Yeah, this post shouldn't be coming from me, the queen of costuming. . . .
And that it is coming on St. Patricks Day, might say something too.
Because it was the one time I remember needing to wear something to school when I was a kid. You wore green or you got pinched all day long by your classmates. (Yeah some things do change for the better.) Our grandma hand crocheted these lovely little shamrock pins out of bright kelly green yarn and affixed them with a safety pin. I remember the pin was gold colored. Those important only to a 2nd grader details.
On Halloween you could come to school in your costume, and on St. Patricks Day you tried to wear green. And if you didn't have green, you told everyone your underwear was green. That usually solved things.
2 days. That was pretty much it.
Now, well it is a different story.
We have had, dress up as your favorite book character,
wear your slippers to school,
crazy hair day,
crazy hat day,
polka dot day,
orange day for color wars (every grade level wears a different color),
and wear a different color of the rainbow every day of National Nutrition week to represent the corresponding color on the food pyramid - though I'm not sure it is a pyramid anymore,
pajama day,
spirit wear day,
Dr. Suess Day
. . . . and that was just last month.
I am a creative person, but I am tired of rummaging through the closet trying to find a nonexistent orange shirt, and then driving to Walmart in hopes that we can find an orange T-shirt, and finally shelling out $10 at JoAnns, because that is the only place I can think of to find an orange t-shirt. And I know the teachers will say - "Oh don't go out and buy something." but even with a well stocked dress up bin - nothing fits the ticket, and you have the choice of shelling out time, effort, money and clothes all over the kids room, or sending your kid in a pink T and hoping that everyone will just think they got lost and are in the wrong room for the day.
and I thought they would grow out of it, that post elementary would be the end.
Boy was I wrong.
There are a lot of times you will be able to convince me that my student needs a certain outfit for school. I get that band members have uniforms and the orchestra concert has a strict dress code of white shirt/blouse and black trousers/skirts. I understand that costumes are necessary for the school drama.
But please, no pajama day in middle school, no matter how hard the student council pleads their case. Could we we have 1 dress up day for spirit week instead of the whole week long, and the food pyramid - really? Can we just learn about it another way that does not add clothing to closets - maybe like trying a new food?
I love all the "tiny homes" and down sizing and responsible clothing choices. But no one ever lived in a tiny home with students going to the public schools. Because after a semester the entire home would be a giant closet.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Sunday, January 18, 2015
letters to my daughters: 10 things about jobs, occupations, and professions
My Dear Girls,
Right now you are being hit on every side by "what do you want to do" "what occupation will you aim for" "choose your course of study for your future dream job" "Here are the steps you need to take to land the exact right job for you." "Take this interest assessment to see where you should work."
It can be a lot of pressure, right now. People expect you to have a course set, to know your strengths and weaknesses, to have a dream job picked out, to know how to get there. And maybe you have that job picked out and maybe you don't know yet. And both of those are Ok.
Some day you may have an occupation, and there are some things you need to know about the future work force that awaits you.
#1 a dream job is still a job. Which means that even if you are fortunate enough to have a job that you love, know that there will be parts of it that you will not love. That even a dream job will take work. That there are days where the alarm will ring and all you will want to do is throw the covers over your head and pretend it is Saturday.
#2 learn to work hard. There is something rewarding in a hard days work. Learn how to put that in, day after day, without complaining. Every job is hard in some way. Some are physically hard, your body goes home tired and exhausted. Others are mentally challenging pushing you to absorb and assimilate even more than you think you can. Others are stressful in other ways, working with people or with things that you have no control over. As humans, we like to "brag" about how hard we have it. "you can't believe what I have to put up with at my job!" But remember a job is work, and don't get sucked into that comparison game, 'cause no one wins and you end up feeling worse about that work part. If you work hard and don't complain, you will earn respect along with the paycheck.
#3 when you can, give a new job time to even out. There is a learning curve out there. And starting new jobs is like any other change in life - it takes time to get your skills developed, it takes time to know your way around and problem solve for the new stuff. Job-hoping from one new job to another never looks great on your resume after more than a round or two. Careers aren't like clothes, to be taken off and washed every day. Once you get past the part-time high school jobs and the summer jobs, and into the world of "careers" make sure you have a goal of trying to stay a year at least, and two years can be even better. You find that time will ease some of the the big problems and give you a perspective, even if you do choose to move forward.
#4 a job does not define you, oh it is a part of life, make no mistake, and it may devour a lot of your time, but it isn't you - not really. When things go horrible at work, you are not a horrible person. If you get paid more than someone else you are not better than them. It may reflect your interests, and some of your values - but it is not your interests and values - you own who you are, not your job. Your job may not reflect any of your interests, and those are harder places to land for a season, but take it as a season to live through not that you are a failure for not having been able to procure that elusive "dream job". And if you end up in one of those days where everything goes sour and you hate your job (and those days happen) be able to realize that while you are not in a happy place, you do not have to become an unhappy person. And that is written quite glibly - but it can be one of the hardest things in the world to learn to do. You won't ever accomplish that on your own by the way, you'll need divine help.
#5 an occupation, profession, job or workplace, is not the most important thing in your life, even though it may take up a lot of it. It can never take the place of your faith, your family, and even your friends. Balancing things out is not easy, it is a struggle sometimes and some seasons. There will be the judgement calls on whether to use a day off to stay with a sick child or support a friend at a funeral. There are a few jobs where you don't have a choice due to their nature, emergency services, etc. And there are times where you do choose your job first, nothing wrong with that - because it is a judgement call. Just don't give all of that over for a job, because even the dreamiest of dream jobs, is not worth it.
#6 there are times to leave jobs. Sometimes life moves you forward, a move, a change that you have no control over. Some jobs actually need to be left. The ones that make you sick with stress. The ones that undermine your faith or family and expect to be first in line. There are jobs that are dangerous that you can feel called to - like a firefighter or law enforcement. Those are hard jobs. And it is OK to be in one of those dangerous jobs, as long as that call is built into you. But when a job turns dangerous, and it wasn't supposed to be, when there is harassment, or unease that goes beyond a simple uncomfortableness with something new or something hard, you need to ask the hard questions. Because sometimes the uncertainty of stepping away from a paycheck or a job that "used to be" a good job, is something that needs to be considered seriously.
#7 being a mom is a job. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And some people will work two jobs, or three. (Not a reference to how many kids you have - though the "mom job" has different dynamics with more kids.) Some will have the option of putting all of their time into their children for a season, or for more. No matter where you land, you will second guess it, if you have children. Welcome to motherhood - all that second guessing and worrying comes with the territory. The key is not thinking that everyone needs to do one thing, or fit into one model. And if a model isn't working for your family - you find ways to change the model. Moms do that, all the time. However, you may find yourself in places where you cannot change the model. And then you pray, a lot. Please know, if you end up being that mom. The one who prays because life has you hemmed in and boxed out and you cannot grasp what you think is best for your children or yourself, please know - that God hears, and that your circumstances may not change, but he will be there with you, and he will be there with your children even in your bleakest places.
#8 some jobs have a tendency to creep in. They creep into the time off the clock, they hungrily eat your vacation up, they can consume you by demanding more, more time, more energy, more than you can give. Be wary of those jobs that will not respect healthy barriers. Make sure that you set healthy barriers. Because it's also not fair to blame a job with "creeping in" if you are unwilling to set those barriers. Then it's not the jobs fault. (And don't beat yourself up if you have to practice setting up those barriers a few times - it takes practice that "balance" thing.)
#9 paychecks are nice, and need to be weighed when making decisions, though money is just money, it isn't time, family, or anything else - just money. Sometimes you need money. There are lines of course. Things that never should be sold for money. Yet money can determine courses of action. This is reality. Very few people dream of being a garbage collector in high school. Very few guidance counselors have a path of course choices for it. Yet it is a job with decent wages and is not likely to become obsolete. Not a fun job, a working job. And if you are looking at supporting a family, you start to look at things like that. Jobs that you might hold for a long time, jobs that are not fun, but solid. Please know that there is nothing wrong with these jobs. One of my grandfathers ran a filling station, another was a school janitor. Your grandfather, my father was a letter carrier and a soldier. Your grandmother, my mother, a seamstress. No grandiose "professions" just solid hardworking people who provided for their families. Do not be ashamed of a job that is a job, that you work hard at and get a paycheck for the time and work that you put in.
#10 remember the value of supporting your interests outside a job. Tolkien wrote some very popular books, but he was not an author by trade, he was a professor. There are times when a job may support your life, but not your dreams. And that is OK. Because there is still room for your dreams - it just may take some creative scheduling and investing.
Some of this you've heard from me, some may be new. I do not know what lies ahead for you and I don't know what advice that I give may be useful, and what is decidedly not helpful. You get to decide that down the road. And you have my blessing on discarding anything that is not useful. Yet some of it might help someday, and so you are getting this letter, because unspoken advice tends to be really unhelpful.
With love in your future jobs, occupations, and professions,
Mom
Right now you are being hit on every side by "what do you want to do" "what occupation will you aim for" "choose your course of study for your future dream job" "Here are the steps you need to take to land the exact right job for you." "Take this interest assessment to see where you should work."
It can be a lot of pressure, right now. People expect you to have a course set, to know your strengths and weaknesses, to have a dream job picked out, to know how to get there. And maybe you have that job picked out and maybe you don't know yet. And both of those are Ok.
Some day you may have an occupation, and there are some things you need to know about the future work force that awaits you.
#1 a dream job is still a job. Which means that even if you are fortunate enough to have a job that you love, know that there will be parts of it that you will not love. That even a dream job will take work. That there are days where the alarm will ring and all you will want to do is throw the covers over your head and pretend it is Saturday.
#2 learn to work hard. There is something rewarding in a hard days work. Learn how to put that in, day after day, without complaining. Every job is hard in some way. Some are physically hard, your body goes home tired and exhausted. Others are mentally challenging pushing you to absorb and assimilate even more than you think you can. Others are stressful in other ways, working with people or with things that you have no control over. As humans, we like to "brag" about how hard we have it. "you can't believe what I have to put up with at my job!" But remember a job is work, and don't get sucked into that comparison game, 'cause no one wins and you end up feeling worse about that work part. If you work hard and don't complain, you will earn respect along with the paycheck.
#3 when you can, give a new job time to even out. There is a learning curve out there. And starting new jobs is like any other change in life - it takes time to get your skills developed, it takes time to know your way around and problem solve for the new stuff. Job-hoping from one new job to another never looks great on your resume after more than a round or two. Careers aren't like clothes, to be taken off and washed every day. Once you get past the part-time high school jobs and the summer jobs, and into the world of "careers" make sure you have a goal of trying to stay a year at least, and two years can be even better. You find that time will ease some of the the big problems and give you a perspective, even if you do choose to move forward.
#4 a job does not define you, oh it is a part of life, make no mistake, and it may devour a lot of your time, but it isn't you - not really. When things go horrible at work, you are not a horrible person. If you get paid more than someone else you are not better than them. It may reflect your interests, and some of your values - but it is not your interests and values - you own who you are, not your job. Your job may not reflect any of your interests, and those are harder places to land for a season, but take it as a season to live through not that you are a failure for not having been able to procure that elusive "dream job". And if you end up in one of those days where everything goes sour and you hate your job (and those days happen) be able to realize that while you are not in a happy place, you do not have to become an unhappy person. And that is written quite glibly - but it can be one of the hardest things in the world to learn to do. You won't ever accomplish that on your own by the way, you'll need divine help.
#5 an occupation, profession, job or workplace, is not the most important thing in your life, even though it may take up a lot of it. It can never take the place of your faith, your family, and even your friends. Balancing things out is not easy, it is a struggle sometimes and some seasons. There will be the judgement calls on whether to use a day off to stay with a sick child or support a friend at a funeral. There are a few jobs where you don't have a choice due to their nature, emergency services, etc. And there are times where you do choose your job first, nothing wrong with that - because it is a judgement call. Just don't give all of that over for a job, because even the dreamiest of dream jobs, is not worth it.
#6 there are times to leave jobs. Sometimes life moves you forward, a move, a change that you have no control over. Some jobs actually need to be left. The ones that make you sick with stress. The ones that undermine your faith or family and expect to be first in line. There are jobs that are dangerous that you can feel called to - like a firefighter or law enforcement. Those are hard jobs. And it is OK to be in one of those dangerous jobs, as long as that call is built into you. But when a job turns dangerous, and it wasn't supposed to be, when there is harassment, or unease that goes beyond a simple uncomfortableness with something new or something hard, you need to ask the hard questions. Because sometimes the uncertainty of stepping away from a paycheck or a job that "used to be" a good job, is something that needs to be considered seriously.
#7 being a mom is a job. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And some people will work two jobs, or three. (Not a reference to how many kids you have - though the "mom job" has different dynamics with more kids.) Some will have the option of putting all of their time into their children for a season, or for more. No matter where you land, you will second guess it, if you have children. Welcome to motherhood - all that second guessing and worrying comes with the territory. The key is not thinking that everyone needs to do one thing, or fit into one model. And if a model isn't working for your family - you find ways to change the model. Moms do that, all the time. However, you may find yourself in places where you cannot change the model. And then you pray, a lot. Please know, if you end up being that mom. The one who prays because life has you hemmed in and boxed out and you cannot grasp what you think is best for your children or yourself, please know - that God hears, and that your circumstances may not change, but he will be there with you, and he will be there with your children even in your bleakest places.
#8 some jobs have a tendency to creep in. They creep into the time off the clock, they hungrily eat your vacation up, they can consume you by demanding more, more time, more energy, more than you can give. Be wary of those jobs that will not respect healthy barriers. Make sure that you set healthy barriers. Because it's also not fair to blame a job with "creeping in" if you are unwilling to set those barriers. Then it's not the jobs fault. (And don't beat yourself up if you have to practice setting up those barriers a few times - it takes practice that "balance" thing.)
#9 paychecks are nice, and need to be weighed when making decisions, though money is just money, it isn't time, family, or anything else - just money. Sometimes you need money. There are lines of course. Things that never should be sold for money. Yet money can determine courses of action. This is reality. Very few people dream of being a garbage collector in high school. Very few guidance counselors have a path of course choices for it. Yet it is a job with decent wages and is not likely to become obsolete. Not a fun job, a working job. And if you are looking at supporting a family, you start to look at things like that. Jobs that you might hold for a long time, jobs that are not fun, but solid. Please know that there is nothing wrong with these jobs. One of my grandfathers ran a filling station, another was a school janitor. Your grandfather, my father was a letter carrier and a soldier. Your grandmother, my mother, a seamstress. No grandiose "professions" just solid hardworking people who provided for their families. Do not be ashamed of a job that is a job, that you work hard at and get a paycheck for the time and work that you put in.
#10 remember the value of supporting your interests outside a job. Tolkien wrote some very popular books, but he was not an author by trade, he was a professor. There are times when a job may support your life, but not your dreams. And that is OK. Because there is still room for your dreams - it just may take some creative scheduling and investing.
Some of this you've heard from me, some may be new. I do not know what lies ahead for you and I don't know what advice that I give may be useful, and what is decidedly not helpful. You get to decide that down the road. And you have my blessing on discarding anything that is not useful. Yet some of it might help someday, and so you are getting this letter, because unspoken advice tends to be really unhelpful.
With love in your future jobs, occupations, and professions,
Mom
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Done with the season. . . .
Two weeks ago I sat in the church amphitheater, the lights were dim, small bodies rustled quietly, speakers intoned the words of the Christmas story in spotlit pools of light. I remember the glow of a multicolored tinsel garland strung a few feet from me catching the light in the dark in sparkling shards. It would have been beautiful, but I felt empty. In all truth I felt empty and honestly done with the Christmas season.
Just done.
I blamed it on the commercialism - living in a world where decorations and holiday goods were placed on store shelves before Halloween.
I blamed it on an overwhelming to do list that filled most spare time from the weeks before Thanksgiving to those that continued to stretch before me.
I blamed it on the stress of a job transition that was leaving me emotionally drained.
I blamed it on a pace of life that I knew was not sustainable.
I blamed it on a sense of loss, a sense that things had changed just a little too much from what I knew of Christmas as a child
And there were grains of truth in that blame game.
But even looking for a reason felt a little futile.
And then I took a moment to listen to the words "Mary brought forth her son. . . " and I fell into the story for a moment.
Mary
waiting more than a few months,
waiting nine.
The wise men
preparing and traveling,
possibly for years.
The nation
waiting for Messiah,
for centuries.
Perhaps this feeling of a holiday dragging on too long was a tiny taste of the waiting in the real story.
"Come thou long awaited. . . ."
It was a big picture prophecy that took on the weighty cloak of ancient. A desire so long ingrained that it held the trappings of epic. Something beyond one life, beyond one era, beyond one nation.
And then when he did come it sure didn't look like what was expected.
My own expectations of a Christmas similar to those of my childhood are going to be lost in this changing society. Christmas isn't a day to be celebrated now, but a holiday season. A season full of parties and celebrations that each bring an increasing sense of business and things that need to get done. And make no mistake, there will be a challenge there to continually dig out the real meaning, to set aside time for what is important. But I need to stop mourning the simpler time and focus on that challenge, because what I think Christmas should be like, is like what the Jewish nation thought the Messiah would be like. They both comprise of expectations that are simply too small and too far from what God brought about.
If God could bring the Savior to earth in the most unexpectedly humble way, he has the ability to take a holiday whose structure is continually changing, traditions that start and fall to the side by the host, and he can seed it with meaning. Because he is bigger than all of our structures. He is unexpected and unfathomable.
He sent a glittering army of angelic beings to tired, stressed shepherds, the blue collar working class of the day, and scholarly astronomers to Herod's doorstep to ask for directions.
"'Come into my parlor', said the spider to the fly."
Maybe the Christmas story reflects a lot of things we don't always think about.
waiting
awkwardness
broken expectations
fear
grief over the slaughter of innocents
and yet it in all of this,
that humble baby was the arrival of the Prince of Peace
He brought hope, not the hope that was expected, but something deeper.
Not a simple conquering king to overthrow the Roman government,
But a man to overthrow death itself.
Done with the holiday?
Tired of waiting,
Stressed,
Overburdened,
Fearful,
Grieving,
In pain,
that's OK,
because this story resonates with all of that.
Sometimes it is the empty times, the tired and drained and fearful times, the path of grief times where God touches us the most.
Some years I resonate most with the shepherds in the fields, other years the wise men. This year I am seeing those in the story who had to wait and it is an odd comfort.
So God help me not to pack up the Christmas tree on Christmas day as soon as the packages are opened. Help me not to start on that "how I need to change list" for the New Year. Help me to rest a bit, and wait a bit, and really think about the real people in this real history, who had real feelings and thoughts, and help me be just a bit more in awe at your place in that story,
and in this one.
Amen.
Just done.
I blamed it on an overwhelming to do list that filled most spare time from the weeks before Thanksgiving to those that continued to stretch before me.
I blamed it on the stress of a job transition that was leaving me emotionally drained.
I blamed it on a pace of life that I knew was not sustainable.
I blamed it on a sense of loss, a sense that things had changed just a little too much from what I knew of Christmas as a child
And there were grains of truth in that blame game.
But even looking for a reason felt a little futile.
And then I took a moment to listen to the words "Mary brought forth her son. . . " and I fell into the story for a moment.
Mary
waiting more than a few months,
waiting nine.
The wise men
preparing and traveling,
possibly for years.
The nation
waiting for Messiah,
for centuries.
Perhaps this feeling of a holiday dragging on too long was a tiny taste of the waiting in the real story.
"Come thou long awaited. . . ."
It was a big picture prophecy that took on the weighty cloak of ancient. A desire so long ingrained that it held the trappings of epic. Something beyond one life, beyond one era, beyond one nation.
And then when he did come it sure didn't look like what was expected.
My own expectations of a Christmas similar to those of my childhood are going to be lost in this changing society. Christmas isn't a day to be celebrated now, but a holiday season. A season full of parties and celebrations that each bring an increasing sense of business and things that need to get done. And make no mistake, there will be a challenge there to continually dig out the real meaning, to set aside time for what is important. But I need to stop mourning the simpler time and focus on that challenge, because what I think Christmas should be like, is like what the Jewish nation thought the Messiah would be like. They both comprise of expectations that are simply too small and too far from what God brought about.
If God could bring the Savior to earth in the most unexpectedly humble way, he has the ability to take a holiday whose structure is continually changing, traditions that start and fall to the side by the host, and he can seed it with meaning. Because he is bigger than all of our structures. He is unexpected and unfathomable.
He sent a glittering army of angelic beings to tired, stressed shepherds, the blue collar working class of the day, and scholarly astronomers to Herod's doorstep to ask for directions.
"'Come into my parlor', said the spider to the fly."
Maybe the Christmas story reflects a lot of things we don't always think about.
waiting
awkwardness
broken expectations
fear
grief over the slaughter of innocents
and yet it in all of this,
that humble baby was the arrival of the Prince of Peace
He brought hope, not the hope that was expected, but something deeper.
Not a simple conquering king to overthrow the Roman government,
But a man to overthrow death itself.
Done with the holiday?
Tired of waiting,
Stressed,
Overburdened,
Fearful,
Grieving,
In pain,
that's OK,
because this story resonates with all of that.
Sometimes it is the empty times, the tired and drained and fearful times, the path of grief times where God touches us the most.
Some years I resonate most with the shepherds in the fields, other years the wise men. This year I am seeing those in the story who had to wait and it is an odd comfort.
So God help me not to pack up the Christmas tree on Christmas day as soon as the packages are opened. Help me not to start on that "how I need to change list" for the New Year. Help me to rest a bit, and wait a bit, and really think about the real people in this real history, who had real feelings and thoughts, and help me be just a bit more in awe at your place in that story,
and in this one.
Amen.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Loving that response
There isn't an artist out there that doesn't derive a certain sense of satisfaction out of positive reactions to their work. For some of us we struggle to keep that satisfaction in place bounded up with humility. But I also feel that if it is kept in check that there is a "rightness" to it.
I guess some of that goes along with my concept that we are a creative people because God is creative and he made us in his image. I think that sense of satisfaction might be God's way of telling us that he might feel some certain mirrored feeling when we stop to admire his creations. That he feels pleasure when we derive joy from what he has made, and that he has intentionally created so much for us. Not just the trees and sunsets of nature but the story lines of history and life. I think he is well- pleased when we take a step back and allow ourselves to be awestruck by his unfathomable talent.
This musing brought to you by my own paler versions of the feeling. Today I had a moment where one of my creations elicited a response, a special response, one that I will long remember and be satisfied with.
You hear a lot of the same things when you are an artist. "Wow!" "I could never do that." "You are amazing." etc. and there is pleasure in that. But some reactions don't leave you readily. For instance one of the first times I brought a decorated cake into summer camp - to give to the staff there, it was a small cake, decorated to look like a wheel of swiss cheese with a tiny mouse that was standing on the cheese dressed like Indiana Jones. He had his tail curled up instead of a whip. I had fun with the cake, and it matched the camp theme.
I had meant to drop it quietly off at the office during morning extended care. I got out the door before the "alarm" was raised. But was in the lobby as excited 20 somethings and teen staff started making a bee-line for the office. I will never forget their exuberant enthusiasm. I stayed and watched. They didn't know me, or that I had made the cake. I watched the camp director get called on a walkie generally reserved for emergencies. I watched the laughter and the pointing out of the details like the hat and the coiled tail. The camp director would later show the entire camp the cake in general assembly.
I learned that summer that it is hard to beat the appreciation of hungry young adults who generally don't eat breakfast and who do not have to count their calories. I learned that when you can tailor something to match a theme or personalities - that it makes things even better. I learned that being able to give people joy is a force that drives me so much more than personal pride in what I make - and I am glad that it does, because I have to fight to keep that pride in check some days.
Today's reaction was something incredibly sweet. I work in a room full of some of the most special people that God has handcrafted. I work with students who have multiple handicaps. It is a room for the severely disabled, and it is populated by children who will teach you lessons so big that you cannot articulate them.
It is also populated by some of the most caring individuals I have ever met - special education aides. One of our caregivers had her last day today, as she will be out of the room through the holidays for some surgery. We wanted to celebrate Christmas and Get Well all at once and the idea came up to make a cake that looked like the board game Operation. (Humor is a finely honed survival skill in this room.) And so I made a cake that represented the likeness. I was pleased with the result and looking forward to my coworkers reactions.
I hadn't counted on reactions from my students. Freddy* (name changed) has severe autism. He has limited words and food is not something he enjoys, at all. He stays away from it unless it comes prepackaged, and even there his hyper senses allow him to notice changes in the composition of ingredients that the rest of us would never notice. Freddy avoids any food brought in.
Jake* rarely pays attention to it, and when he does it is mostly to try and get a reaction out of the adults in the room. To garner negative attention. His defiant behaviors surface if asked if he would like some. He blares out a growl and swipes his hand in the air in dismissal. If pressed he'll shove food away with sometimes disastrous results.
So today I saw my coworker grinning at the cake. On one side of her Freddy was standing raptly making fluttering hand motions over the cake. He would mime pressing the nose and putting his fingers together like tweezers. Since this type of recognition is rare, it was something celebratory for all of us. Evidently Freddy has played Operation, and it made a big impression on him.
Jake stood on the other side, behaving for once instead of shoving or shouting, looking at the cake too, and when my co-worker offered him some he said OK. And it floored us. For me, it was absolutely one of the best reactions I've ever had to a cake that I've made, and it will be something that I treasure.
One nonverbal reaction that many might pass by, not knowing or understanding the significance, and another "OK" might not seem like much, yet I felt the same sense of joy today as I did with a camp full of hungry young adults. And just two students made that happen. Two very special people.
And I sit here and in my musings I thank God for them. It is easy to ask "why, why God?" so many days "why did this have to be this way?" "why couldn't you change it?" "why not do a miracle, and make them better?"
And I don't know why, to be honest.
And there is heartbreak here, sometimes daily.
But there is joy too, and it is joy unparalleled and sometimes unexplainable to the outside world. So I don't know if you are reading this and you will understand, but if you do I hope that I can throw a taste of that joy over to you.
There is joy in blowing balloons up.
There is joy in slamming the covers of a book together and feeling the breeze on your face.
There is joy in toys (especially noisy ones, and new ones, and new noisy ones are the absolute best).
There is joy in TV time and music and drums and sensory bins, and floor puzzles and running fast.
And some days there is joy in something unexpected - like cake.
Yes there is heartbreak here, but Christmas joy comes almost just as often.
So I feel like I've had a chance to see one of God's most fragile and beautiful works. And I doubt it will stop me from asking why, but today, today I will say "OK" and be thankful for the God who is bigger than I am and who creates masterpieces out of what we consider those who are broken and outcast.
So take a breath and look around yourself, you need to see His gallery sometime.
I guess some of that goes along with my concept that we are a creative people because God is creative and he made us in his image. I think that sense of satisfaction might be God's way of telling us that he might feel some certain mirrored feeling when we stop to admire his creations. That he feels pleasure when we derive joy from what he has made, and that he has intentionally created so much for us. Not just the trees and sunsets of nature but the story lines of history and life. I think he is well- pleased when we take a step back and allow ourselves to be awestruck by his unfathomable talent.
This musing brought to you by my own paler versions of the feeling. Today I had a moment where one of my creations elicited a response, a special response, one that I will long remember and be satisfied with.
You hear a lot of the same things when you are an artist. "Wow!" "I could never do that." "You are amazing." etc. and there is pleasure in that. But some reactions don't leave you readily. For instance one of the first times I brought a decorated cake into summer camp - to give to the staff there, it was a small cake, decorated to look like a wheel of swiss cheese with a tiny mouse that was standing on the cheese dressed like Indiana Jones. He had his tail curled up instead of a whip. I had fun with the cake, and it matched the camp theme.
I had meant to drop it quietly off at the office during morning extended care. I got out the door before the "alarm" was raised. But was in the lobby as excited 20 somethings and teen staff started making a bee-line for the office. I will never forget their exuberant enthusiasm. I stayed and watched. They didn't know me, or that I had made the cake. I watched the camp director get called on a walkie generally reserved for emergencies. I watched the laughter and the pointing out of the details like the hat and the coiled tail. The camp director would later show the entire camp the cake in general assembly.
I learned that summer that it is hard to beat the appreciation of hungry young adults who generally don't eat breakfast and who do not have to count their calories. I learned that when you can tailor something to match a theme or personalities - that it makes things even better. I learned that being able to give people joy is a force that drives me so much more than personal pride in what I make - and I am glad that it does, because I have to fight to keep that pride in check some days.
Today's reaction was something incredibly sweet. I work in a room full of some of the most special people that God has handcrafted. I work with students who have multiple handicaps. It is a room for the severely disabled, and it is populated by children who will teach you lessons so big that you cannot articulate them.
It is also populated by some of the most caring individuals I have ever met - special education aides. One of our caregivers had her last day today, as she will be out of the room through the holidays for some surgery. We wanted to celebrate Christmas and Get Well all at once and the idea came up to make a cake that looked like the board game Operation. (Humor is a finely honed survival skill in this room.) And so I made a cake that represented the likeness. I was pleased with the result and looking forward to my coworkers reactions.
I hadn't counted on reactions from my students. Freddy* (name changed) has severe autism. He has limited words and food is not something he enjoys, at all. He stays away from it unless it comes prepackaged, and even there his hyper senses allow him to notice changes in the composition of ingredients that the rest of us would never notice. Freddy avoids any food brought in.
Jake* rarely pays attention to it, and when he does it is mostly to try and get a reaction out of the adults in the room. To garner negative attention. His defiant behaviors surface if asked if he would like some. He blares out a growl and swipes his hand in the air in dismissal. If pressed he'll shove food away with sometimes disastrous results.
So today I saw my coworker grinning at the cake. On one side of her Freddy was standing raptly making fluttering hand motions over the cake. He would mime pressing the nose and putting his fingers together like tweezers. Since this type of recognition is rare, it was something celebratory for all of us. Evidently Freddy has played Operation, and it made a big impression on him.
Jake stood on the other side, behaving for once instead of shoving or shouting, looking at the cake too, and when my co-worker offered him some he said OK. And it floored us. For me, it was absolutely one of the best reactions I've ever had to a cake that I've made, and it will be something that I treasure.
One nonverbal reaction that many might pass by, not knowing or understanding the significance, and another "OK" might not seem like much, yet I felt the same sense of joy today as I did with a camp full of hungry young adults. And just two students made that happen. Two very special people.
And I sit here and in my musings I thank God for them. It is easy to ask "why, why God?" so many days "why did this have to be this way?" "why couldn't you change it?" "why not do a miracle, and make them better?"
And I don't know why, to be honest.
And there is heartbreak here, sometimes daily.
But there is joy too, and it is joy unparalleled and sometimes unexplainable to the outside world. So I don't know if you are reading this and you will understand, but if you do I hope that I can throw a taste of that joy over to you.
There is joy in blowing balloons up.
There is joy in slamming the covers of a book together and feeling the breeze on your face.
There is joy in toys (especially noisy ones, and new ones, and new noisy ones are the absolute best).
There is joy in TV time and music and drums and sensory bins, and floor puzzles and running fast.
And some days there is joy in something unexpected - like cake.
Yes there is heartbreak here, but Christmas joy comes almost just as often.
So I feel like I've had a chance to see one of God's most fragile and beautiful works. And I doubt it will stop me from asking why, but today, today I will say "OK" and be thankful for the God who is bigger than I am and who creates masterpieces out of what we consider those who are broken and outcast.
So take a breath and look around yourself, you need to see His gallery sometime.
Monday, October 27, 2014
The best Halloween party ever
I'm in the middle of quite a different holiday right now. Tonight was our community Trick or Treat and this coming week will be filled with dress up parties and trappings of a much more secular festival. I have a touch of hesitancy still admitting it, but I love Halloween. I love the fall weather, the changing colors, the sense of winter coming and I certainly like the candy more than I should.
There is a sense of the neighborhood all coming out together as parents fill suburban streets with their children. Teens and those who've seen their children grow past the age of wearing batman suits and princess dresses man the doorways with bowls full of treats. People are genuinely pleased to see their neighborhood children on their doorsteps asking for handouts.
There is a sense of the neighborhood all coming out together as parents fill suburban streets with their children. Teens and those who've seen their children grow past the age of wearing batman suits and princess dresses man the doorways with bowls full of treats. People are genuinely pleased to see their neighborhood children on their doorsteps asking for handouts.
Most of all I love the opportunity to make costumes. The thrill of getting to pick out what or whom you want to be. My favorites are always the homemade ones. The ones that go off the beaten path. The ones that take the familiar in a new direction. Halloween seems to brim with creativity, between pumpkin carving and dress up.
A long time ago I wore the costumes. In particular I remember one that my parents both worked on. I wanted to be an astronaut, so my mom sewed a silver grey jumpsuit, and my dad took a paint can and an old car antenna to his shop and came back with a space helmet. A chunky cassette player strapped to my chest playing "space sounds" recorded from a National Geographic LP completed the ensemble with a pair of moon boots (what we called snow boots at the time).
I still remember the awesome sound that antennae made as I walked through doors and it didn't quite make it through, flexibly sliding underneath to shoot back and forth on top of my head for the next few seconds. The paint can amplified the sound and I wanted to walk through every door I could.
It was an age before costumes with sound effects, so trick or treating took on a new life that year. And our favorite next door neighbor had made homemade popcorn balls. Orange, popcorn balls. They were amazing.
Then we moved.
To a different community.
A community that had a much more limited selection of churches to choose from. A meeting of those of like faith had been a foundational part of our lives and we had expected that to continue. My parents had even scoped out the local church that we would join when we moved. The things that really counted were there. The doctrines that we held were very similar. But the flavor was quite different from what we were used to.
To say it simply, "conservativeness" took on a life of it's own at this new church. No going to movie theaters, though the local video rental store was ok for some fuzzy logic that I was grateful for. And Halloween, well, Halloween was the devil's holiday. Great lengths were taken to explain the pagan roots to us children and the reasons why we should not celebrate or carve pumpkins. No one was to pass out candy, though if you wanted to wrap tracts in cellophane to look like candy and pass them out, that was looked on well enough.
The year we came, the church deacons decided that perhaps we should have a church social, a potluck dinner and the children in the church could come dressed as Bible characters. It was a well intentioned gesture, and I have no doubt looking back that some were indeed sympathetic to the younger crowd. Support also came from older church members whose colorful cellophane tracts were causing the neighbors to skip their houses. Bringing a dish to pass would be easier than hours spent trying to disguise salvation as candy.
I have no doubt that they envisioned happy crowds of young children running about the church basement dressed as shepherds and angels. But there was a problem.
And that problem was us, well, me - to be exact.
I still didn't quite grasp the rules at this new church, and my parents had taken the time to teach me the Bible, so I knew it tolerably by the time I was eleven. Too well for what the leaders had envisioned. I remember my mom getting very quiet as I tried to convince the neighbor boy to come with us. He was worried that he didn't have a "Bible" costume.
"Oh, that's OK - pretty much anything scary is in the Bible. You know Ezekiel has skeletons, and there's the witch of Endor, the ghost of Samuel - going as the grim reaper, that works, we'll just call you the 10th plague, a mummy - you can be a leper. And if you want to be a monster, Revelation is filled with them. Headless horseman - you can be Goliath. All those are in the Bible and lots more!"
I was so excited, and I thought at the time that my mother's quiet was because she was worried about how our neighbor might behave, he was a rambunctious boy and we all had gotten into trouble with some of the things we'd thought would be fun. I really hadn't understood the grown up tensions she must have been facing.
In the end, we'd talked Allan and his sister into coming with us. It took a little stretching to explain that his Darth Vader was the first day of creation when God separated the dark from the light and that Princess Leia was really an angel (Star Wars was unhappily classified as New Age and thus right up there with cults). There were plenty of frowns abounding and the awkward uncomfortableness of it all was something that even us children felt.
My own attempt at a cherubim with scary eyes every where and smoke and fire (thank you Madeline L'engle) was also not well received. And feeling that I needed to defend the choices we had made, I stood in the middle of that basement floor and spouted out the same line of reasoning and logic that I had used in trying to get Allan to come with me. No - I was not a shy child. And I felt a sense of injustice so it got addressed. Addressed with a hundred marker eyes staring accusingly out at my audience between grey painted fluffs of cotton smoke.
I took it that the resulting silence meant I had won the argument, and in particular, one older gentleman with a twinkle in his eye came up to me after things got back underway and shook my hand, "I like you." he whispered haltingly due to a stroke that had paralyzed part of his face. We grinned at each other, my grin filled with taffy and his lopsided. Mr. Vern and I would be good friends from that day forward.
I hadn't really won.
The next year the Halloween Bible Party would return, but there would be a list of rules about what would be acceptable and what would not, no scary costumes allowed. And Allan, though he loved the apple crisp that the church pianist had made, would never come back to church with us.
Me, I learned creative ways to tread the lines that the rules had made. The next year my sister and I came as two foxes that Sampson had tied the tails together and lit on fire. The cute ears and fluffy tails got smiles that disappeared as we screamed and acted out what it might have looked like to have two foxes on fire yelping and running through the fields (sorry mom).
Another year I would come as the statue from Daniels dream - gold and silver spray paint were awful fun to use, and tramping muddy boots all over as part of the costume had a small rebellious sense of satisfaction in it, though that was alleviated during my time on the clean-up crew afterwards.
There is a part of me that would like to rewrite those years similar to Ms. Robinson's epic tale. I was no Imogene Herdman. Though I envy her her impact on that small church. Still, looking back I sense some similarities. My mother bears a strong resemblance to the mom in the book who insisted that the Herdman's be offered roles in the play and then put up with all of the shenanigans that followed. My mom gently guided us in the years after that first one, allowing us enough creativity, and offering options when we thought that going as a plague of boils might be a good idea. She was supportive of us and helped us navigate the new rules at the church while at the same time instilling in us the concept that the Halloween we had celebrated innocently before was not wrong. That we could go forward respectfully at this new place and still retain our own discernment and decisions, even if they might be quietly held decisions.
Mr. Vern and his wife Dora would become a big part of my life. In looking back there was no really huge thing other than that grin that encouraged me and the pocket full of candy that he always had for us children on Sundays. They were saints who understood that kids were loud and ran around and sometimes said unexpectedly awkward things.
Unexpectedly awkward things while dressed as a cherubim shedding cotton batting in the middle of a church basement. Ah the clarity I had on my beliefs at that moment in time.
Things have gotten less clear for me as an adult. I still don't know where all the lines are. I try to respect those who see the danger in the roots of the holiday, and honor their wishes to remain apart from the celebrations, at the same time my own family has dove right into the creativity and fun that is fairly unconnected with anything other than American commercialism. And yes, I understand that there are dangers in that too. Yet there are also dangers in separatism - so trying to find a balance.
I think I look at the issue in light of one of my favorite Disney movies - Polyanna. "When you look for the bad, you will find it." With the rebound idea that if you start looking for the good and find it - you should consider joining in when you can,
because there will still be all too many places where you can't. Where you have to draw lines and stay away.
For me I will bask in a neighborhood night out. A celebration of family and children and creativity. And behind some of the harder things faced I will remember the twinkle in Mr. Verns eye and my mother's quiet support, and the best astronaut costume ever.
__________________________________
A long time ago I wore the costumes. In particular I remember one that my parents both worked on. I wanted to be an astronaut, so my mom sewed a silver grey jumpsuit, and my dad took a paint can and an old car antenna to his shop and came back with a space helmet. A chunky cassette player strapped to my chest playing "space sounds" recorded from a National Geographic LP completed the ensemble with a pair of moon boots (what we called snow boots at the time).
I still remember the awesome sound that antennae made as I walked through doors and it didn't quite make it through, flexibly sliding underneath to shoot back and forth on top of my head for the next few seconds. The paint can amplified the sound and I wanted to walk through every door I could.
It was an age before costumes with sound effects, so trick or treating took on a new life that year. And our favorite next door neighbor had made homemade popcorn balls. Orange, popcorn balls. They were amazing.
Then we moved.
To a different community.
A community that had a much more limited selection of churches to choose from. A meeting of those of like faith had been a foundational part of our lives and we had expected that to continue. My parents had even scoped out the local church that we would join when we moved. The things that really counted were there. The doctrines that we held were very similar. But the flavor was quite different from what we were used to.
To say it simply, "conservativeness" took on a life of it's own at this new church. No going to movie theaters, though the local video rental store was ok for some fuzzy logic that I was grateful for. And Halloween, well, Halloween was the devil's holiday. Great lengths were taken to explain the pagan roots to us children and the reasons why we should not celebrate or carve pumpkins. No one was to pass out candy, though if you wanted to wrap tracts in cellophane to look like candy and pass them out, that was looked on well enough.
The year we came, the church deacons decided that perhaps we should have a church social, a potluck dinner and the children in the church could come dressed as Bible characters. It was a well intentioned gesture, and I have no doubt looking back that some were indeed sympathetic to the younger crowd. Support also came from older church members whose colorful cellophane tracts were causing the neighbors to skip their houses. Bringing a dish to pass would be easier than hours spent trying to disguise salvation as candy.
I have no doubt that they envisioned happy crowds of young children running about the church basement dressed as shepherds and angels. But there was a problem.
And that problem was us, well, me - to be exact.
I still didn't quite grasp the rules at this new church, and my parents had taken the time to teach me the Bible, so I knew it tolerably by the time I was eleven. Too well for what the leaders had envisioned. I remember my mom getting very quiet as I tried to convince the neighbor boy to come with us. He was worried that he didn't have a "Bible" costume.
"Oh, that's OK - pretty much anything scary is in the Bible. You know Ezekiel has skeletons, and there's the witch of Endor, the ghost of Samuel - going as the grim reaper, that works, we'll just call you the 10th plague, a mummy - you can be a leper. And if you want to be a monster, Revelation is filled with them. Headless horseman - you can be Goliath. All those are in the Bible and lots more!"
I was so excited, and I thought at the time that my mother's quiet was because she was worried about how our neighbor might behave, he was a rambunctious boy and we all had gotten into trouble with some of the things we'd thought would be fun. I really hadn't understood the grown up tensions she must have been facing.
In the end, we'd talked Allan and his sister into coming with us. It took a little stretching to explain that his Darth Vader was the first day of creation when God separated the dark from the light and that Princess Leia was really an angel (Star Wars was unhappily classified as New Age and thus right up there with cults). There were plenty of frowns abounding and the awkward uncomfortableness of it all was something that even us children felt.
My own attempt at a cherubim with scary eyes every where and smoke and fire (thank you Madeline L'engle) was also not well received. And feeling that I needed to defend the choices we had made, I stood in the middle of that basement floor and spouted out the same line of reasoning and logic that I had used in trying to get Allan to come with me. No - I was not a shy child. And I felt a sense of injustice so it got addressed. Addressed with a hundred marker eyes staring accusingly out at my audience between grey painted fluffs of cotton smoke.
I took it that the resulting silence meant I had won the argument, and in particular, one older gentleman with a twinkle in his eye came up to me after things got back underway and shook my hand, "I like you." he whispered haltingly due to a stroke that had paralyzed part of his face. We grinned at each other, my grin filled with taffy and his lopsided. Mr. Vern and I would be good friends from that day forward.
I hadn't really won.
The next year the Halloween Bible Party would return, but there would be a list of rules about what would be acceptable and what would not, no scary costumes allowed. And Allan, though he loved the apple crisp that the church pianist had made, would never come back to church with us.
Me, I learned creative ways to tread the lines that the rules had made. The next year my sister and I came as two foxes that Sampson had tied the tails together and lit on fire. The cute ears and fluffy tails got smiles that disappeared as we screamed and acted out what it might have looked like to have two foxes on fire yelping and running through the fields (sorry mom).
Another year I would come as the statue from Daniels dream - gold and silver spray paint were awful fun to use, and tramping muddy boots all over as part of the costume had a small rebellious sense of satisfaction in it, though that was alleviated during my time on the clean-up crew afterwards.
There is a part of me that would like to rewrite those years similar to Ms. Robinson's epic tale. I was no Imogene Herdman. Though I envy her her impact on that small church. Still, looking back I sense some similarities. My mother bears a strong resemblance to the mom in the book who insisted that the Herdman's be offered roles in the play and then put up with all of the shenanigans that followed. My mom gently guided us in the years after that first one, allowing us enough creativity, and offering options when we thought that going as a plague of boils might be a good idea. She was supportive of us and helped us navigate the new rules at the church while at the same time instilling in us the concept that the Halloween we had celebrated innocently before was not wrong. That we could go forward respectfully at this new place and still retain our own discernment and decisions, even if they might be quietly held decisions.
Mr. Vern and his wife Dora would become a big part of my life. In looking back there was no really huge thing other than that grin that encouraged me and the pocket full of candy that he always had for us children on Sundays. They were saints who understood that kids were loud and ran around and sometimes said unexpectedly awkward things.
Unexpectedly awkward things while dressed as a cherubim shedding cotton batting in the middle of a church basement. Ah the clarity I had on my beliefs at that moment in time.
Things have gotten less clear for me as an adult. I still don't know where all the lines are. I try to respect those who see the danger in the roots of the holiday, and honor their wishes to remain apart from the celebrations, at the same time my own family has dove right into the creativity and fun that is fairly unconnected with anything other than American commercialism. And yes, I understand that there are dangers in that too. Yet there are also dangers in separatism - so trying to find a balance.
I think I look at the issue in light of one of my favorite Disney movies - Polyanna. "When you look for the bad, you will find it." With the rebound idea that if you start looking for the good and find it - you should consider joining in when you can,
because there will still be all too many places where you can't. Where you have to draw lines and stay away.
For me I will bask in a neighborhood night out. A celebration of family and children and creativity. And behind some of the harder things faced I will remember the twinkle in Mr. Verns eye and my mother's quiet support, and the best astronaut costume ever.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Job Comparison
For we are not bold to class or compare ourselves with some of those who commend themselves; but when they measure themselves by themselves and compare themselves with themselves, they are without understanding. 2 Corinthians 10:12It happens, all the time. In fact a lot of our days are spent mentally ranking each other in the context of occupations. There's the "whose job is more important" angle, "who has the hardest job", or "who is working the best". They flit through our heads and some days they land and build nests.
I am so guilty myself of these comparisons. And to be honest some of the thought processes are not fully bad. It's good to be aware of which co-worker has changed more diapers during the day or dealt with a particularly nasty one, so that you can step in and carry your weight or provide a touch of relief.
But in my world where voiced opinion seems to fall on two totally different ends of the spectrum, from the idea that I am a glorified babysitter, to the comments that head into "I don't know how you do it - that job takes a special person."territory (Truth is, both of these are comments entrenched in a code of rank. This idea that watching children is a job fit only for young teens with little life or job experience, and the concept that my work is only suitable to certain personality types. ) I find myself often caught up in the chaos of trying to figure out where I fit in the grand scheme of things.
And I don't. I don't fit that is.
Slowly, as I am gaining understanding in watching people I am trying to move out of trying to fit. Out of trying to pull myself up over the heads of others by emphasizing my caring nature, or how hard my job is on some days. I am slowly trying to leave the rank climbing and worrying about whether or not I am understood by others.
I am trying to find contentment in being a person, not a job.
It's true. There are jobs that we are suited for more than others. But it is also true that even the job with the best fit is still exactly that - a job. Teachers who view their work with students as a calling, still have to put up with the politics, and the unending pressures that continually pull "calling" back into "work". Missionaries, pastors, those who feel chosen for a ministry will, if they are honest, admit that the place they are in is still an uphill battle most of the time. A factory worker who has a simplistic repetitive job with a good paycheck will tell you in a heart beat about the difficulties of conquering boredom and mental fatigue.
Having children has helped. Because I have a High School student for the first time. Her life this last month has been full of talk about occupational paths and finding the skill seminars that fits "what direction she wants to take in life". And I am realizing swiftly that equating an occupational direction with "life" is just another lie that the world tells us.
While there is some fun in asking elementary students what they want to be when they grow up, there are the jobs that never get mentioned: garbage collector, factory line worker, yard service, grocery store clerk. And yet these positions are not less important than the firefighters, soldiers, and teachers of tomorrow. Yes, some occupations exact a higher price than others. And I believe we should honor that. But that price still has little to say about who we really are.
Our worth in front of God is priceless, each and every one of us. Unfortunately, I spend far less time contemplating that truth and what it means than I do worrying about my occupational future. And it needs to change. I don't need to worry so much about pleasing the boss, but about pleasing the one who made me. Sounds simple and preachy. But there is some truth behind all of the cliche. And it is a truth I need.
So today as I go to work my goal isn't to be the best special needs aide that I can be, but to please the creator and look around in awe at all the others he has created too, no matter their occupation in this life. To be able to see them as priceless as my own self. It gives life an equality that feels right somehow. It imparts worth unequivocally. Even my students, many who will never function in society at a level where they are capable of fulfilling a job have this worth. And it is an amazing, mind blowing thing. Something that makes me smile as I head off to the daily grind instead of dreading it.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
One last day of change
I struggle with change. Transitions come with anxiety.
And unfortunately I've passed some of that anxiety on. When I look at my oldest who for the past two days has been trying her best to hold back tears, whose voice pipes up occasionally "Mom I'm taking the dog for a walk." And I know. I know because it's the fifth walk today for the dog.
To be honest the unreasonable fears that she is grappling with - things like the idea that everyone will change over the summer into mean kids who will bully her, are seated right next to the undeniably normal fears like getting lost at a new building and not being able to get your locker open. And no, it hasn't helped that school construction has kept the building locked until the first day. No walk throughs, no way to settle some of the normal fears.
My youngest fears a year without her best friend in her class. My middle is already wondering who she will get as a team for future cities competition, since last year we had a disastrous crash and burn learning experience - both of us mother and daughter (I will never again work on a science project for my kids.)
And me, I am anxious about a new schedule. Care for our classroom has been cut, and that is always a concern, but I worry over safety and sanity with one less aide, one less set of eyes, one less mental check in a room that was demanding before the cuts. For the first time I am glad that my own hours have been reduced, because I don't know if I'd want more time under these circumstances.
Worries are hitting in waves around here.
And I know that after today 80% of them will be alleviated.
Just by simply surviving the day.
It is a human tendency to see those waves as much larger and more powerful than they really are. To forget who holds the oceans in his hands, and controls everything from national policy and the movement of armies to how many strands of grey hair I have covered up with dye. He knows the secret and unseen and the things so big they cannot be hidden.
I'll try to remember that as this morning inches painfully forward, slowly as I say goodbye to one child after another. Three different bus schedules this year. A long drawn out process of goodbye, and there is a small part of me that yearns for a simpler time when we got three backpacks ready to go at once and marched down the sidewalk together.
Now they have started to outgrow my presence at the corner bus stop. And that can bring down a whole new avalanche of worries: Am I preparing them enough? Am I hovering too close, or not close enough. Will they make it down the road, or will life chew them up and spit them out.
Sometimes I wonder if I could sum up motherhood with just one word, what that word would be.
Regret
Sacrifice
Joy
or today's word - Worry
There are a lot of verses on this this, quickly typed, snatched out of context with a search engine, but even with the lack of context there is a common theme: you don't need to worry kid, God has it covered. He'll give you strength when you ask for it, focus when you come humbly. He'll help set up guards around your thoughts - if you let him. If you let him, he'll give you peace. Tell him your worries, he can help.
It's not like he didn't know about them, so it isn't like you can hide your fear of the waves. But you can focus on him.
No it isn't going to be easy. Peter proved that. The sheer number of verses addressing the topic of anxiety should point to the fact that this is going to be a struggle. And it is OK to struggle. Just know that when you're sinking in the waves that he is still there waiting and willing to pull you out.
So frail, axiety ridden self - you have a self directed sermonette today. Whatchya gonna do with it?
Maybe, because I'm in that place of nostalgia, I'll sing this song to myself today.
Besides, it's always a tension breaker to have a song in your head sung by a Frankenstein celery from Toledo. :)
And unfortunately I've passed some of that anxiety on. When I look at my oldest who for the past two days has been trying her best to hold back tears, whose voice pipes up occasionally "Mom I'm taking the dog for a walk." And I know. I know because it's the fifth walk today for the dog.
To be honest the unreasonable fears that she is grappling with - things like the idea that everyone will change over the summer into mean kids who will bully her, are seated right next to the undeniably normal fears like getting lost at a new building and not being able to get your locker open. And no, it hasn't helped that school construction has kept the building locked until the first day. No walk throughs, no way to settle some of the normal fears.
My youngest fears a year without her best friend in her class. My middle is already wondering who she will get as a team for future cities competition, since last year we had a disastrous crash and burn learning experience - both of us mother and daughter (I will never again work on a science project for my kids.)
And me, I am anxious about a new schedule. Care for our classroom has been cut, and that is always a concern, but I worry over safety and sanity with one less aide, one less set of eyes, one less mental check in a room that was demanding before the cuts. For the first time I am glad that my own hours have been reduced, because I don't know if I'd want more time under these circumstances.
Worries are hitting in waves around here.
And I know that after today 80% of them will be alleviated.
Just by simply surviving the day.
It is a human tendency to see those waves as much larger and more powerful than they really are. To forget who holds the oceans in his hands, and controls everything from national policy and the movement of armies to how many strands of grey hair I have covered up with dye. He knows the secret and unseen and the things so big they cannot be hidden.
I'll try to remember that as this morning inches painfully forward, slowly as I say goodbye to one child after another. Three different bus schedules this year. A long drawn out process of goodbye, and there is a small part of me that yearns for a simpler time when we got three backpacks ready to go at once and marched down the sidewalk together.
Now they have started to outgrow my presence at the corner bus stop. And that can bring down a whole new avalanche of worries: Am I preparing them enough? Am I hovering too close, or not close enough. Will they make it down the road, or will life chew them up and spit them out.
Sometimes I wonder if I could sum up motherhood with just one word, what that word would be.
Regret
Sacrifice
Joy
or today's word - Worry
There are a lot of verses on this this, quickly typed, snatched out of context with a search engine, but even with the lack of context there is a common theme: you don't need to worry kid, God has it covered. He'll give you strength when you ask for it, focus when you come humbly. He'll help set up guards around your thoughts - if you let him. If you let him, he'll give you peace. Tell him your worries, he can help.
It's not like he didn't know about them, so it isn't like you can hide your fear of the waves. But you can focus on him.
No it isn't going to be easy. Peter proved that. The sheer number of verses addressing the topic of anxiety should point to the fact that this is going to be a struggle. And it is OK to struggle. Just know that when you're sinking in the waves that he is still there waiting and willing to pull you out.
So frail, axiety ridden self - you have a self directed sermonette today. Whatchya gonna do with it?
Maybe, because I'm in that place of nostalgia, I'll sing this song to myself today.
Besides, it's always a tension breaker to have a song in your head sung by a Frankenstein celery from Toledo. :)
Are you frightened?
No, not really.
Are you worried?
Not a bit!
I know whatever's gonna happen,
that God can handle it.
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