catchy for me and stick in my head and others take work for me to follow.  I always knew mothers loved all their children, but I didn't know until I was a mother that the work load involved in loving and learning your kids can really vary.  Some children walk and live in a way you hear and understand immediately; others you have to study.  One of our newborns I was certain was out to be the end of all music in my life.  It is only after years of studying him that I am starting to hear the melody of his mind.  The piano piece that I found this week, that I have in my head for years now, was actually a lot of work for me to learn as well.  It was a piece I was to play for a recital and it took hours and hours for it to become fluid and smooth.  The work involved is actually part of what ingrained it in the crevices of my mind.  God uses all of our work unto Him for good, and He molds and shapes us as we learn new music.

Almost two...

"Liam", as he refers to himself, is almost two years old.  He is excited about his birthday and in a spirited (and very verbal) manner he goes about the house singing:  "Happy Birthday to me, I'm a hundred and three....".  This is because he learns so much from his older siblings and unfortunately this is the most common rendition of Happy Birthday that is sung in our home right now.  Every child is different, and after five kids, you would think I would no longer be amazed at this....but I am stunned by how talkative William is, how extroverted he is, how good he is at remembering things and people at such a young age.  He sings the alphabet and counts up to twenty; (he beat his three and half year old sister at this who could care less about the alphabet song).  He is a joy to watch as he soaks in all that is around him.  I am actually not sure what to get him for his birthday.  I don't know what "birthday theme" he would like the best.  I don't even really know what his favorite food is (although it's pizza for the rest of us).  William though is a great gift to the rest of us.  So glad that God knows best what a family needs.  Here's hoping Mommy has enough smarts and energy to train this one well....I think we'll be ending with a bang.

Dear Davidson College,

I came to visit you recently.  I wanted to see what it felt like to walk the brick sidewalks, to smell the old hallways.  The days I remember best I spent in your musty library gazing out the window...just thinking...and studying.  I had late night conversations with friends while sharing pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream sitting on your benches; it shaped my views and solidified some core of who I am today.  My professors let me ask questions over coffee or in their office, they were never too busy.   When I went to visit last week, I bounded up the stairs of Chambers building to the old auditorium in which I listened to my humanities lectures.  They were my favorite classes.  There I learned the big picture of history and ideas.  All the little pieces started to come together as professors from each department spoke to us.  It was there that I learned what I value most from Davidson College: to love to learn for the sake of learning alone.  My education until that point had been learning to produce, to pass a test, to fill in the writing formula, to get into college.  I had not realized it, but it had always been about the outcome rather than the process.  But at Davidson, my learning went from black and white to color; I learned to love learning.  I read significant writings, worked through pivotal ideas and realized how they had shaped and changed culture, in my chemistry class just as well as in my art history class.  It was the beginning of a new way to live.  Each day a day to learn, from books, from people...And so off I went to medical school.  And then to practice medicine, while still learning, still looking up various diseases, reading articles on new forms of treatment.  And then I became a parent and read even more books; books on child development, books on parenting.
Now I return to visit this warm place in my mind and I am sad to realize there is no real place for me here.  This old house, these relatives have no recollection of me.  Oh, this has nothing to do with age and stage.  There are many my age still welcomed heartily by your college.  It has to do with production.  You see, I took my love of learning and left a professional career to teach five small children.  I wanted them to love the sound of a well-written poem, to observe carefully with their eyes and try hard to draw the lines they see, to learn the truth and order of math as a building block.  I wanted them to love to learn, just as I had learned from you.  To begin their lives knowing that the learning is the thing, not the product.  But without my professional accolades, without a significant income to donate, without a speaking career or published product...I am just a ghost haunting the halls that were once mine.  It seems odd that while learning is cherished in an uncommonly good measure there, just like the rest of academia, production must be valued as well.  I am raising up your children though, another generation to love learning just as you taught me to do. I do wish there was still room for me on the bench.
Sincerely,
Me