Tonight I had the good fortune to go to Vicksburg High School and participate in an event called "Field of Faith". This evening was put on by the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, and well attended by athletes from all over our area. Some drove quite a distance, I heard.
One man was encouraging these young men and women to consider the "why" for the way they do what they do. His "Why" is Jesus Christ. Mine too! Then he challenged us to stand if we were willing to commit to spending more time reading the Word of God. Again, I'm in. I'm totally in. I noticed most everyone was standing. Awesome! He gave an invitation for anyone who needed help with prayer. A few folks were brave enough to leave their seats to get up and ask one of the youth ministers to pray with them. That took some courage to stand up and admit you'd like to live for Christ in front of all those people!
So when I got home my attention turned to Syria. My heart is heavy for the people there. My only experience of the Syrian people is a kind and loving dear friend who has kind and loving parents that still live in Syria. Today, in many places in Syria, a man at gunpoint will ask some terrified soul if they are a Christian. If the answer is yes, he will be given the option to convert or die. Then that person will summon the courage to choose death rather than deny their Savior.
My mind goes back to the football field in Vicksburg. What if the speaker asked those kids to deny Christ or die, how many would have the courage to stand up and proclaim Christ as their Savior and prepare to meet Him? Several did at Columbine with guns pointed at their faces and their testimonies are riveting. How many would look around and see what everyone else is doing and follow the crowd? It's easy to be a stadium Christian. It's easy to fly under the radar, and sit with your friends and go through the motions. But what would you do if today your life was required of you? Imagine just for a minute that the gun is in your face. He died for us, are we really willing to return the favor?
How far am I willing to go when the rubber hits the road?
My prayer for everyone at the rally tonight, and everyone who reads this (and also for myself) is that our faith isn't something we say, but something we are. I pray that our faith is such that we become physically incapable of denying the Lord. The Young Church is strong and capable and incredible. These young Christian men and women should be looked at as the empowered body of Christ that they are! Thank you to those who encourage my children (because I think of ALL of them as my children) in their lives of Faith. Thank you so much to those living the example of one who says yeas every single day! I pray that our faith is strengthened by our brothers and sisters in the stadium, and around the world. Martyrs will be made today. Let's honor them by showing true Christian love to everyone we meet.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Monday, October 7, 2013
The Poor Kid
"Hey Mrs. Swager, how much money you got?"
I get asked this question every time I work the cafeteria with the 3rd through 5th grade students. It's not a rude commentary on my wages, or a judgement of me of any kind. It's a game we play. I then respond, "I don't know, you tell me." Then I produce the contents of my pocket, and the kids count my change. Some of them see this as a huge challenge, and they really scramble to get chosen to give me the answer. There are days when there isn't much there, and they all know that the value of lint and chap stick count for nothing money-wise.
So I got asked this on Friday, and I responded as usual, and this one kid says, "Hey, can I have that? I'm poor." I can't go about giving kids money, poor or not, but I responded without thinking it all the way through, and I hope I didn't hurt him. I know his family and they don't have much. I know he lights up a smile on his Mom's face. What I said was, "Lots of people are poor. You have something that counts more than money." He was irritated by this answer and started talking about how hard his family has it. I believe him, but there's something else I know.
We are all poor. We are all rich.
When this kid looks at my life, I'm sure he thinks, "What would you know about poor? Your kids have clothes that fit and you have food for dinner. You have a house without wheels, a yard, a garage, a bike, a TV, all the toys and games kids could want! Rich!" If you ask my kids (on some days) they will point to the things we don't have and all the times Mom says no because we don't have the money right now and think: poor!
One of the speakers I heard this weekend said that if you have Love plus a million things, and I have only Love that you don't have anything more than I do. This child is rich. His Mother loves him. This child is poor. She doesn't always provide what he needs.
It has occurred to me that this child does not know he is loved. I can see it, but perhaps he doesn't. Perhaps their lack of the necessities translates to no one caring in his young mind. Maybe he can see that to his parents, any money is beer money, no matter what the kids need. I'm sure I only hope for the bright side of his life, and I don't want to think about how mean things get when no one else is around. Thinking back to the conversation, he seemed confused at my comment. This thought rips at my heart, and I pray it's not true, and it changes me. It will change the way I perform my job at school.
No child left behind? No. Maybe instead we should shoot for "No Child Left Feeling Unloved and Unvalued." THEN we will teach them to read out of love. THEN we will teach them what they need to know about the world around them so they can spend their lives making it a better place. THEN we will teach them how to COUNT the change in our pockets, and CREATE change in their families, and in our our community.
I get asked this question every time I work the cafeteria with the 3rd through 5th grade students. It's not a rude commentary on my wages, or a judgement of me of any kind. It's a game we play. I then respond, "I don't know, you tell me." Then I produce the contents of my pocket, and the kids count my change. Some of them see this as a huge challenge, and they really scramble to get chosen to give me the answer. There are days when there isn't much there, and they all know that the value of lint and chap stick count for nothing money-wise.
So I got asked this on Friday, and I responded as usual, and this one kid says, "Hey, can I have that? I'm poor." I can't go about giving kids money, poor or not, but I responded without thinking it all the way through, and I hope I didn't hurt him. I know his family and they don't have much. I know he lights up a smile on his Mom's face. What I said was, "Lots of people are poor. You have something that counts more than money." He was irritated by this answer and started talking about how hard his family has it. I believe him, but there's something else I know.
We are all poor. We are all rich.
When this kid looks at my life, I'm sure he thinks, "What would you know about poor? Your kids have clothes that fit and you have food for dinner. You have a house without wheels, a yard, a garage, a bike, a TV, all the toys and games kids could want! Rich!" If you ask my kids (on some days) they will point to the things we don't have and all the times Mom says no because we don't have the money right now and think: poor!
One of the speakers I heard this weekend said that if you have Love plus a million things, and I have only Love that you don't have anything more than I do. This child is rich. His Mother loves him. This child is poor. She doesn't always provide what he needs.
It has occurred to me that this child does not know he is loved. I can see it, but perhaps he doesn't. Perhaps their lack of the necessities translates to no one caring in his young mind. Maybe he can see that to his parents, any money is beer money, no matter what the kids need. I'm sure I only hope for the bright side of his life, and I don't want to think about how mean things get when no one else is around. Thinking back to the conversation, he seemed confused at my comment. This thought rips at my heart, and I pray it's not true, and it changes me. It will change the way I perform my job at school.
No child left behind? No. Maybe instead we should shoot for "No Child Left Feeling Unloved and Unvalued." THEN we will teach them to read out of love. THEN we will teach them what they need to know about the world around them so they can spend their lives making it a better place. THEN we will teach them how to COUNT the change in our pockets, and CREATE change in their families, and in our our community.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Ashamed
"Beloved:
I remind you, to stir into flame
the gift of God that you have through the imposition of my hands.
For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice
but rather of power and love and self-control.
So do not be ashamed of your testimony to our Lord,
nor of me, a prisoner for his sake;
but bear your share of hardship for the gospel
with the strength that comes from God."
My hope for this blog is to broadcast far and wide how great God is, but I am ashamed.
I only came to realize this today. I'm not ashamed to call myself a Christian. I'm quite proud of that. I'm not ashamed to proudly proclaim that I am a CATHOLIC Christian, whether others agree with the Church's teachings or not.
I am not ashamed to shout from the rooftops the wonderful way that God spared my life and allowed me to survive my Cardiac Arrest, which was nothing short of miraculous! Having received such an incredible gift should have me giving up my day job to stand on the street corners and tell every passing motorist that God loves them SO much. If they knew just how much God REALLY TRULY LOVES them, they'd park their car and spread the word with me! I'm not even ashamed to do that!
I'm ashamed of the other part. If I had hours to give my testimony, there are the other parts that we don't talk about in polite conversation. There are parts of ALL of our testimonies that we just kind of brush over or avoid all together because they require us to admit to the truth of the choices we've made. We have to admit that we are weak and broken. We have to admit that we have problems leaving the juicy bits of life alone. We have to admit that we have made horribly bad choices, and throughout the consequences of those horrible choices, God has loved us and held us and carried us through to a life we never dreamed could be so good. I'm ashamed to admit that I've chosen the wrong path again and again, knowing it was wrong and hurtful, but "I do what I want" was my motto, and no one (even GOD) was going to tell me differently!
I can't tell you how BLESSED and FORTUNATE I am to be where I am now, if you don't know where I was then! I am ashamed of who I used to be when I was so lonely, unloved and afraid, and turned to alcohol to numb my thoughts, and allowed myself to be treated like an object that didn't have any value. But if you don't know that part of my testimony, then the goodness of God's mercy is watered down. How can you know the depths of God's goodness if you don't truly know the depths of my badness? For God to save a Godly person isn't really why Jesus came here in the first place. He came for those of us who were drunkards and carousers, losers and lowlifes.
The really spectacular part of my testimony is that God saw fit to hold ME in His warm embrace. He let me feel how His pure love could heal and perfect everything within me. Then he sent me back to live it. He saved me, but he also healed me. I have nothing to be ashamed of, because I can now boast that God is loving and merciful enough to show compassion to the likes of me! I can't tell my story if I give in to shame.
God, I pray that you will give us all the strength to be honest so your true goodness can be known!
I remind you, to stir into flame
the gift of God that you have through the imposition of my hands.
For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice
but rather of power and love and self-control.
So do not be ashamed of your testimony to our Lord,
nor of me, a prisoner for his sake;
but bear your share of hardship for the gospel
with the strength that comes from God."
My hope for this blog is to broadcast far and wide how great God is, but I am ashamed.
I only came to realize this today. I'm not ashamed to call myself a Christian. I'm quite proud of that. I'm not ashamed to proudly proclaim that I am a CATHOLIC Christian, whether others agree with the Church's teachings or not.
I am not ashamed to shout from the rooftops the wonderful way that God spared my life and allowed me to survive my Cardiac Arrest, which was nothing short of miraculous! Having received such an incredible gift should have me giving up my day job to stand on the street corners and tell every passing motorist that God loves them SO much. If they knew just how much God REALLY TRULY LOVES them, they'd park their car and spread the word with me! I'm not even ashamed to do that!
I'm ashamed of the other part. If I had hours to give my testimony, there are the other parts that we don't talk about in polite conversation. There are parts of ALL of our testimonies that we just kind of brush over or avoid all together because they require us to admit to the truth of the choices we've made. We have to admit that we are weak and broken. We have to admit that we have problems leaving the juicy bits of life alone. We have to admit that we have made horribly bad choices, and throughout the consequences of those horrible choices, God has loved us and held us and carried us through to a life we never dreamed could be so good. I'm ashamed to admit that I've chosen the wrong path again and again, knowing it was wrong and hurtful, but "I do what I want" was my motto, and no one (even GOD) was going to tell me differently!
I can't tell you how BLESSED and FORTUNATE I am to be where I am now, if you don't know where I was then! I am ashamed of who I used to be when I was so lonely, unloved and afraid, and turned to alcohol to numb my thoughts, and allowed myself to be treated like an object that didn't have any value. But if you don't know that part of my testimony, then the goodness of God's mercy is watered down. How can you know the depths of God's goodness if you don't truly know the depths of my badness? For God to save a Godly person isn't really why Jesus came here in the first place. He came for those of us who were drunkards and carousers, losers and lowlifes.
The really spectacular part of my testimony is that God saw fit to hold ME in His warm embrace. He let me feel how His pure love could heal and perfect everything within me. Then he sent me back to live it. He saved me, but he also healed me. I have nothing to be ashamed of, because I can now boast that God is loving and merciful enough to show compassion to the likes of me! I can't tell my story if I give in to shame.
God, I pray that you will give us all the strength to be honest so your true goodness can be known!
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Homecoming 2013!
This weekend is Homecoming weekend in the Climax-Scotts area in SO many ways, and I'm being very blessed by each and every one! For starters, all week long, my kids have been preparing for the big Homecoming festivities! Floats were built. Costumes were selected so that Isaac could be a cheerleader for his Senior Girl's Powder puff football team. Dresses were purchased. Shirts were ironed. Music was practiced for Harriett's feature in the Michael Jackson song "Bad" at the Homecoming halftime show! Much preparation was made for this wonderful, busy week that will all culminate in tonight's Homecoming Dance.
So why do they call it Homecoming when I mostly spend every waking moment transporting high school kids hither, tither and yon? I did spend more time 'coming home' because I spent a lot of time not BEING home! Well this weekend, some people I love are celebrating REAL homecomings. Allow me to share.
Cousin Joe is getting married today to his sweetheart, Jenny. Marriage is the first step in creating a new family, and a new home within each other's hearts. Forever more they will be able to see each other or even just think of each other, and know where they belong. My prayer for them is that they will build that marriage so that wherever they are, no matter WHERE they live, together they are always "home".
Another friend will say goodbye to her grandfather this weekend. He has gone home to be with the Lord. His work here is done, and it was his time to say goodbye. Sadly, I don't believe this friend got to say goodbye. She has very few memories of her grandfather. Although he has the joy of going home, she missed out on the opportunity to really get to know who he was, or what he cared about. How sad that he took that with him. Maybe HIS Homecoming should be a reminder to us all not to be selfish with the gifts God gives us, and to share ourselves with each other. Mend the fences. Make amends, before it ends in regrets and missed opportunities.
There is another Homecoming this weekend, I hope. If his last x-ray looked good, my friend's husband will be coming home from the Cardiac floor, sporting his new Aortic Valve that was replaced this week. What an amazing Homecoming that will be. I looked on as his son was crowned Homecoming King, and rightly so, as he is celebrating his father coming home today. My Isaac played football with the King in the big game last night. He told me that after King Sam scored, he held up the ball and said,"this one's for you, Dad!" What a nice kid. What a nice family. What a beautiful example of faith in God that all would be well.
So tomorrow is Sunday. I will be celebrating my own Homecoming as I go 'home' to my Father's house and spend time with my brothers and sisters in Christ. I will be united with my beloved Savior in the Eucharist, and will share my genetic family with my spiritual family. I will not be wearing sequins (probably) and I don't think a float will be required. I will not be making reservations, but I will definitely be there! I'll work my hardest for the home team, and I will bask in the company of all who have gone before me and the thought of all those that will follow.
Isn't that kind of what Homecoming is about?
So why do they call it Homecoming when I mostly spend every waking moment transporting high school kids hither, tither and yon? I did spend more time 'coming home' because I spent a lot of time not BEING home! Well this weekend, some people I love are celebrating REAL homecomings. Allow me to share.
Cousin Joe is getting married today to his sweetheart, Jenny. Marriage is the first step in creating a new family, and a new home within each other's hearts. Forever more they will be able to see each other or even just think of each other, and know where they belong. My prayer for them is that they will build that marriage so that wherever they are, no matter WHERE they live, together they are always "home".
Another friend will say goodbye to her grandfather this weekend. He has gone home to be with the Lord. His work here is done, and it was his time to say goodbye. Sadly, I don't believe this friend got to say goodbye. She has very few memories of her grandfather. Although he has the joy of going home, she missed out on the opportunity to really get to know who he was, or what he cared about. How sad that he took that with him. Maybe HIS Homecoming should be a reminder to us all not to be selfish with the gifts God gives us, and to share ourselves with each other. Mend the fences. Make amends, before it ends in regrets and missed opportunities.
There is another Homecoming this weekend, I hope. If his last x-ray looked good, my friend's husband will be coming home from the Cardiac floor, sporting his new Aortic Valve that was replaced this week. What an amazing Homecoming that will be. I looked on as his son was crowned Homecoming King, and rightly so, as he is celebrating his father coming home today. My Isaac played football with the King in the big game last night. He told me that after King Sam scored, he held up the ball and said,"this one's for you, Dad!" What a nice kid. What a nice family. What a beautiful example of faith in God that all would be well.
So tomorrow is Sunday. I will be celebrating my own Homecoming as I go 'home' to my Father's house and spend time with my brothers and sisters in Christ. I will be united with my beloved Savior in the Eucharist, and will share my genetic family with my spiritual family. I will not be wearing sequins (probably) and I don't think a float will be required. I will not be making reservations, but I will definitely be there! I'll work my hardest for the home team, and I will bask in the company of all who have gone before me and the thought of all those that will follow.
Isn't that kind of what Homecoming is about?
Thursday, September 26, 2013
"Mom Eyes"
I am blessed to work with some pretty amazing educators. Each one of us brings something a little different to the party, and somehow it just works. Today, I walked into class to find a hug-fest going on. Kids were lined up to hug their teacher. I assure you that only school-appropriate hugs were exchanged in the presence of other adults, who were also being hugged by a hug-crazed room full of Kindergartners! At the conclusion of this hug-mania, I heard her say, "this is the best fake-Mom hug I can give you. Now let's read the story."
The little girl whose dilemma started the hugging needed a bit of Mom-ness. The teacher told her that since I have so many kids, I have Mom-Eyes that can see when ice (or an ambulance) are needed, or if just a quick hug can fix it. You'll be glad to hear that she is expected to make a full recovery from a very VERY minor bump she received yesterday. I sent her back to class, but left school thinking about my Mom-Eyes.
I've been a Mom for most of my life. The Mom-Eyes developed without notice. I wasn't even aware that I had them until my teacher pointed them out. Now that she mentioned it, I can see how they change my vision. Every child is a son or daughter. Maybe not mine, but I can imagine they are the sparkle in someones eye. They are the reason someone wants to be a better person. At least they should be. The saddest time to HAVE Mom-Eyes is when you see a parent without them. Some parents are just too busy to see that they're missing out on the best part of parenthood: the kid!
Sometimes the Mom-Eyes see differently than the rest of the world. The world may see a little kid crying loudly (almost goat-like) sobbing, drooling, with tears pouring down his sweet little face. "Awww. Poor little guy! Let's give him what he wants!" The world may think that. My Mom-Eyes have seen this performance enough times to know better. If I give in, the waterworks stop and the "Ha, I win!" smirk is on his dear little face. Oh no! I will tell this child to follow the direction or there will be a consequence that he may not like. Then I will remind the child that he is choosing to lose out on any chance of receiving the fussed-over item. I am not being sweet during this time, but I AM being loving. Should I allow this kid to grow up thinking that stomping and storming and bawling gets him what he wants? I am truly sorry that he made this choice, but a lesson learned when he's little may save him the pain of jail time later.
Mom-eyes are eyes of love, but sometimes they cloud what's real. For example, it's hard to see your son graduate high school when you really can only see him as that awkward 12 year old version of himself when he's still mostly boy, but trying so hard to fit into a manly body. It's hard to trust that young men will treat your daughters with good and pure motives when you see that the Lord has blessed them with beauty. I see her. She is at the same time, my baby girl and a grown woman, and she's counting on me to be her example. My Mom-Eyes see me wishing I had the perfect words for them, and failing at being everything they need. Maybe that's not my place. Maybe my place is only to love them and do my best.
My dear teacher/friend/work-wife called her hugs "fake-mom hugs", and it is true that she has not yet been blessed with a child of her own. Her time will come. I pray that she will be blessed with her own children, and her own Mom-Eyes, and I hope it is everything she ever dreamed it would be! For now, there's nothing fake about it. She is truly Mother to the children in her class during the school hours (and frequently long after!) She cares for their needs, listens to their stories, works diligently to help them grow smarter and stronger and more capable every day. She teaches them not only how to read and write, but encourages them to imagine and wonder. She shows them by her own example how to appreciate and value every member of our classroom family. That sounds an awful lot like Mom behavior. Maybe Teacher-Eyes (really GOOD Teacher-Eyes) are not so different from Mom-Eyes.
The little girl whose dilemma started the hugging needed a bit of Mom-ness. The teacher told her that since I have so many kids, I have Mom-Eyes that can see when ice (or an ambulance) are needed, or if just a quick hug can fix it. You'll be glad to hear that she is expected to make a full recovery from a very VERY minor bump she received yesterday. I sent her back to class, but left school thinking about my Mom-Eyes.
I've been a Mom for most of my life. The Mom-Eyes developed without notice. I wasn't even aware that I had them until my teacher pointed them out. Now that she mentioned it, I can see how they change my vision. Every child is a son or daughter. Maybe not mine, but I can imagine they are the sparkle in someones eye. They are the reason someone wants to be a better person. At least they should be. The saddest time to HAVE Mom-Eyes is when you see a parent without them. Some parents are just too busy to see that they're missing out on the best part of parenthood: the kid!
Sometimes the Mom-Eyes see differently than the rest of the world. The world may see a little kid crying loudly (almost goat-like) sobbing, drooling, with tears pouring down his sweet little face. "Awww. Poor little guy! Let's give him what he wants!" The world may think that. My Mom-Eyes have seen this performance enough times to know better. If I give in, the waterworks stop and the "Ha, I win!" smirk is on his dear little face. Oh no! I will tell this child to follow the direction or there will be a consequence that he may not like. Then I will remind the child that he is choosing to lose out on any chance of receiving the fussed-over item. I am not being sweet during this time, but I AM being loving. Should I allow this kid to grow up thinking that stomping and storming and bawling gets him what he wants? I am truly sorry that he made this choice, but a lesson learned when he's little may save him the pain of jail time later.
Mom-eyes are eyes of love, but sometimes they cloud what's real. For example, it's hard to see your son graduate high school when you really can only see him as that awkward 12 year old version of himself when he's still mostly boy, but trying so hard to fit into a manly body. It's hard to trust that young men will treat your daughters with good and pure motives when you see that the Lord has blessed them with beauty. I see her. She is at the same time, my baby girl and a grown woman, and she's counting on me to be her example. My Mom-Eyes see me wishing I had the perfect words for them, and failing at being everything they need. Maybe that's not my place. Maybe my place is only to love them and do my best.
My dear teacher/friend/work-wife called her hugs "fake-mom hugs", and it is true that she has not yet been blessed with a child of her own. Her time will come. I pray that she will be blessed with her own children, and her own Mom-Eyes, and I hope it is everything she ever dreamed it would be! For now, there's nothing fake about it. She is truly Mother to the children in her class during the school hours (and frequently long after!) She cares for their needs, listens to their stories, works diligently to help them grow smarter and stronger and more capable every day. She teaches them not only how to read and write, but encourages them to imagine and wonder. She shows them by her own example how to appreciate and value every member of our classroom family. That sounds an awful lot like Mom behavior. Maybe Teacher-Eyes (really GOOD Teacher-Eyes) are not so different from Mom-Eyes.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
The View from THIS Shoe
I watched Sylvia get ready for picture day, and noticed that where my toddler used to be, a lovely, confident young lady now stands. At a moment's notice, she can be ready to perform a world class dance recital...or gymnastics...or a dog show...or maybe perform the song she's just written. You can't always tell about her, but there's usually a performance being planned.
I worried for a minute about who Simon should stay with while I took Harriett to look for a dress for her Freshman Homecoming Dance. I had a moment when he told me he'd like to stay home alone. He's old enough to babysit, not NEED a babysitter. He's totally in Jr. High, and one of the most responsible kids I've ever met. I think he's got this.
That's right. I said Harriett's FRESHMAN Homecoming Dance. What happened to my little shy curly-haired girl with the skull do-rag and the princess shirt that made the biker guys melt? I'll tell you what happened. She tried on a dress that accentuated her beautiful assets, and I was forced to face the truth. My baby girl is a beautiful young woman! She's growing up! It's an epidemic! They're ALL doing it!
Everyone except me! I'm not getting any more grown, but I might be mellowing with age.
I've learned to let Lydia blow her stack a little when she's upset. When she's rightfully angry it's important for her to feel it and own it. I love it when she shares her thoughts with me. I love that she accepts my apologies when I have wronged her, and that she is quick to apologize when she is in the wrong. That little bitty one who challenged me so much as a teeny tiny toddler has grown into a beautiful, intelligent, (tall) strong young woman. I never knew what a blessing daughters would be.
Then there are my big boys. (Yep, I'm crying tears of joy.)
Isaac is a senior. I see a man where Buzz Lightyear's biggest fan used to be. He lives in the same skin. He shares the same DNA. He still loves to hug his Mom until he hears her bones crack. He's home now, but it won't be long until he'll be setting his sights "To infinity...and beyond!" I'm not ready. The good news is that I don't have to be ready today. He's supposed to be walking the dog, but I suspect he's really sneaking spoonfulls of Nutella. They each have things they do that they think I don't know is them. I am SO on to you!
I will miss this someday.
Like the way I miss the kitchen drawers and cabinets ALWAYS being pushed in and fully closed. This was something Spencer excelled at! AND babysitting. AND being willing to shed his own blood to protect his sister from a broken china doll (even though it almost cost him the use of his pinky!) Spencer has been the quiet partner in my life for a really long time. There were so many times he was just "there" and his presence was calming and reassuring to me. We used to watch Graham Kerr's cooking show together while we had quiet rest time on the couch. Now he's in Afghanistan, and I believe he's doing okay. But I miss those days. I miss those times.
Every day at 2 o'clock has been naptime for as long as I can remember. Every day, I can tell when it's nearly two as my head fills with sleepiness, and the memory of snuggling my unwilling "I'm not tired, Mom" nap-protester until we were both sound asleep on the couch.
Not long ago I was in Alabama, watching my sweet little boy (now a grown man with 2 sweet little cherubs of his own) putting his own children down for a rest. He talks to them and plays with them and loves them so much. He's their protector, and then he's the monster chasing them around the room, and then the hero that rescues them and makes them feel safe. I tried so hard to be that for him. He was my very first kid, and I was so young when he was born. I didn't know how to be a Mom yet, but I knew I loved this kid with my whole heart, and every choice was an attempt to honor that.
And God blessed me over and over and over, with the best blessings I could ever ask for! With every new person he added to my heart, he allowed it to stretch and grow and make room for lots more love.
That's what I see when I look out from my shoe, that houses so many children I scarcely know what to do. I see my life's work. I see my mission and ministry. I see my children, and the blessings they bring to me and so many others.
I see Love.
I worried for a minute about who Simon should stay with while I took Harriett to look for a dress for her Freshman Homecoming Dance. I had a moment when he told me he'd like to stay home alone. He's old enough to babysit, not NEED a babysitter. He's totally in Jr. High, and one of the most responsible kids I've ever met. I think he's got this.
That's right. I said Harriett's FRESHMAN Homecoming Dance. What happened to my little shy curly-haired girl with the skull do-rag and the princess shirt that made the biker guys melt? I'll tell you what happened. She tried on a dress that accentuated her beautiful assets, and I was forced to face the truth. My baby girl is a beautiful young woman! She's growing up! It's an epidemic! They're ALL doing it!
Everyone except me! I'm not getting any more grown, but I might be mellowing with age.
I've learned to let Lydia blow her stack a little when she's upset. When she's rightfully angry it's important for her to feel it and own it. I love it when she shares her thoughts with me. I love that she accepts my apologies when I have wronged her, and that she is quick to apologize when she is in the wrong. That little bitty one who challenged me so much as a teeny tiny toddler has grown into a beautiful, intelligent, (tall) strong young woman. I never knew what a blessing daughters would be.
Then there are my big boys. (Yep, I'm crying tears of joy.)
Isaac is a senior. I see a man where Buzz Lightyear's biggest fan used to be. He lives in the same skin. He shares the same DNA. He still loves to hug his Mom until he hears her bones crack. He's home now, but it won't be long until he'll be setting his sights "To infinity...and beyond!" I'm not ready. The good news is that I don't have to be ready today. He's supposed to be walking the dog, but I suspect he's really sneaking spoonfulls of Nutella. They each have things they do that they think I don't know is them. I am SO on to you!
I will miss this someday.
Like the way I miss the kitchen drawers and cabinets ALWAYS being pushed in and fully closed. This was something Spencer excelled at! AND babysitting. AND being willing to shed his own blood to protect his sister from a broken china doll (even though it almost cost him the use of his pinky!) Spencer has been the quiet partner in my life for a really long time. There were so many times he was just "there" and his presence was calming and reassuring to me. We used to watch Graham Kerr's cooking show together while we had quiet rest time on the couch. Now he's in Afghanistan, and I believe he's doing okay. But I miss those days. I miss those times.
Every day at 2 o'clock has been naptime for as long as I can remember. Every day, I can tell when it's nearly two as my head fills with sleepiness, and the memory of snuggling my unwilling "I'm not tired, Mom" nap-protester until we were both sound asleep on the couch.
Not long ago I was in Alabama, watching my sweet little boy (now a grown man with 2 sweet little cherubs of his own) putting his own children down for a rest. He talks to them and plays with them and loves them so much. He's their protector, and then he's the monster chasing them around the room, and then the hero that rescues them and makes them feel safe. I tried so hard to be that for him. He was my very first kid, and I was so young when he was born. I didn't know how to be a Mom yet, but I knew I loved this kid with my whole heart, and every choice was an attempt to honor that.
And God blessed me over and over and over, with the best blessings I could ever ask for! With every new person he added to my heart, he allowed it to stretch and grow and make room for lots more love.
That's what I see when I look out from my shoe, that houses so many children I scarcely know what to do. I see my life's work. I see my mission and ministry. I see my children, and the blessings they bring to me and so many others.
I see Love.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Sharing a Drink
What am I DOING?
I was thinking this thought as I held the golden cup. I thought that as I held the cup in front of a young lady and reaffirmed for her what the cup contained: "The Blood of Christ". She responded, "Amen." The same as millions of Catholics would worldwide on that same Sunday, and have for centuries. It's the same thing I have done myself, almost every Sunday since I was in the second grade. (With the exception of a brief period of years when I was very lost.)
What was I doing? I've never been on this side of the cup! I am so completely NOT WORTHY to hold the cup that contains the blood of my Savior. I am participating in the most beautiful and profound giving of gifts that Christ ever gave and I am both exhilarated and grossly aware of my unworthiness. I truly am a dirty rotten sinner. Do I really belong here? I'm no Peter, but is this how he felt? Is this how ALL the disciples felt in that upper room on Passover?
My priest asked me if I would consider becoming what the Church refers to as an "Extraordinary Minister of the Eucharist". An "ordinary" minister of the Eucharist would be a priest or deacon. This IS their day job. Even if they do it every single day, I pray it is never really ordinary for them. The day that it doesn't really matter to you that you are holding the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of our blessed Lord and Savior is the day you need to go on retreat and pray for renewal! I admit, the title sounds like a superhero, and I DO wish I was truly extraordinary. I just wasn't sure I could make it through this blessed task without weeping. I frequently cry during Communion when I am struck by the truth of what is happening. I got trained anyway. Father Chris has faith in me. I respect (and occasionally question) his confidence in me.
Earlier that day, I was teaching my Religious Ed class, and we spoke briefly about what a disciple is. A Christian disciple is someone called to share Christ with those God puts in their path. Share the Love! Share the peace! That's what we are called to do! Before today, I have never done this so literally. I have never before looked someone in the eye and said (in essence) "Have a drink. Drink richly of the covenant Jesus made with us all before his death on the cross. Do this in memory of Him, WITH ME! Drink and be made whole. Drink of the Spirit that renews and refreshes the soul, and heals the body and calms the mind. Drink of the blood of the sacrifice to end all sacrifices! Drink Liquid Love, and let the truth of it enter every cell of your being and make you ONE with the Creator, through the love of His Son!" And they each respond with a humble, "Amen." Which means, "Big Fat Yes to all that."
It's a good thing no one asked me to write the words for Communion. It would take a lot longer, and we'd need a LOT more cups, because I nearly cried when my cup ran out. I could have shared Jesus for the rest of the day. I'm hooked. At the risk of sounding conceited, I think I may be a disciple of Christ.
I was thinking this thought as I held the golden cup. I thought that as I held the cup in front of a young lady and reaffirmed for her what the cup contained: "The Blood of Christ". She responded, "Amen." The same as millions of Catholics would worldwide on that same Sunday, and have for centuries. It's the same thing I have done myself, almost every Sunday since I was in the second grade. (With the exception of a brief period of years when I was very lost.)
What was I doing? I've never been on this side of the cup! I am so completely NOT WORTHY to hold the cup that contains the blood of my Savior. I am participating in the most beautiful and profound giving of gifts that Christ ever gave and I am both exhilarated and grossly aware of my unworthiness. I truly am a dirty rotten sinner. Do I really belong here? I'm no Peter, but is this how he felt? Is this how ALL the disciples felt in that upper room on Passover?
My priest asked me if I would consider becoming what the Church refers to as an "Extraordinary Minister of the Eucharist". An "ordinary" minister of the Eucharist would be a priest or deacon. This IS their day job. Even if they do it every single day, I pray it is never really ordinary for them. The day that it doesn't really matter to you that you are holding the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of our blessed Lord and Savior is the day you need to go on retreat and pray for renewal! I admit, the title sounds like a superhero, and I DO wish I was truly extraordinary. I just wasn't sure I could make it through this blessed task without weeping. I frequently cry during Communion when I am struck by the truth of what is happening. I got trained anyway. Father Chris has faith in me. I respect (and occasionally question) his confidence in me.
Earlier that day, I was teaching my Religious Ed class, and we spoke briefly about what a disciple is. A Christian disciple is someone called to share Christ with those God puts in their path. Share the Love! Share the peace! That's what we are called to do! Before today, I have never done this so literally. I have never before looked someone in the eye and said (in essence) "Have a drink. Drink richly of the covenant Jesus made with us all before his death on the cross. Do this in memory of Him, WITH ME! Drink and be made whole. Drink of the Spirit that renews and refreshes the soul, and heals the body and calms the mind. Drink of the blood of the sacrifice to end all sacrifices! Drink Liquid Love, and let the truth of it enter every cell of your being and make you ONE with the Creator, through the love of His Son!" And they each respond with a humble, "Amen." Which means, "Big Fat Yes to all that."
It's a good thing no one asked me to write the words for Communion. It would take a lot longer, and we'd need a LOT more cups, because I nearly cried when my cup ran out. I could have shared Jesus for the rest of the day. I'm hooked. At the risk of sounding conceited, I think I may be a disciple of Christ.
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