I have a great life. It's not always been great (lots of bumps and bruises from the growing up days and my own stupidity in my adult days), but it is right now. And I am so grateful.
Boy2 (my new easier-to-type moniker for my youngest son) stayed home with a cold today--no, I'm not the mom who coddles her kids at the first sign of snot. But I am the mom of the kid who never runs fever when he is seriously ill with, say, pneumonia and two insane ear infections but does run a fever with an itsy-bitsy virus. But I digress...
Since Boy 2 was home but not particularly ill, I decided to run the errands I had planned and just take him along. We stopped to buy Boy 1 (the older son, of course) a new white dress shirt for his choir concert since the new white dress shirt he has is already too small. Alas, I had to buy it in the Men's Department. Albeit a Men's Small, a Man Shirt nonetheless.
There are things that mark the lives of parents. The firstborn, the first steps, the first day of school, and, now, the first Man Shirt. It was no real surprise to me--Boy 1 has been in the margin between Boy's and Men's for some months now--but it apparently surprised Boy 2. For, as I was looking for the Men's Small, I glanced down to see him tearing up.
Quickly kneeling in front of him, I asked Boy 2 what was wrong. His response was a lip-quivering, "I don't want [Boy 1] to go to high school next year." I gently hugged Boy 2 and asked a few probing questions. Turns out, Boy 2 loves Boy 1 so much he doesn't want him to change, to grow up and move away. The first Man Shirt and the first day of high school (still 9 months off) serve Boy 2 as reminders that Boy 1 will not always be around for Boy 2 to play with, fight with, aggravate, and count on.
The tears passed quickly and we moved on to look for a Christmas present for our sweet little baby friend we keep each week (still looking for an easy to type moniker for this wee one). But for me the moment will last a long time as I treasure it up in my heart.
I am grateful for a life full enough of such moments that I can truly call it great.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Less Than Lucid This Week
If you had asked me 20 years ago I would not have predicted that I would spend 10+ years in graduate studies. Alas, and so I have, with many more to go.
In 1996 we moved to Memphis so that my husband could attend seminary and earn a Master's of Divinity. In 1997, I began my degree in counseling at the same school. Both of us were committed to keeping family first, so we studied part-time.
After 5 long and laborious years (which, incidentally, included the birth of our second child, so when I say laborious, I really mean it!), I earned my degree.
I took a year off, but was soon back at Harding University Graduate School of Religion auditing classes in the M.Div. program. By that time I was being invited to teach and speak more and more, and I knew everything I learned at HUGSR would benefit that ministry.
Before long I was hooked. I enjoyed my studies in counseling, and the knowledge and skills I gained through that degree inform every aspect of ministry today. However, I quickly discovered that my passion was in theological studies.
So far I have loved (almost) every minute of my theological studies. As I finish my Greek series (I'm writing this as a break from studying for the upcoming final) I look forward to the next adventures in theology.
And if this week's musings are a bit less exciting, rather boring even, or if they are less than lucid, please forgive. A wiser blogger might take the week off, but I am no such blogger. I promised a daily adventure as I count down to 40, and I am quite certain this is just one opportunity of many to glimpse the less glamorous side of my otherwise amazingly exciting life!
In 1996 we moved to Memphis so that my husband could attend seminary and earn a Master's of Divinity. In 1997, I began my degree in counseling at the same school. Both of us were committed to keeping family first, so we studied part-time.
After 5 long and laborious years (which, incidentally, included the birth of our second child, so when I say laborious, I really mean it!), I earned my degree.
I took a year off, but was soon back at Harding University Graduate School of Religion auditing classes in the M.Div. program. By that time I was being invited to teach and speak more and more, and I knew everything I learned at HUGSR would benefit that ministry.
Before long I was hooked. I enjoyed my studies in counseling, and the knowledge and skills I gained through that degree inform every aspect of ministry today. However, I quickly discovered that my passion was in theological studies.
So far I have loved (almost) every minute of my theological studies. As I finish my Greek series (I'm writing this as a break from studying for the upcoming final) I look forward to the next adventures in theology.
And if this week's musings are a bit less exciting, rather boring even, or if they are less than lucid, please forgive. A wiser blogger might take the week off, but I am no such blogger. I promised a daily adventure as I count down to 40, and I am quite certain this is just one opportunity of many to glimpse the less glamorous side of my otherwise amazingly exciting life!
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Home Alone
It's Saturday night and the house is empty of all but me. For many women that would mean it's time to light some candles and get out the bubble bath. For others (believe it or not) time alone involves scrubbing bubbles and Mr. Clean.
But for me on this night the equation for relaxation looks like this:
Boy 1 at teen boys' retreat x (Boy 2 + Husband at karate Christmas party) = Mom in empty house x Singing at top of voice with all-time favorite tunes
It's a rare gift to have an empty house, and I have learned the fine art of taking full advantage of it. Generally speaking, my alone time looks and sounds pretty bad. I put my headphones on, crank up the iPod, and sing and dance with all my heart. (Lisa, if you are reading this, it's pretty similar to the many Manilow parties we had in college only with a few post-partum pounds and gray hairs.)
(Right now "Higher Love" by Steve Winwood is playing, and, yes, I am singing loudly as I type.)
There is something about music that reaches deep into me and brings out emotions of all kinds. Whether I'm listening to ABBA, beautiful hymns, or Billy Joel and Barry Manilow, music moves me in unique ways. It is a full-on intense experience that I love!
So, lest I lose my chance before Boy 2 and Husband return from above mentioned party, I will sign off and replay that Steve Winwood song before moving on to a bit of Natalie Merchant and 10,000 Maniacs...bring me a higher love, bring me a higher love, where's that higher love I keep thinking of?
But for me on this night the equation for relaxation looks like this:
Boy 1 at teen boys' retreat x (Boy 2 + Husband at karate Christmas party) = Mom in empty house x Singing at top of voice with all-time favorite tunes
It's a rare gift to have an empty house, and I have learned the fine art of taking full advantage of it. Generally speaking, my alone time looks and sounds pretty bad. I put my headphones on, crank up the iPod, and sing and dance with all my heart. (Lisa, if you are reading this, it's pretty similar to the many Manilow parties we had in college only with a few post-partum pounds and gray hairs.)
(Right now "Higher Love" by Steve Winwood is playing, and, yes, I am singing loudly as I type.)
There is something about music that reaches deep into me and brings out emotions of all kinds. Whether I'm listening to ABBA, beautiful hymns, or Billy Joel and Barry Manilow, music moves me in unique ways. It is a full-on intense experience that I love!
So, lest I lose my chance before Boy 2 and Husband return from above mentioned party, I will sign off and replay that Steve Winwood song before moving on to a bit of Natalie Merchant and 10,000 Maniacs...bring me a higher love, bring me a higher love, where's that higher love I keep thinking of?
Friday, December 4, 2009
...evil may be thwarted...
I had an interesting lunch today. The food was Chinese at a place new to me. It was delicious, of course, but the conversation left me feeling rather spent.
For two hours a friend and I discussed how to protect vulnerable others within the church context. This friend is a highly experienced, well-regarded, and published psychotherapist who now conducts training for churches in protecting the innocent from predators. Whether it be children abused at home, spouses abusing spouses, children being exploited by adults, sexual harassment, or any other form of abuse or exploitation, she actively gives voice to victims and urges churches to implement measures designed to prevent exploitation on the front end.
Years ago in the midst of my Master's degree I did some reading in the area of childhood sexual trauma and its longterm effects. One book in particular was absolutely chilling and changed the way I parented forever. It was written by Anna Salter and entitled, Predators: Pedophiles, Rapists, and Other Sex Offenders: Who They are, How They Operate, and How We Can Protect Ourselves and Our Children.
Ms. Salter interviewed convicted sex offenders to discover their means and methods of getting access to our children, gaining the trust of both parents and kids, and, ultimately, exploiting the children. If I never forget one thing I learned in graduate school, it will be this: predators knowingly and intentionally target churches to find their prey.
Consequently, I never allowed my boys to roam hallways, play on the playground alone, or even go to the bathroom unattended. Through the years Mark and I have taught the boys clearly, carefully, and thoroughly how to respond to an uncomfortable situation. While some may fear we shattered their innocence at too young an age, I would suggest we have protected their innocence. I would rather have them know what could happen than experience what does happen.
Why, you might ask, are you sharing such dismal lunch fare with the rest of us? This is supposed to be a "lighthearted look at life" as you turn 40!
And so it is. But I think this fits because there are things we can do proactively that do not require churches and church members to mistrust everyone who graces the halls of fellowship. There are ways we can create both a safe environment for our children and maintain a warm and welcoming environment for adults. Churches and church members can proceed with caution without paranoia.
I feel much more "lighthearted" knowing that evil may be thwarted if enough of us illuminate the proactive things we have the power and responsibility to do.
For two hours a friend and I discussed how to protect vulnerable others within the church context. This friend is a highly experienced, well-regarded, and published psychotherapist who now conducts training for churches in protecting the innocent from predators. Whether it be children abused at home, spouses abusing spouses, children being exploited by adults, sexual harassment, or any other form of abuse or exploitation, she actively gives voice to victims and urges churches to implement measures designed to prevent exploitation on the front end.
Years ago in the midst of my Master's degree I did some reading in the area of childhood sexual trauma and its longterm effects. One book in particular was absolutely chilling and changed the way I parented forever. It was written by Anna Salter and entitled, Predators: Pedophiles, Rapists, and Other Sex Offenders: Who They are, How They Operate, and How We Can Protect Ourselves and Our Children.
Ms. Salter interviewed convicted sex offenders to discover their means and methods of getting access to our children, gaining the trust of both parents and kids, and, ultimately, exploiting the children. If I never forget one thing I learned in graduate school, it will be this: predators knowingly and intentionally target churches to find their prey.
Predators are smart. They are charming, manipulative, and deceptive. And they know us better than we know ourselves. They know that in a church they will have easy access to children. They know parents will be generally trusting of everyone who looks "normal" and says all the right things, and they know all the right things to do and say. To put it bluntly, predators know that a perfect storm exists within most churches that will make catching their prey relatively easy.
Consequently, I never allowed my boys to roam hallways, play on the playground alone, or even go to the bathroom unattended. Through the years Mark and I have taught the boys clearly, carefully, and thoroughly how to respond to an uncomfortable situation. While some may fear we shattered their innocence at too young an age, I would suggest we have protected their innocence. I would rather have them know what could happen than experience what does happen.
Why, you might ask, are you sharing such dismal lunch fare with the rest of us? This is supposed to be a "lighthearted look at life" as you turn 40!
And so it is. But I think this fits because there are things we can do proactively that do not require churches and church members to mistrust everyone who graces the halls of fellowship. There are ways we can create both a safe environment for our children and maintain a warm and welcoming environment for adults. Churches and church members can proceed with caution without paranoia.
I feel much more "lighthearted" knowing that evil may be thwarted if enough of us illuminate the proactive things we have the power and responsibility to do.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
An Undocumented Legacy
It's been a week since I turned 39 and started this adventure in journaling. I must say, having made a public commitment sure has improved my journaling.
I've never been one to write daily, take pictures, scrapbook, or generally preserve the now for the future. All those a-mother's-journey-to-you kind of books I was given while the boys were gestating sit dusty on my bookshelves. I can see them from where I sit and feel the pang of shame that all they will have is a page or two.
And their baby books? I have them. The firstborn's is about half done, and the rest of the stuff for it is packed safely in the box with it. But the 2nd child? Well, you know the story.
The legacy I pass on will have to be one remembered more than documented.
They will remember my love for God, their daddy, them, and the people who came across our paths. I'm sure they will remember family time at dinner and the conversation and laughter that often ensued. I know they will remember times I lost my temper and yelled. They might remember the way I always apologized afterwards (being sure to tell them my yelling is not because of anything they did nor did my apology indicate any innocence on their part!).
But will they remember the things from my heart? Will they remember how much joy I experienced when they found themselves in their elements? Will they remember the grief I knew when one of them was experiencing the real-world consequences of a bad decision (and by that I do not mean the this-spanking-hurts-me-more thing...I haven't really found that to be true). Will they remember how much their daddy and I tried to move into the shadows so they could shine? Will they even know?
Probably not, for I have not written of those things. And perhaps that's for the best. Kids need to know that parents make deep sacrifices for them, but they will know it when they themselves have children. At that time they will also know the joy that comes from making those sacrifices; not that the sacrifices were easy, but that the kids were worth it. They will have a context for truly understanding the love I have for them even though I never journaled and didn't get their baby books finished.
And from that I hope they get a glimpse of the love God has for them as my relationship with them has given me a glimpse of the love He has for me.
And if I am wrong, at least they will have this to read!
I've never been one to write daily, take pictures, scrapbook, or generally preserve the now for the future. All those a-mother's-journey-to-you kind of books I was given while the boys were gestating sit dusty on my bookshelves. I can see them from where I sit and feel the pang of shame that all they will have is a page or two.
And their baby books? I have them. The firstborn's is about half done, and the rest of the stuff for it is packed safely in the box with it. But the 2nd child? Well, you know the story.
The legacy I pass on will have to be one remembered more than documented.
They will remember my love for God, their daddy, them, and the people who came across our paths. I'm sure they will remember family time at dinner and the conversation and laughter that often ensued. I know they will remember times I lost my temper and yelled. They might remember the way I always apologized afterwards (being sure to tell them my yelling is not because of anything they did nor did my apology indicate any innocence on their part!).
But will they remember the things from my heart? Will they remember how much joy I experienced when they found themselves in their elements? Will they remember the grief I knew when one of them was experiencing the real-world consequences of a bad decision (and by that I do not mean the this-spanking-hurts-me-more thing...I haven't really found that to be true). Will they remember how much their daddy and I tried to move into the shadows so they could shine? Will they even know?
Probably not, for I have not written of those things. And perhaps that's for the best. Kids need to know that parents make deep sacrifices for them, but they will know it when they themselves have children. At that time they will also know the joy that comes from making those sacrifices; not that the sacrifices were easy, but that the kids were worth it. They will have a context for truly understanding the love I have for them even though I never journaled and didn't get their baby books finished.
And from that I hope they get a glimpse of the love God has for them as my relationship with them has given me a glimpse of the love He has for me.
And if I am wrong, at least they will have this to read!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Uncle Sam Wants ME!
I got a personal invitation in the mail yesterday. Addressed to Ms. Christine Parker, it was unmistakably mine.
The invitation raved about all the reasons I was specially chosen for this very special honor. I am self-motivated, hard-working, adventurous, a world-traveler. In a word, awesome.
The invitation went on to describe the myriad benefits of accepting. I was tempted by the knowledge I would gain, experiences I would have, and long-term stability I would enjoy. Opportunities to travel, meet new people, learn about new cultures. I would be nuts to pass all this up.
Finally, the real sizzle came; the selling-point of selling-points. I would do more before the age of 30 than most people accomplish in a lifetime!
I had been invited to join the Navy.
The invitation raved about all the reasons I was specially chosen for this very special honor. I am self-motivated, hard-working, adventurous, a world-traveler. In a word, awesome.
The invitation went on to describe the myriad benefits of accepting. I was tempted by the knowledge I would gain, experiences I would have, and long-term stability I would enjoy. Opportunities to travel, meet new people, learn about new cultures. I would be nuts to pass all this up.
Finally, the real sizzle came; the selling-point of selling-points. I would do more before the age of 30 than most people accomplish in a lifetime!
I had been invited to join the Navy.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Today I am Middle-Aged
It's one thing to be 39 looking forward to 40, but it's a completely different psycho-physiological experience to be middle-aged.
I have discovered at least two factors that correlate with a person's middle-agedness:
I spent a total of 4.5 hours driving kids to school, delivering medicine to school (young son recently had his tonsils out and, unlike when I was a child and my mother sent paragoric with me to school so I could take it at lunch, a parent or legal guardian must now be present and administer all drugs, including Tylenol, which are not registered in the school office and accompanied by a doctor's note), picking kids up from school, dropping off carpoolers, and taking my older son to have his teeth and braces cleaned.
That clearly hits my daily quota necessary for the first correlation. As to the second correlation, I have been having hot-flashes for 7 years now and have gotten so used to them that I just don't talk about them so much (though I have noticed people no longer tell me I am too young to have them...I'm sure there is a 3rd correlation in there just especially for me!).
Today, as several of my mom-friends and I chit-chatted waiting for our 8th graders to meander their way out of the school building, the conversation turned to hot flashes. It surprised me because this is not a common topic for this group. Then I remembered.
Recall, if you will, a previous discussion in which I shared that most of my friends are 4-5 years older than I am. That puts these women at 43-44, which is just about the time most women start having hot flashes. They are talking about hot flashes now because they have just started having them.
And my quota for correlation #2 was met with room to spare!
So today I am middle-aged. Tomorrow I will revel in my near-40ness again. But today I will take my gas-pedal weary foot and my troublesome sciatic nerve and my cup of geritol tea and head to bed early.
I have discovered at least two factors that correlate with a person's middle-agedness:
- The amount of time a person spends driving kids places, and
- The number of times the term "hot-flash" is used in conversation.
I spent a total of 4.5 hours driving kids to school, delivering medicine to school (young son recently had his tonsils out and, unlike when I was a child and my mother sent paragoric with me to school so I could take it at lunch, a parent or legal guardian must now be present and administer all drugs, including Tylenol, which are not registered in the school office and accompanied by a doctor's note), picking kids up from school, dropping off carpoolers, and taking my older son to have his teeth and braces cleaned.
That clearly hits my daily quota necessary for the first correlation. As to the second correlation, I have been having hot-flashes for 7 years now and have gotten so used to them that I just don't talk about them so much (though I have noticed people no longer tell me I am too young to have them...I'm sure there is a 3rd correlation in there just especially for me!).
Today, as several of my mom-friends and I chit-chatted waiting for our 8th graders to meander their way out of the school building, the conversation turned to hot flashes. It surprised me because this is not a common topic for this group. Then I remembered.
Recall, if you will, a previous discussion in which I shared that most of my friends are 4-5 years older than I am. That puts these women at 43-44, which is just about the time most women start having hot flashes. They are talking about hot flashes now because they have just started having them.
And my quota for correlation #2 was met with room to spare!
So today I am middle-aged. Tomorrow I will revel in my near-40ness again. But today I will take my gas-pedal weary foot and my troublesome sciatic nerve and my cup of geritol tea and head to bed early.
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