Not doing "all the things"

When my friend means she's overwhelmed by all she has to do (which feels like EVERYTHING), she says has to do "all the things."
I love this saying and have adopted it as my own.
Recently I visited a friend in Kentucky, and we joked about our shared sense of guilt for not signing up our kids for "all the things." When we were kids, we played a different sport every season and maybe took music lessons, but that was it. I had a couple of friends who played summer club sports and others who played two sports a season, but not many.
As a mom today, I feel like I'm failing if my kids aren't 100% dedicated to multiple things, playing that sport and taking those lessons year round, for six days a week. Or, I feel similarly incompetent as a 21st-century mom if my kids aren't taking music, gymnastics, soccer, and art, plus volunteering to bathe sick puppies three days a week.
What if I fail to introduce my kids to the one thing that will make their life perfect and give it ultimate meaning? What if my kid is the next Joshua Bell but misses her chance because I failed to put a violin in her hands when she was five? What if my son is the next Lin Manuel Miranda but will never get his "shot" because we don't live in NYC where he can take all of the dance, voice, and music classes? What if? What if?! WHAT IF??!!
IF I don't do "all the things" so my kids can do ALL THE THINGS, then I HAVE FAILED as an American mom in the 2010s.
No joke.
That's the message we all receive. And that's the message my friend and I laughed about, with more than a hint of lament.
No, we will not sacrifice all of our time so that our kids can do "all the things."
I am going to say "no" to things, not just for scheduling or financial reasons, but because I want family time. I want my kids to have downtime. And I just don't want to drive all the time and feel stressed.
And I'm not going to feel guilty about that. We make sacrifices for one another as a family all the time but we have to decide where we draw the line and for what reasons.
I have friends who do all the things and I'm happy for them and proud of them, but that's not the type of mom I am, and my kids will turn out just fine. The life my husband and I want for ourselves, for each other, and for our family includes lots of spontaneous trips and activities.
Friends, this doesn't make my guilt disappear. I still have moments of worry that I haven't introduced my kids to their perfect instrument or perfect sport. The blaring message out there of the high standards expected of me as a mother today is deafening and not to be ignored. But when the guilt comes, I take a breath and remind myself why I have chosen to be the kind of mom that I am. I am parenting in a way authentic to myself, and I'm pretty happy with who I am. The best mom I can be is the one that flows from me as I am, not who I'm "supposed" to be.

Savor

Yesterday was a long day. I left the house at 6:30 a.m. and returned after 11 p.m. Some good things happened. Some not-so-good things also happened. On my drive home (my meetings were 2+ hours from where we live), I reflected on the day. I rehashed the bad parts and gave thanks for the good ones - admittedly, there was more rehashing than thanksgiving. I woke up this morning, still in marathon mode, checking off the list of things to do and things that need to be done later today.
My husband had an early meeting, so I finished my upstairs checklist and went to the kitchen to start working on the downstairs list. Most mornings we share duties but yesterday he was on his own and this morning I was the sole parent on staff. This morning sounded something like this:
“Where’s your backpack? I need backpacks, y’all!”
“Pack a snack for yourself.”
“Mommy, some people eat two snacks at snack time. . .”
“No, you may not pack two snacks. One is fine.”
“Have you brushed your hair?”
“Yes!”
“Are you sure?”
“We’re too late to go to breakfast so what kind of cereal do you want?”
“Ugh! I didn’t want that kind of cereal!”
“Next time, get up and get dressed and be down here early enough to pick your own cereal!”

No one else’s house sounds like this? Just mine? Huh. Strange.
The kids were finishing their cereal when my 10-year-old wandered into the kitchen and hovered near me.
“What do you need?” I said, exasperated.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you standing here?”
“I just want to give you a hug.”

I wrapped my arms around her. The tight string that was pulling my entire body towards the ceiling suddenly released. I felt my blood pressure drop immediately. I curved my body down around the shape of her and rested my cheek on the top of her head.

Savor. “Savor this,” I told myself.

We can’t savor when we’re in a hurry. It’s an action that demands time and passivity. It’s not so much an action word as a word about receiving. Savor.

On my way to my office this morning I tried to remember the last time I savored a meal. Most of the times I’m barely registering the flavor of the food while also carrying on conversations and making sure my kids are both eating and not making a mess. Like most of the actions of life, eating becomes a perfunctory process.

We savor to get the whole flavor of a thing: a glass of wine, a bite of perfect soft cheese, the first tomato sandwich of the summer (white bread, tomato, Duke’s mayo, and plenty of pepper. This is something you must get right!). We take the bite and chew but it’s our taste buds that do the work and it is passive. The molecules of sour, sweet, buttery, peppery, all pass over those tiny buds on our tongues, which then send signals of delight or distaste to our brains. Our job is merely to reflexively chew and let the receptors do the rest.

When my daughter hugged me this morning, my job was passive. Once I had done the work of wrapping my body around her, my involuntary response systems took over. My job became to savor that moment and just breathe. The signals to my brain pushed it to shed some stress and release the marathon mode my body was continuing to inhabit.

“Savor” sounds like a pretentious word reserved for meals of luxury. It feels like something we can and should only do once the work of necessity is complete. In other words, subconsciously we believe it is something we don’t have time for nor do we deserve. “Savor” is for the frivolous enjoyment of luxuries, not for practical people.

No, friends. Savoring is a necessity. “Savor” is only one letter away from “Savior.” We need to be stopped, saved from ourselves and our desire to go-go-go. We must learn to be more passive, to revel in sensations and responses outside of our control or doing.
I think on the Last Supper. Jesus reclined at the Passover table with his friends. They ate delicious food, prepared out of thanksgiving and remembrance. Because he knew this was his last meal with his friends, he savored that night. We hear this in his words and how he lovingly showered affection, wisdom, and encouragement on his disciples. Each moment was precious to him.

Then, I think of the disciples. It was just another Passover meal to them. They ate the foods they expected. I imagine the crumbs falling from their mouths in their eagerness to argue with one another and interrupt Jesus to disagree. Did they register a single bite that night? Did they later regret not savoring those last hours they had with Christ?

To savor is no luxury but a necessity. Don’t get so caught up in doing that you miss receiving the gift of the moment. Let yourself be passive. Let the little gifts of touch, interaction, and joy, wash over you. Allow your mind the quiet space to process and fire off those synapsis that will turn that moment into memory.
Savor, friends, everyday.

Dedication, Zeal, and the Love of My Momma

I never went through a rebellious teenager phase. My parents can verify that. My brother didn’t either. He was too busy fishing and hunting and I was too busy pushing classmates to sign the “Prom Promise” that they wouldn’t drink and drive on Prom night. We were pretty chill teenagers.

However, I did have behaviors that drove my parents crazy, especially my mom. At the top of the list: not having a tidy room. My brother is older and always has kept a clean space. Even his closets stayed fairly neat. None of that could be said about my bedroom growing up (or now, for that fact). Some people walk into a room and immediately spot any piles of papers or stacks of detritus. I don’t see these things until they are about to spill and take over the room. I mean that. My brain does not register the presence of these stacks and piles.

This lack of vision on my part became evident pretty early on and my mom would beg me to straighten up my room. After countless arguments, we struck a bargain when I was thirteen: She wouldn’t come in my room. It’s not that I didn’t want her there; it was for her own mental health.

My room is just one example of many points of contention. I was not a perfect child, no one is, and I made my fair share of eye rolls at things my mom did and said. I was frustrated by ways she pushed me to improve and change. Like any normal kid, I found my mom’s parenting annoying at times. In the back of my mind, I think I knew it was her job but did she have to do it so passionately and with such zealous dedication?

Her worrying and encouraging didn’t stop when I graduated from college or even seminary. It seems a mom never retires. When I was pregnant with our first child, she checked in on me regularly and made countless trips from Georgia to DC to help prepare our townhouse for the arrival of baby. She hopped a plane at the first signs of contractions and stayed with us for over a month to wait, deliver, and care for our little Peanut.

We waited for two weeks for the baby to come and in that time my mom and I made countless trips to BabysRUs and Target. She made even more on her own and came back with ideas and supplies for entire systems of care. One day I came into the kitchen to find her setting up a multi-tub system on the kitchen bar for sorting and drying pacifiers and bottle parts. There was a box for non-sterilized items, one for drying sterilized items, and another with a lid for dried sterilized items. I remember chuckling in my mind and thinking, “Classic Mom.”

Our oldest arrived and we struggled. Hannah was not a good nurser and I had no idea what I was doing. I felt inadequate, made exponentially worse by a nurse in the hospital who witnessed me struggling to get Hannah to latch and said, “God did not bless you with good nipples.” Thanks, Lady! Hannah was jaundice, which made her sleepy, and she wasn’t an eager eater. She still isn’t. As a toddler it was impossible to get her to sit for more than eight or nine minutes to eat. Even now, she’ll perch on her chair rather than sitting, just in case there’s something that catches her eye that’s more interesting.
The fighter in my mom came out strong. She was eager to organize and advocate for Hannah and for me. She and my father took turns, in the wee hours of the morning, making Hannah take bottles of pumped milk by tickling her feet and rubbing below her collar bone to keep her from falling asleep. I escaped falling into despair at my inadequacy as an inept nursing mother because my own mother found, made an appointment, and took me to a nursing specialist. I cried many tears because I thought it was my fault Hannah was jaundice and that she couldn’t nurse. That all changed, thanks to the coaching of the specialist and encouragement from my mom.

A few days before my mom left us, she and I were standing in the kitchen together. All of a sudden, the tumblers in my brain fell into place and I understood my mother and her zealous parenting. The love and desperation I felt for my daughter lined up with the years of my mother’s apparent meddling and worrying. All at once, I thought, “Holy crap! I get her now!” I remembering turning to her and saying as much. I thanked her and I might even have apologized.

I know this story will not resonate with everyone. It might not even resonate with most people. I understand how exceptional this is and here’s why: My mother’s mother died when she was six-years-old. She never had the opportunity to roll her eyes at her mother’s fretting. She never got to have her mother help her through her tough first pregnancy and delivery.  She didn’t get a moment like mine in the kitchen with her mother. Nearly all of the work my mom has done in her role of “mother,” she has learned on the fly. She didn’t have a template to follow or even from which to deviate.

Not everyone has pretty little stories that feature them with their mothers. Some people struggle with failing or nonexistent relationships with their mothers. Heartbreakingly, some will only have memories of abuse and neglect by their mothers. Still others, like my mother, never had a mother present with whom to have a relationship. It is to all of you that I offer my story.

For me, my mother’s story is one of redemption and hope. She and I never could have had our kitchen moment without her work. She wanted something different for her life as a mother and for us as her children than what she had as a child. Void of any real model for motherhood, she found other ways to learn and grow into her motherly vocation. It hasn’t been perfect or always pretty. She can tell you about her disappointments and perceived failures. But her determination and dedication made my world very different from what it could have been.

We don’t have to repeat the story we have been given. We don’t have to follow anyone else’s model of what it means to be a mother or be paralyzed by the absence of a model. We aren’t going to do it perfectly or even gracefully. At times we will feel like we are winning at parenting and other times we will feel like absolute failures. What matters is how we nurture the love we have to give and allow that love to fuel our dedication and zeal.

One of my favorite words is “steadfast.” People talk about the “patience” of Job, but I prefer the translations that substitute the word “steadfastness.” Job was faithful, even through his frustrations and anger. He was dedicated to God despite all he experienced.

I haven’t always agreed with my mother’s methods, far from it, but I will forever appreciate her steadfast dedication and love. That steadfastness made her a nurturing mother, against all odds, and has given me a good model to follow. It’s not only a model for being a mother but a model of hope for how to survive and then thrive. Because of her story, I understand more fully the power of redemption. I pray it will offer all of you hope as well.

Thank you, Mom, for being a fighter, a worrier, and my mother.

"Not it!" a.k.a. "We"

"1, 2, 3, Not it!"

We started many a game of hide-and-seek this way. Everyone wanted to play but everyone also wanted to hide and not seek so we counted to three and the last person to say "Not it!" was, indeed, "it." The rest of us would hide while the unlucky, slow soul would count to twenty then come and look for us.

In college we graduated to the "nose game." A pile of dishes in the sink, a beer run, laundry, all waited patiently for us to play. One of us subtly placed a finger on her nose. The others would slowly catch on and wordlessly do the same. The last one to notice would be the one stuck with the chore. In groups of clergy we sometimes still play this game when asked who will pray before a meeting.

Before you laugh and reminisce, thinking, "Ah. Those were the good old days." the game of "Not it!" is very much alive and well among adults. Countless times I have had church members email or visit to tell me a new ministry that "we" should be doing: "WE need to start a program for children;" "WE need to offer a Saturday afternoon service;" "WE need to start a capital campaign to build the tennis courts WE so obviously badly need."

Adults love the game of "Not it!" as much as any kid. We approach one another with a great idea (we're sure of it!) and proclaim that this is something "we" should be doing. The remarkable rule to this seems to be that if you're the one to first proclaim, "WE," then you're part of the job is somehow complete and the project now has become someone else's responsibility. The very word "WE" translates to "Not it!" or "Tag, you're it!" as we slowly back out of the room.

Back in the day as a fresh priest, I was eager to serve and made another mistake that echoes from childhood. I thought I had to do it all by myself. Like the toddler in the car seat, I wanted to prove that I could do this ministry thing "all-by-myself!" by donning my crisp white clergy collar and going into the world. If you came to me then, I was more than happy to claim your "we" as my "me." A member came with an idea for the church and I ran with it because, obviously, the priest is the sole person responsible for the execution of ministry.

Now that I've finished laughing OUT LOUD at my old self as described by that last paragraph, allow me to continue. Praise Jesus, enough people kept reinforcing for me that the ministry of the church is mostly the work of the laity. It takes the work of every baptized (and many non-baptized!) person on the planet to make the kingdom of God manifest, even for just one hot minute.

It took nearly a decade of being a priest for me to catch on to this adult version of "Not it!" and learn how to stop it before someone got hurt. Now, when someone comes to me with the grand "We," I make sure they understand it in the plural, not the singular sense. Usually my response begins with, "That sounds really interesting! What are YOUR next steps? How can I help YOU? May I make some recommendations for people YOU can ask to work with YOU?"

We're all on the hook for this one, friends. There's way more work to be done than people energized to do it. We can't sit around and wait for someone else to take our big idea and run with it.

That leads me to the next truth: It was YOUR idea! Don't be afraid of it or reluctant to do the work. No, not every idea that pops into your brain is golden. But taking the lead to explore it with some friends and fellow disciples will discern its worth and allow it to develop. If it's something you really believe in and you're team is on board and energized, then it's worth the work! Don't take yourself out of the game by playing the "we" card. You've got gifts of the Spirit that make you a great person to be first in line to join that "we" you just recommended.

I still love a good game of "Not it!" Our kids are starting to get older and capable of clearing the table and putting up clothes. Pretty soon we'll hear "Not it!" ringing through our house. There are plenty of things I don't want to do and I'm ecstatic that I'm about to be able to farm some of this out to my kiddos under the guise of "teaching responsibility." Already I'm catching myself saying "WE need to. . ." I, too, need to break the habit.

There's no handing off the big work, friends. There's only being honest and empowered by our "we need to. . ." "We" shouldn't equate shouting, "Not it!" and walking away. Instead, the world needs the "we" to be a genuine invitation to join in good and powerful work. We do need a world renewed and transformed by your leadership into whatever it is God has called you to do.

A Cheerful. . . Receiver?

Part of my job is working as a chaplain at a middle school. I love this work. I love those baby adults so very much. They crack me up every day and they laugh at me on a regular basis. Today at lunch I told one of them that I saw her pitch at her game yesterday and that I was proud of her. She rolled her eyes and groaned.

I said, "What? You don't think it was a good game?"
Her response: "I pitched a terrible game yesterday! The worst."

I said, "Well, you were out their pitching, though. I can’t pitch like that and I’m proud of you." She continued to rolled her eyes and say what a bad game at was. She could not bring herself to say, "thank you."

Compare this to my five-year-old. He had a T-ball game on Monday and after the game I said, "Good game! You played well and I’m proud of you!"

His response? "I know. Thanks." Friends, he is not a genius T-ball player. He spent most of the game making designs in the dirt between second and third base, knelt on the ground next to his father. His big accomplishment was swinging the bat and hitting the ball rather than the T or his coach.

That’s it then. Middle school is the age when we no longer except a compliment as it is and have to excuse it away. That is when we become uncomfortable when someone tells us we’ve done a good job or has told us we look nice or that they are proud of us. We shift from self-assuredness and a simple, "thanks," to self-doubt and arguing with the person offering their love.

In his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul says that we are to be a cheerful giver. In church we use the saying on and off throughout the year as our offertory sentence, just before we pass the plate. I say the first part of the passage, "The point is this: the one who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully. Each of you must give as you have made up your mind, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves. . ." and the congregation replies within an enthusiastic, "a cheerful giver!" I can't claim this practice. Our bishop introduced it a few years ago and it's become a part of our regular worship.

Yesterday I had lunch with a church member and he started to argue when I reached and paid for the bill. He interrupted himself and said with a laugh, "I guess I need to learn to be a cheerful receiver."

He hit it right on it. That’s it. We talk about being a cheerful giver, which is very important, but the reality is most of us are much worse at receiving than we are at giving. We are particularly terrible when someone is giving us a compliment or a pat on the back or anything we think we might not deserve. (Which pretty much is everything).

A lot of us are happy to give you anything: a compliment, cash, a ride to the airport, to babysit your kids when you’re having a bad day, or give you a gift certificate for your next cup of coffee because you look like you need one. But you turn around and do the same thing for us and we are all excuses and pardoning and shame and guilt. In our embarrassment and excuses. We make you look like an idiot because you thought we might possibly be worth it.

Of course, we do this for number of reasons. We don’t believe in ourselves; we think we should be able to do it by ourselves; we are self-sufficient and independent and can do it all on our own. "I don’t need your help because I’m capable enough and good enough and strong enough and know if I’ve done a good job or not."

The side effects of this is worse than we intend. We mean to be self-deprecating and humble but the result is that we have said to the other person, "I don’t need you;" or "I don’t think you’re good enough to take care of me;" or "I don’t trust you;" or "You don’t know what you’re talking about." None of us means this of course. We just don’t know how to handle a gift when it’s given to us.

Here’s the thing, though. How do you feel when you offer a compliment? Or offer to help a friend? Don’t you do it because you want to help that person? Don’t you offer, not out of obligation, but because you genuinely like that person and you want to help her? You cook the casserole and take it to the parents of a newborn because you remember what those first weeks were like. You take your friend out for a cup of coffee because you realize he could use a break. Or maybe you just would like some of his company.

The people who offer to help you feel the same way. They are offering because they love you. They are offering not so that you will be indebted to them. Most people try to help because they are your friend they love you and they are trying to minister to you.

I am not overstating this when I say it is a sin not to receive, and receive graciously. You aren't proving how tough, independent, and awesome you are. The people around you already know that. Instead, you are blocking the other person's opportunity to do ministry. You’re keeping them from doing what God is asking of them. Are you going to get in God’s way? Let other people do onto you as you do onto them. Let them pay for the dinner. Let them take your kids one Saturday afternoon so you can take a break. Let them bring you chicken soup when you get a cold. It’s their way of saying, "thank you" for all the times you have done the same. It’s their way of saying, "Hey! I love you and I see you. I see you could you some help." And take that compliment! People are proud of you and like what you're doing, wearing, or saying! There’s no shame in that.

I don’t say this lightly, by the way. I’m a terrible receiver. I hate asking for help. It has taken me years to allow people to do for me. I still feel guilty and I still do it reluctantly because most days I want to pretend that I am 100% self-sufficient. But I am always glad for the renewed relationship, the increased intimacy, the spirit-filled time we have together. This is only possible when I acknowledge, "Yes I could use some help. Thank you for that compliment."

May we strive to be a cheerful giver for it is, indeed, in giving that we receive. But may we also strive to be a cheerful receiver - stretching our arms out in love and humility to accept the gift someone is reaching out in love to give us.

The Ignorance of Faith

Tonight my 10-year-old daughter was reading Good Night Stories for Rebel Girls, in particular the story of Coy Mathis. We talked about our transgender brothers and sisters and tried to explain the concept to my 5-year-old. It seemed pretty logical to him.

I finished reading the 5-year-old his bedtime story, a spiritual book of a different sort (at least, in this household) about the Incredible Hulk. My oldest daughter looked up from her book as I was walking out the door and asked me something that stopped me: "Mom, are transgender people a sign of reincarnation?"

So many things went through my head: I have no idea. Are they? Who knows. I certainly don't. I honestly had never even considered this possibility or interpretation. And when did my daughter get more spiritually evolved and smarter than me?!

"That's a really great question," I said. "I don't know. I never thought about it but that's a great question. I suppose it could be. It's certainly something to think about."
She then asked the next logical thing, "Could science prove it some day?"

No, baby, it can't. I explained to her what "metaphysical" means and how there are some things science can't examine or test. Honestly, I don't want it to.

We have scientific brains. Even the most conservative of Christian who believes the earth is 4000 years old will clamor after any scientific proof that the ark or the Garden of Eden actually existed. We want to KNOW, my friends. As parents, as Christians, as adults, as human beings we want to have THE ANSWER. If we can't or don't have the answer, we get flustered and embarrassed and might even lie our way into an explanation. "Ignorance" is an insult we hurl at our enemies for being stupid and naive. Our team holds all the answers and the other can wallow in their ignorance.

But we are all wallowing in ignorance, whether or not we're willing to admit it. We don't have the answers. I've never died and cannot definitively tell my daughter if reincarnation is real, much less if transgender individuals are proof of its existence. I. Don't. Know.

Our science minds override our spiritual souls and we grasp for facts so our brains can provide an answer. Meanwhile, our spiritual souls are left in the background, desperately hungering for truth. Truth and wisdom come from asking the questions and meditating on possible answers. Facts and knowledge come from questions that lead to testing that leads to verifiable evidence.

Friends, as people of faith, we are people of ignorance. I love science. Physics fascinates me and, for me, human anatomy and systems are proof God exists. But my faith body, my spiritual soul, necessarily is ignorant. That ignorance pushes me again and again to seek God and listen for the Spirit. It is why Jesus and I are in a 41+ year ongoing conversation. I'm the three-year-old in the backseat throwing question after question at God in the front.

We are spiritual beings with lots of questions and we should be nurturing the impulses of that ignorance and inquisitiveness in one another, not stifling it. All too often in our shame or embarrassment at not having the answer, we condemn the questioner, hurling accusations of doubt and weak faith. But it's a lie. The weakness is in the condemner, not the one hungry to learn. It is the one ashamed for not having an answer who suffers from the lack of faith and who commits a grievous sin by shutting down the faith of the person who comes, like a child, with questions and wide eyes.

My baby girl asked a question tonight that I could not answer and that has opened my eyes and spirit to new possibilities. May she never stop asking and may I never become unaware of my ignorance. Both are gifts from God.