Be the Help

I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.  I hate seeing the horrific images.  I hate ignoring them. I hate feeling uninformed.  I hate reading about it.  I hate that this happened.  Again.  I hate living in a world where people shoot children, fly planes into buildings, and blow up runners and spectators.  I hate not knowing how to handle it or how to respond.  I hate feeling so completely and utterly useless.  I hate not knowing how to walk through this as a mommy.  I don’t want to expose my son to horrors, nor do I want him to not understand the world around him.  (Not that I think this is comprehendible for any age.)  I want to shield and protect him from all evil.  But that’s not realistic either.  How do I raise him to know what's happening but not be afraid?  What’s the appropriate response?  What do I say when he asks why Mommy is crying?

I don’t know much.  But I have repeatedly seen on Facebook a quote attributed to Fred “Mr.” Rogers - "Look for the helpers."  I like that.  I like the thought of looking to see who’s running towards a catastrophe instead of just away from it.   That inspires me to take it a step further.  BE the helpers.  Maybe there isn’t a disaster in my town today. 

But maybe today I can pack an extra apple and banana for the person I’ll inevitably see at the interstate exit.  Maybe I can take time to have a conversation and make eye contact with the person who seems lonely or has a hard time functioning socially.  Maybe I can give a warm hug or touch the hand of someone who might not get a lot of physical contact.  They may seem like small trivial things.  But if I can help show kindness and humanity to one other person; if I can be an example of goodness in a world gone mad for my son; if I can reach another person in love for my own sake, then in that moment, good still wins.  I am the helper.  We are all the helpers.  We have the power to show that love, even love for strangers, triumphs over evil every time.  And if, God forbid, I ever face terror close-up, I hope I am a helper.

We cannot bring back the lives or limbs lost yesterday.  We cannot restore children and teachers back to their now incomplete families.  We cannot undo how the world changed 11 ½ years ago.  But we can be helpers.  We can show one another, and our children, how to love.  We can be more than survivors, more than victims.  We can show compassion.  We can restore hope and humanity to everyday life.  Be the help in your world.

When my son reads in his history books the events of 9/11, the acts of terror, the atrocities that befall our modern world, I hope he asks me where I was, what I thought, what I felt, and what I did.  I will tell him - I was scared; I was saddened; I was angry; I was heartbroken; I was determined; and I decided to change the world for the better.  I chose to be the help.

Worst day at work since I started this job!

Almost three years ago, I switched jobs.  I left the corporate world for the home world.  I used to have a paycheck, bosses, coworkers, a cafeteria, and a timeclock to punch in and out.  Now, I have a son, no pay, no one to cook for me, and no clocking out.  Today was the hardest day I've had since I took this job.  I don't regret the job.  I don't even regret the decision to leave Corporate America.  But boy, oh boy!

It started with breakfast.  He ate a few good bites of the bowl of cereal we always share.  On the fourth bite, he decided to spit it out.  For no (understandably good) reason.  Then he asked for a slice of cheese.  I gave it to him.  He took a tiny nibble, pulled at it until it began to crumble all over the carpet, then wadded it up and threw it in the sink.  Frustrating?  You betcha!  But I didn't force the issue of him eating.  If he gets hungry enough, he'll eat.

So we went to the gym, as usual.  He was fine with going to the gym.  About 20-30 minutes into my workout, they come get me to tell me he has a dirty diaper.  (They don't change diapers, which is fine.)  I was surprised, since he never has a dirty diaper at the gym (and he'd already made one this morning.)  But I went to get him & change him.  Everything seemed fine.  And then it wasn't.  He started (aggressively) telling me he wanted to go swimming.  I told him we couldn't today.  I didn't bring our swim stuff.  Maybe tomorrow.  He starts crying and screaming in the locker room.  I'm trying to calm him down.  I'm trying to reason with him.  I'm doing everything I've read in the "how to raise your kid" books.  I'm asking him to stop crying and try to use his words to tell me what's wrong.  He doesn't.  I give him choices so he has control in his life.  I offer him to go back and play or go home.  I tell him either decision is fine.  Neither is a punishment.  He's not in trouble.  What does he want to do.  "I WANT TO SWIM!" And the tantrum escalates.

I again offer him choices.  I tell him if he does not want to play, we'll go home and that's ok.  He finally decides to go back and play.  Until we get halfway there.  Then he throws himself down on the floor in the middle of the corridor and starts crying again.  To say I was embarrassed would be a gross understatement.  I know most of the people were probably feeling bad for me instead of judging me as a failed parent.  But I was so frustrated!  So we head back to the locker room to get my things to go home.  Then we go over to the play section so I can get his coat & our cards.  Again, he flings himself on the floor in a tantrum.  I walk away (still keeping both eyes on him,) thinking if I take away all attention (positive or negative) that he might snap himself out of his tantrum without an audience.  Instead, he lies there for another moment, then gets himself up, walks to where I am, and proceeds to get back on the floor and continue the fit! 

I was ready to string him up by his toenails!  I get his coat on (while he's crying,) take his hand, and lead him outside to the car.  All the while, he's racked with uncontrollable sobs (allegedly.)  I put him in his carseat, he immediately stops crying, wipes his face, and yells, "I want milk, Momma!"  Now, he knows how to use please and thank-you and generally does an excellent job with them.  So this kind of demanding attitude is not typical.  Nor was it acceptable.  By this time, I was furious with him!  We get home and he acts like everything is perfectly fine.  I get him fed.  I get him down for a nap.  The whole time he's asleep, I'm trying really hard to get un-pissed at my two-year-old.  But I didn't know how! 

I managed to be relatively calm with him post-nap.  And somehow, I managed to not spank him.  (I believe in spankings when necessary.  And I think today would have been very necessary.  But I have also promised myself, him, and my husband that I would try really hard to never spank in anger.  I would have spanked in anger today...)  The afternoon did not do much to improve his demanding, jerky, or bratty behavior.  But luckily, my husband came home.  (I thought he was going to have to work late.)  About ten minutes after he got home, my sweet husband said, "Why don't you go to a coffeehouse for a little while and take some time for yourself?"  I didn't argue.  I think I was out the door with a book within two minutes of the offer.  When I came home, my hubby said our darling boy continued his contrary behavior but went to bed easily and early. 

I can only hope there was some unseen reason for his crummy behavior that will not repeat tomorrow.  I rest in knowing that a good night's sleep can (potentially) refresh both my son and me.  And even if it doesn't, I took a job I can't quit.  So I'll find a way to suck it up.  But today was truly the lousiest, least-enjoyable day of motherhood thus far...

But I still wouldn't give it up...

A young woman passed away a week or two after suffering severe complications from childbirth.  She slipped into a coma shortly after giving birth to a healthy daughter who bears her name.  Last night or early today, she slipped away to heaven.  Her husband and five daughters are left to carry on without her.  Yet still he praises God.  My heart breaks for all six of them.

With the passing of the friend of friends at way too young of an age, I am flooded with memories, emotion, pain, and insight.  This entry is to try and focus on the insight (although I cannot promise pain or memories will not freckle the landscape of this article.)

I hate that I had to say good-bye to a husband at such a young age.  But I am grateful we had the opportunity to say everything that needed to be said.  I knew what he wanted done with his remains.  I knew what kind of service he wanted.  I even knew his hopes and dreams for my future without him.  We spoke at length about everything, good, bad, easy, hard, and most definitely ugly!  But what about this sweet young family who faced an unexpected good-bye?  I know she had no expectation of slipping into a wordless coma when she started laboring with her precious daughter. 

And so, tonight, I took the opportunity to talk to my sweet husband God gave me.  I told him, "If, Heaven forbid, anything ever happens to me, I'm not mad at God.  I do not blame him.  If I am ever taken from you, be angry at the devil.  I love God and know He is never the cause of bad things happening.  I love you with all my heart.  I always will, no matter what.  But I will never blame God, so please don't either.  And tell our son not to blame God."

Yes, maybe I'm borrowing trouble.  I think we're all colored with our experiences.  And experiencing the loss of a spouse makes us feel very deeply when someone else does, too.  So, at the risk of not having the opportunity to say everything that I would want to say in those last months, weeks, days, or hours, I will say them tonight.  I will say them when I am safe and healthy.  I will pray those words never have to echo in his ears or heart.  But at the risk of borrowing trouble, I will leave nothing unsaid in this relationship, either.

Haiti

I cannot believe it, but it has been more than a quarter of a century since I visited Haiti.  My brother and I had the  honor to go there at the tender ages of 10 (him) and 8 (me) when my parents were chaperoning a high school youth group mission trip.  My life has never been the same.  I don't know why, but I feel a distinct tug on my heart to write about Haiti tonight.  I haven't been back since, though I've thought of it often.  I'd love to go again, but not because it is beautiful or fun or enriching in a traditional sense.

We went to work on building the second story for a school at a mission.  The first impression I had of Haiti, though I doubt I could have articulated it at the time, was that it felt oppressive.  Not the heat or the stench.  But spiritually, it felt heavy.  If my heart could suddenly be wrapped in weighted belts, that was Haiti.  I remember seeing a 5-year-old little girl taking care of her younger brother, who was naked with a swollen belly.  I recall seeing the exuberant joy on the faces of children, ages 2 -16, when they received small tokens and toys, like jacks, jumpropes, and balls with which to play.  These trinkets cost paltry amounts of money for Americans but were treated like prized possessions there, which they likely were.

I remember the poverty, the tattered clothes, the dirt everywhere.  Dirt outside (not grass.)  Dirt roads.  Dirt floors.  It just was brown.  We worked hard there.  It was hot and sticky and dusty.  (I actually came back so tanned, someone asked me if I was black or white!)  I remember seeing men cut the grass (what little there was) with machetes, bent over in backbreaking work, because the mower was broken.  I remember walking through a very crowded, loud, and intimidating open-air market one day.  People were shouting, vying for our attention and American money.  I wanted a doll as a souvenir.  There were lots of stalls selling them, but my mother kept saying no, I couldn't have one of those dolls, but we'd find one.  The dolls she kept telling me no to were, in fact, voodoo dolls.  (We did eventually find a beautiful, non-voodoo doll, that I believe we still have.) 

One of the things that sticks out heavily in my mind was the very powerful, very real, presence of voodoo.  It isn't just mumbo-jumbo made up in a movie for a plot twist.  The belief and faith in this dark practice was palpable.  One of my clearest memories is from the nights there in Haiti.  We'd lie in our beds at the mission and, almost every night, drumming would start.  It wasn't partying.  It was voodoo drums, their rhythms flowing down the mountain, subtly filling the air.  They weren't loud.  I never heard chanting.  But unmistakable drumming.  I love music and percussions.  But this drumming chilled me to the bone in a very not-good way.

I was so impacted by the spiritual magnitude of this place that I asked my dad for a very big thing.  I was originally slated to be baptized with two of my cousins later that summer.  I asked my dad to baptize me there, in Haiti.  We had a good discussion of what baptism meant and why I wanted it then and there.  The day we went to the beach, I was baptized by my father in the Caribbean. 

When you're in a place like Haiti, there is no longer a question of "is there good and evil?"  It is obvious!  So much spiritual darkness hangs like a heavy veil over that small country.  Yet those who have been told about and accepted Christ have such joy!  Their lives were not instantly changed in manners of wealth, health, or freedom from a corrupt government.  But their outlooks, their peace, their pursuit of holiness did change their lives.  I felt so honored that my spiritual life would, in a small way, be tied to that country and to other believers who might get baptized along the beach.

I guess I would sum up my experience like this.  If you wonder, if you question, if you doubt, go to Haiti.  It isn't a bad place.  The people are not unkind.  But the weight of Haiti, the "feel" of Haiti is almost proof that there is evil.  That there is a Hell.  And that there is a devil.  But there's redemption to that oppressive feeling.  For if there is evil, there must be pure love.  If there is a Hell, there must be a Heaven.  And if there's a devil, there must be a God. 

I can see God in a flower, a rainstorm, a waterfall.  But for those who cannot, go to Haiti.  Then tell me there isn't a God.

God, Christians, and Inspiration

Today, I feel compelled to write about something very dear to my heart - faith.  Specifically, faith in One True God, people who profess it, and people who judge it.  This is not a tear anyone down rant.  So don't necessarily quit reading for fear of that.  Rather, it's a challenge to us all, churched or unchurched...

I believe in a sovereign God.  That means - He Is It!  There's only one Him and He's the Him.  I do not subscribe to the "many paths to enlightenment and joy and peace and whatever-you-believe-for-you-is-fine-just-don't-impose-it-on-me" mentality.  I am a Christian and most people know that very shortly after meeting me.  I make no apologies about my faith. Ever.  And if someone asks me why I believe the way I do, I'm happy to discuss.  But I try really hard to let my life speak without having to beat anyone over the head to "prove" that I'm a Christian or try to convert them.  I'd rather they see the peace and joy I experience BECAUSE OF GOD (not because of me!) and ask questions. 

I don't think I've ever told anyone they were going to hell.  I don't feel that's my job.  God sees hearts.  I do not.  I may think "Oh, you poor, misguided soul."  But I hope my words are "I love Him enough that I will speak about the wonderful things God has done in my life.  I love you enough that I will pray for you and freely discuss anything you'd like without backing down.  I love you enough that I disagree with you; I love you enough that I cannot support your decision; I love you enough that I do not condone that behavior.  But I will always love YOU."  I've had very, ahem, lively discussions with people in the past.  I expect that I will have more intense conversations in the future.  And I'm okay with that.

But the ultimate truth is - God is God and I am not.  So I will not judge you.  Likewise, please don't judge me.  Do not assume that because my conversion was not a "road to Damascus" experience that my testimony is less valid or valuable.  I have never been drunk.  I have never done drugs.  I have loving, Godly parents and an amazing family.  That doesn't mean I haven't walked through valleys or am too blinded by mountaintop views to appreciate sorrow and heartache.  I do not believe you have to hit rock bottom before you can be saved.  I think God's arm is long enough to reach us in the lowest pit of despair.  But I think His desire is that His arms be used to wrap us up in bear hugs of delight, whether life has always or never been rosy.

I also think that whenever someone sets out to "inspire," they usually wind up setting themselves up for the fall.  Christ said that he will make high the humble and make low the proud.  I'm not saying you shouldn't live a life to the glory of God.  But let it be just that - for the glory of GOD, not the glory of you.  No one goes around looking for bad experiences to endure.  But sometimes difficult things befall us.  It is walking those trials in sincerity and meekness that inspires, not "ooh, I'm gonna look good on the other side of this!"  I think people are inspired by watching a person prevail where the onlookers fear they might fail.  It's that victory that's lived in sincerity that inspires.  It gives us that "if they can get through THAT, maybe I will be all right, too..." feeling.  and I believe that  we endure tragedy well only through the grace and mercy of God.  Thus, it's God that's inspiring.

I have been told numerous times over the past several years that I inspire or encourage others.  That blesses me so much.  But it humbles me.  Because I know I've done NOTHING to inspire or encourage.  I write what I think.  I seek God.  I make up life as I go, for I know no other way.  I am so thrilled that God uses me in a tiny, miniscule way to touch the heart of another.  But I know it's HIM.  Most people who I consider a personal inspiration would not consider themselves thusly.  Most people I admire would probably start talking in "why, um, but, and huhs?" if I told them how much I really think of them.  But that's probably why I do.  They're genuine.  They're not after the praises and accolades of men.  They're just honestly in love with God and it is reflected in all they do.

So, if you want to have a life full of peace that defies explanation, believe in God.  If you want to inspire someone, love, serve, and seek God.  If you want to judge someone, evaluate yourself.  And if you want a lively conversation (about God or anything else), let me know!  I promise I won't be mean...

No motivation

I sit here this morning, thinking of the clean laundry that needs to be folded and put away, the dirty clothes still to be washed, the dishwasher, run but not emptied, and the freshly soiled breakfast dishes.  I think of the vacuuming that ought to be done and how the bathrooms need to be cleaned.  And I want to do exactly none of it!  (I get credit for at least contemplating it, though, right?)

It's an unseasonably warm and slightly rainy day here in Chicagoland.  And all I can think about is how I want to go wander around, exploring with my son.  Then tuck him in for an unrealistically long nap and read my newly acquired book that has sucked me in more than time permits. 

I want to blow off responsibility.  I want to ignore financially sound decisions.  I want to play.  I'd like it more if I had another adult to come along.  But my boy makes for pretty good company most of the time.  I want to disregard acting "proper" or grown-up.  (Having a child tends to make that somewhat more socially acceptable.)  But I want to just skip in the rain, play ring-around-the-rosy, and generally run around like an idiot.  I want to eat breakfast, lunch, snacks, and dinner out without caring what it costs, even though there's perfectly acceptable food in the fridge and cabinets
I want to drive around in January with all the windows rolled down and music blaring.  And no red lights or stop signs. 

I know very little, if any, of those things will actually occur today.  I'll at least get a load of laundry started.  And the condition of the cupboards will dictate that the dishwasher will get unloaded.  And the desire to eventually eat will mean that dishes eventually will get washed.  But, if you will allow me one extremely indulgement whine...

I DON'T WANNA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Grateful reflections

Sitting here on a Saturday afternoon in Chicagoland, wrapped in a warm Christmasy blanket while the little one sleeps and the bigger one is at work makes me so grateful.

It's a little nippy, but I have shelter from the cold wind, blankets to wrap up in, and a thermostat I can tweak if need be. I have hot coffee and hot tea at my disposal.

My son is safe and snug in a nice bed in his own room. And he's worn out because we had reliable transportation and went to a mall to play. He is healthy and vital enough to want and need exercise and social interaction. He is becoming able to verbalize he wants and needs ("i wanna play, momma.")

My husband has gone to work. Yes, it's Saturday; yes, all three of us would rather he be home. But he's employed. No, he's not earning time and a half. But he earns enough that I can stay home with our boy and take care of them both. He works today because he's a good manager. His employees have to work and he's there to support them, to show that he's not asking them to do something he's not willing to do. It'll make the next three days he's off that much more wonderful.

To top it all off, it's my parents wedding anniversary. Thirty-nine years ago today, they embarked on the journey of a lifetime! Two kids, three grandkids, a couple of jobs, a retirement, and a million travelling miles later, they're more in love with one another than ever. They have both shown me so much of what a Godly life well lived can and should look like. They've been the embodiment of good employees, good parents, good spouses, good children, good siblings, good friends, and good people. The best thing they could do for my brother, me, our spouses, and our kids is to love one another well, without judgment, beyond conditions. And they do. I am so grateful for the parents God gave me. I will count my life blessed and successful if I can live half as beautifully as they have thus far. I expect the rest of their lives will be equally as inspiring.

I know my mother will read this. And I know she will shake her head, claiming to be "boring," "ordinary," or "unremarkable." But the truth is, she is beautiful, extraordinary, fascinating, and funny. She's a rockstar mom and grandmother. My dad is charming, outgoing, fun, and loving. And quite frankly, there's a whole bunch more adjectives I could use to describe them both. But I'd be remise if I didn't tack on one more that applies to them both. And I think is the epitome of how they live their lives, both privately with one another and to the world - generous. They're some of the most giving people I know. They would tell you that's one of the reasons they're as blessed as they are. But I think when you're as much of a blessing to a world full of individuals as they are, they're bound to get loved and blessed right back. But they never expect anything. They're just remarkable people who I am blessed to call mine.

I'm a very grateful woman. May tomorrow and the new year keep me so, whatever may come.