The pathway here. . .

There are some days when you sit down to blog and you could go a thousand different directions. Today was a day that spent me spinning down paths of rejoicing and paths of grieving, pathways of finding confidence in God and pathways of questioning Him.

When you attend the funeral of a father of an 8, 6 and 4 year old, you ask God, why?
When you hear of brokenness and abuse and little ones harmed by those who should be protecting, you ask God why?
When you look at a family struggling through a process of grieving over a child that will never grow up to marry and have a family, or hold a job due to disability, you ask God why?
And you can ask why over and over, loudly, in anger, in grief, quietly in the night, and the silence always answers back.

There are pathways that we have no answers for. And perhaps looking for those answers isn't the right way to go. Because that seems to bring us to the place where we start saying things like "God will bring good out of this." And sometimes that seems too trite and convenient a thing to speak into devastation. Sometimes all you can do is cry.

Reading that back it seems bleak and a bit fatalistic. I do believe God works for good in our lives. I really do. But I am at a place in life where I feel that what he can see, what he knows will be good, is so far outside of what we can understand sometimes that there is room for swallowing those words and letting the sadness and hurt seep in and walking alongside others allowing them the dignity of a true struggle without trying to lessen it.

That was one part of the day. And my thoughts do keep turning on it, because the other was a path of joy, of a homecoming for me in some ways - a homecoming because of past struggles, a road that has taken a long time to walk.

When I was 8, I wanted nothing more than to be an astronaut. I lived through the glory days of the NASA shuttle program. I was 11 when Sally Ride became the first American woman in space. I was 14 when teacher Christa McAuliffe died in the Challenger shuttle explosion, on her way to talk to  kids from space. At 17, I realized that I didn't have the math skills needed to head to Huntsville's "rocket school". And I started looking for other career paths, trying to figure out what I loved "the next most" to looking at the earth from orbit.

I realized that my time as a camp counselor at our summer Bible camp ranked pretty high on the list, and was ecstatic to find a Christian College in Wisconsin's northwoods that offered a degree in camping. My parents helped me pack, drove 1,500miles and dropped me off at a campus I'd never seen before. The next day I found out that the Camping program was only for male students. A combination of guilt, embarrassment, and stubbornness kept me there for the first semester, and some other erroneous, but widely preached ideas that you should finish what God had you start, kept me there through a degree in education.

Camping still called to me though. Every summer I would apply to work as a camp counselor at the Summer camp that operated on the college campus. And every summer I would be denied. I didn't understand it at the time. All I knew was that it hurt. I felt they saw me as deficient, defective, too different to fit what was necessary to minister to kids. So instead I worked campus services, cleaning toilets, or in the kitchen washing dishes. Close enough to keep looking on and wondering why I couldn't be a camp counselor. Hoping when attendance swelled, that I would be one of the workers they pulled to help run a cabin full of pre-teens or squirrelly junior campers.

I never was, not there. And those cuts burned for a long time before they started to heal. The pathway forward carried a disastrous year teaching in a Christian school, where once again I left broken, questioning what I was good for, not understanding - grieving for a bunch of broken dreams.

I got older, got a job in the business world, where oddly enough - I grew up a lot, not in the cradle of Christendom, but corporate America. I graduated from that into full time parenting with three amazing little girls who also grew and got bigger and bigger. And then they went to camp. And I threw my hat in the ring to go help out with them. Only it didn't happen exactly the way I thought it would.  My hat lay in the ring where I thought I would do the most good and it got dusty. No one took me up on my offer in that ring, and being focused on what I thought my abilities were, I ignored offers from other quarters.

Old wounds reopened, exacerbated by 2 degrees in education and a round of fruitless interviews in that field at the time. I questioned myself, my worth, my abilities. I questioned God and he was silent.

Or maybe he wasn't.
Because someone offered me again a job that I had rejected once before. . .
in camp. . .
with preschoolers.
I resisted.
Preschoolers were not conscious of personal space, they were like herding kittens and needy. And all of that freaked me out. I knew my sweet spot was at least upper elementary and really 5th -8th grade. It took crashing and burning - needing to be totally desperate for a job before I said yes.

And it was one of the best things that happened to me.

Today, camp staff training started. It was good, so good to see the staff come back, to hear them doing ice breakers. See them taking things in and building new friendships and strengthening the old ones. It has been a long road to get to this place of feeling that this is the job I was made for.

I resonate some with Moses, who felt his calling earlier than it arrived too. We both made some painful, scarring decisions, and the waiting was hard, and when the opportunity came back  - yeah I get Moses reticence, it didn't look like what he imagined it would, and he was full of self-doubt by that time. So full of it that he argued with a burning bush.

And once you get past the initial call and acceptance - well I don't know if Moses ever got back to that place of saying "I was made for this." In my imagination he does. Stop and think about the training he was given in Pharaohs courts, training for leadership. But what I do know is the uncertainty of a path that took him before Pharaoh and into a leadership that was ever so much more difficult and frustrating than he could have imagined.

And also miraculous.

And amazing.

And epic.

I know that even though God actually did speak to Moses - he didn't give him all the answers he wanted. He didn't explain the path. He didn't make it smooth of bumps and struggle, and pain, and grief. God was silent far more than he spoke.

And oddly enough I find that comforting. This scary path forward. It has been walked before, by others. I am too little to see the design. Too finite to feel the pattern that the up and down of life brings. Some days too saddened and other days to silly with joy to grasp the epic story that he has at the end of all of it. But I trust him. I trust him through both ends of the human experience, and on the pathway between them both to walk with me,

even if it is in silence.

Tips for giving direction (Zoom)

Cue Billy Joel soundtrack For the Longest Time

Oh, oh, oh,
Get with your group
Oh, oh, oh
Quiet that war whoop
Listen to the leaders when they talk
When you cross the street you need to walk
Don’t hit Don’t bite now,
Don’t ‘cause a fight now,
Or you will end up on the time out bench.

Please, dear helper come and join the game
Standing ‘round can get a little lame
Jump in and help out
Don’t make us ask you ‘bout it
Please try to see those things that we need done

Oh, oh, oh
Don’t rough-house in the halls
Oh, oh, oh
Don’t climb the chapel walls
Little ones are watching what you do
And they so want to be just like you
If you break the rules
Then they will want to too-oo
You gotta be a good example now.

Oh, oh, oh,
Get with your group
Oh, oh, oh
Quiet that war whoop
Listen to the leaders when they talk
When you cross the street you need to walk
Don’t hit Don’t bite now,
Don’t ‘cause a fight now,
Or you will end up on the time out bench.

Leadership isn't easy.
And every summer we throw a bunch of teens into rooms with dozens of squirrelly little pre-schoolers, a handful of pre-teens, and a lot of prayers that things will turn out on the other end from senior staff.

Some are going to learn on the job, learn what didn't work one week and try something new on the others, and in that aspect camp is a wonderful experimental lab where young adults can develop and grow. But every once in a while you see them floundering, and you think - hey maybe they need a floatation device, maybe they need a coach to show them how to do it.

And that's where I flounder. Because I don't feel like I have a good enough grasp on a lot of things to be that coach. But when the chips fall down, I do have a few more years, a few more tools in my toolbox, a few more tips and tricks. And while I can't claim to be good enough to coach, I don't mind being the team manager and making sure that tools get into hands that need them.

So, one of those areas where all but the most charismatically gifted start to flounder is in giving direction. Whether it is "line up now" to  group of preschoolers who want nothing more than to play with the toys in the room that they've seen but not been able to touch all week, or "could you help out?" to a pre-teen who really only wants to goof off with their friends, directing others can be a sticky spot.

And this is supposed to be a mini- lesson, so let's just tackle one of those two age groups right now - directing middle school volunteers.

Tool #1 Monday AM meet & greet - It's more than just their name. Try to ask about what they like to do, if they've been to camp before as a helper, etc. Goal: Fitting your volunteer into places they can shine, and grow. And you absolutely cannot do that if you know nothing about them.

Tool #2 Communicate what needs to be done clearly, never assume - Set out tasks and take the time to let your volunteers know where you need them and what you need them to do. Some will jump in, but most need some guidelines, a place to belong, a job description.

Tool #3 Invite them in as a part of your team and treat them with the respect and courtesy that you give the rest of your co-workers. If you can do this successfully, your week will be easier by far.

Tool #4 Check-in with them, see how they are holding up,  ask them what has been good, what has been hard.

Tool#5 If you have to give the "don't do that" statements: remember there are scales on reactions.  If they are giving piggy backs on the stairs again, a gentle hand on the shoulder and a smile, when you say "Hey I'm sure it slipped your mind, or maybe you didn't know. . ." will go better than a bark from 15 feet away of " Put that kid down NOW!"

Tool #6 Again with any "negative" feedback, try to provide the reasons. People like to know why they cannot do something. (This works with preschool too.) Let students know the reasoning behind decisions. (If we climb down in the window well to get the balls when the campers are looking on - they are going to want to do it too. And it would be dangerous for them. Maybe you can do it with Ashley after we leave, You both can catch back up with us at snack time.)

Tool #7 Talk to volunteers like you talk to your friends. Do not treat them like campers. Do not call them "boys and girls". Do not adopt a "singsongy" voice or word patterns that are used with younger kids.

Tool #8 Remember them some way during the week. It could be that you spring for a cold can of soda after getting the kids to rest/movie time on a hot day, it could be a note of encouragement, telling them something you saw that they were doing great at. Those things will go a long long way.

Tool #9 Remember that Jesus invested more in the disciples than he did in the crowds. You have limited time during the week, and a lot of it by necessity is going to be camper focused. But try to set some aside for volunteer helpers, even if it needs to come out of preparing for that craft or setting up another activity station. The time you spend investing in the volunteers will pay off in the long run.

Tool #10 Give them responsibility. Let them own a part of camp. Whether that is being a buddy to that one camper that needs extra, or being in charge of getting snack out, or leading a game - maybe even leading a small group once during the week - yup there are some that are ready for that. Try to give them places where they can grow.

Tool #11 Team up.  Pair volunteer helpers with staff so that each person gets a chance to mentor someone. This divide and conquer tactic means that the room leader isn't fully responsible for checking in with all of the volunteers on top of the rest of the responsibilities they have. It also gives a chance for a relationship to happen more than one person shouting out duties all the time. On the "team up front," if your duties are done and theirs aren't,  ask if you can help out. Serving together, watching out for each other - these are good things.

Tool #12 Play. One of the great things about camp Zoom is that we get to play. Playing together builds something inside us. If you can get a group of campers and a volunteer playing and you are in the mix too - that is a cool place to be rather than watching it all from the shade trees or counters.

Tool #13 There are times when none of the other tools have worked. You might have switched up your teams in hopes of finding the "right" staffer to be the buddy for that one volunteer that won't talk to anyone,  you've written notes, tried to look for positives, given clear directions, and nothing, nothing is working. Before you scream, cry, or get to a state of frustration that eats at you, hand off the situation to senior staff. That's what we're here for. Know that you aren't expected to solve all of these sticky interpersonal issues all on your own. You have back-up, so know when to call them in!

13 tools - a bakers dozen and something to start thinking and praying about!  While you're praying, say a few for our volunteers coming to help this summer too.
:)

Please, no more dress up days. . . .

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.

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

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.

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.

The best Halloween party ever

One of my favorite holiday books is The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson. I love the culture clash that takes place between the wild untamed Herdmans and the church folk. Most of all I love what everyone learns from each other at the end of the book. Maybe because the characters in the book are willing to learn and grow. The Herdman's are definitely changed by the experience, but several in the church also find their own hearts "growing three sizes larger" (to quote another well loved classic).

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.

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.

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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.