When I Grow Up

At least once a day some conversation with one of my kids begins with, "When I grow up...". Usually it is followed by, "I want to be a "fill-in-the-blank".

Right now my youngest son is obsessed with clowns. When he grows up he wants to be a clown. Yes, a clown. He's been researching juggling, having me paint his face like a clown, wearing a hat... He's predominately interested in being a mime - very specific in his clownly desires.

So, I've been answering lots of questions about his attire. My response has been, "Yes, Cooper has decided he wants to be a clown when he grows up." Then I sort-of roll my eyes and say, "Really aiming high, huh?" Being a clown just doesn't seem to be an aspiration, plus could he support himself? Pay the bills? I mean, really -he does need to get practical

I've been thinking about it though...my oldest son - he used to want to be (and maybe still does)a comedian. He's totally funny - a real gift. I have people come up to me and tell me that he's the funniest kid they've ever met. And my middle son, he'll help anyone or anything. Once I saw him pray over a dying baby bird. He has a double dose of compassion.

So, it seems that I have children that want to grow up and entertain people, make people laugh, and care for people and animals. Man - those are things to want to be when you grow up. Those are things a mom should be encouraging, not rolling her eyes about.

I don't know about you, but sometimes I get lost in the labels or the expectations of life. Maybe it's just this time of my life... But, when I grow up, I hope I am doing those things that my children are so attuned to. I hope they don't lose that wonder at life and that they never stop imagining what they will give to the world.

So - what about you? What do you want to be or do when you grow up?

Good-Bye

I remember when I had my first child, Carter. They laid his sweet, perfect body all tightly swaddled in a hospital baby blanket into my arms. I gazed down at this little miracle and took in every ounce of him - they way he smelled, how fragile he felt, how utterly dependant on me he was. Mom's of older children would stop by the house to meet him and every single person would say, at some point in the conversation, "Oh, he's so small. I forgot how little they are."

I would think to myself, "You forgot? How could you possibly forget this?" And, then - Carter grew and I forgot. And, the next two times I had baby's I remembered this...this time is so short, it's so precious, it goes by so quickly.

All my kids are growing up and in some respects the are growing up so that they can leave me and move on to new adventures in life. Every day they and I are saying good-bye.

But we're not saying good-bye to each other forever. We say good-bye to parts of our relationships, but there are always new things which make their home in the places which were vacated. I said good-bye to holding them all night in my arms, but said hello to giant celebrations for a great goal on the soccer field. I said good-bye to making bottles and feeding them, and said hello to baking cookies with them and having them set the table.

I know that they will leave physically at some point, but I also know that they will never truly be gone. We're a part of each other.

I'm leaving seminary. Today was my last class, Friday is graduation. Lots and lots of good-byes are on the horizon. Seminary has been a home for me - a safe place. That will be gone - the physicality of my showing up on the campus will be gone.

In some respects life is a whole lot of good-byes strung together. But it's also...a whole lot of hellos. We can only have the opportunity to say good-bye, because we once had the opportunity to say hello. Evey piece of seminary, every class, every professor, and mostly every student is part of me now. I've been raised, in part, by seminary.

Good-bye. Hello. Adios. Hola! Au revoir. Bonjour! Go in peace, serve the Lord. The Lord be with you.

A Prayer in Time of Need

Last weekend I attended two funerals - they could not have been more different from one another. Saturday I went to the funeral of a 50-something woman. There was not an empty seat in the church - pews were packed, extra seats in the aisles were filled. It was standing room only. The woman who had died had everything planned to a T. She had breast cancer, so she had thought a lot about her death and her celebration of life. This funeral was definitely a "going-home" celebration. Friends got up to talk about their relationship with her...they made us all laugh and cry. We all learned knew things about our friend...pieces which we could hold onto. She reminded us each to live...not to live as if we are slowly inching closer to death. But to live, live until the day we just die.

My friend was a frequent lay assistant at church...she was an amazing "pray-er". One of the things she always said in her prayers - "We stand in awe of the power of prayer." Each time she would recite that, I would think, "Yes, yes we do." That day was awe-filled. It was assurance filled. It was couched in between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. It felt as if the sting of death was there...yet, we knew it wasn't.

And then....the Resurrection. Easter Sunday. It was sunny and bright - a glorious day for new life. Another funeral was not on the agenda, but as I tucked in my middle son and checked on his gecko, which had been sick, I knew something was wrong. The gecko was cold and stiff - and, my baby had just snuggled into bed. I had to tell him though, because I knew he would find him in the morning.

Oh, the tears, the sobbing. I was crying as hard and he was. His brothers, his dad, and I all traipsed out to the garden for an unplanned funeral in the dark. As we walked to the garden, Jackson said to me, "Stripe (the gecko) died on the same day Jesus came back to life." Oh, my heart ached - more than I thought possible for the loss of a gecko. I just said, "Oh Jackson, I know." I didn't know what else to say. But Jackson knew...because then he said, "But, at least we know that Stripe is with God now." I thought, "Oh yes, Jackson. At least we know that."

We are promised that!

So, we dug a hole and we placed Stripe into the dark ground and covered him up. Jackson knelt down on the cold, dark earth and bowed his little head over the gecko. I whispered to Jackson, "Do you want to say a prayer?" He shook his head "No," - he wanted me to say it. The words, the prayer - it just came. I was crying, Jackson was crying. And as soon as the prayer started, his brothers and dad were crying. There's something about prayer. There's something to be in awe of...a power that we have no claim on.

His dad said later, "That was a damn good prayer for a lizard." Hmmm...the words just came. It was God, I know it.

That's when I made the connection to the funeral the day before. The funerals were so different. One well-planned, one make-shift. One packed full of people, one 5 people total. One in a beautiful, sunlit church, one in the chilly, dark of the night. One for a woman, one for a tiny gecko.

And yet, they both held prayer and love in common. They held the promise of the resurrection in common. They held the assurance of God's presence in common. A prayer in time of need holds healing and grace, power and gentleness. A prayer in time of need reminds us that there is something awe-some whispering about in the corners of our lives.

Lullaby

I don't consider myself a singer. I'm not horrible - my average voice doesn't prevent me from singing in the car, praising God, or breaking into song with my kids. But nobody is going to stop and listen when I sing.

Last Sunday I had just returned to my seat from the communion table - I had sat down to join the singing and I suddenly had this experience of being wrapped in a warm cloak. I stopped singing and listened. There were three men singing, one to my right, one to my left, and one behind me - all with these pure, clear voices. Their song became my song. I didn't sing. I listened. It felt so much more worshipful to listen than to make a sound.

While these people were not singing to me - they were praising God, I realized that for me, in that moment, I was feeling what a child cradled in it's parent's arms must feel like when they are sung a lullaby. Protected, loved, surrounded. The baby takes it in and, somehow through simple song, hears a truth beyond just the words of the song. The baby knows love.

I think God gave me the gift of a lullaby last week. A time to rest in the arms of God. Those men were God's voice and, in some way, we were all wrapped in the warm Spirit of God.

Silence

"Mom, I love you so much I don't even have the words..."

No words needed - that says more than I could say.

Things Blow Up

When I turned 16 my dad taught me how to change the oil in my car and how to change a tire. I sort-of paid attention, but not really. I have no interest in cars outside of their practical use. So, breaking down on the side of the road is way up there on my list of dreads. I always fill my car up with gas - I am not one of those people who gage the miles just so I can inch by on the last 1/8 of a gallon - I fill up as soon as the gas light comes on.

Today, as I was leaving seminary, I stopped to fill-up - just to be sure I wouldn't run out. I hopped in my car and was on my way. All of a sudden the car began sharking violently and most of my control over the car was lost. I was able to pull over to the side of the road. I got out, and started to walk around the car. I had no idea what I was looking for, since, as I said, I know nothing about cars. But as a approached the rear tire, the problem was obvious. Flat tire.

We are not talking about just a low tire here. It was totally blown. Holes in it - on both sides. There was absolutely no way I could drive it; I was an hour and a half from home; and...I certainly don't remember that tire changing lesson my dad taught me. I distinctly remember thinking - "Why do things have to be soo hard right now?"

Two separate times I was asked, "Geez, what did you do to this tire?" It was that bad. Why is everything blowing up?

Needless to say, I was not happy. I was cursing and frustrated and wishing I was home. But here's the thing - I saw all these angels today. Things do blow up - but then there are these angels that show up.

*A woman turned around, came back and got me, and drove me to the seminary.
*The song on the radio was singing, "if you put your light with my light, we'll make the world a little brighter".
*A good friend at seminary is a whiz with cars - drove me out, filled the spare, took the blown tire off, and put the spare on....followed me to a tire store.
*The men at the tire store met me as I pulled in - "You need a new tire?"...Uh, yeah. 5 minutes later, brand new tire on the car and I am on my way.
*Grandma was at the house to get the kids, so I don't have to worry about them.
*It wasn't raining or cold (this is huge for me).

The truth is I was scared, crying, and frustrated and simultaneously incredibly aware of people, even strangers, loving me through it. That is an amazing thing.

Things blow up...my tire was just a reminder to me that this is so true. Angels show up too...lights and love, hands and hearts joining together to put things back together.

Ask you shall receive....

I have this sort-of funny thing going on with my youngest son involving communion. Most parents I know have children that either take communion or don't - really no in-between. And, in most churches there is a given 'practice' involving communion. Some churches begin communion whenever the child desires (or the parent), some churches it's the 2nd grade, some churches it's 5th grade, and some others still it's 8th grade. The "acceptable" time to commune is up for discussion.

Cooper, who is now 6, really fits none of the categories, accept the first - whenever the child desires. He's the in-betweener kid. Last year on Maundy Thursday we were involved in a Seder Meal. Cooper listened attentively the whole time (at least as well as a then 5 year old boy can). After this ritual, we all went up to the sanctuary and stood in a circle. As the bread and wine were being distributed, he cupped his hands and looked up into the pastor's eyes, as if to say, "Me too. I am a part too. I love Jesus too. This includes me too."

I think about that a lot. I know that Cooper understood, as fully as any of us do, what the celebration of Holy Communion is about. And I think as we grow and wilt, ask and deny, open ourselves and close ourselves, we all come to new and fresh understandings of communion and God's love for us.

I haven't gotten to the funny part yet....this year we returned to our home congregation after being gone a year. Cooper decided he didn't want to take communion anymore - he said he wasn't supposed to. And - I thought it didn't really set a good precedent me up at the altar forcing him to take communion (that surely can't be grace...). So, he stopped taking it, also excusing himself by saying he didn't like the grape juice. I let it go. Besides, there is precedent for those not feeling worthy to come for a blessing as they confess their sins, instead of receiving bread and wine (although I don't necessarily agree with this - who among us is worthy?).

Today though, just a few weeks before Maundy Thursday, he cupped his hands and looked up into the pastor's eyes... different pastor, same feeling. The pastor looked at me, looked at him; Cooper looked at me, looked at him. I said, "Okay. Yeah, give it to him." He asked. What can we say to that?

Ask and you shall receive - it's the promise of Jesus. Ask for grace, ask for love, ask for forgiveness, ask for just a foretaste of all that God has promised to each of God's beloved children. Because when we ask - we receive, one way or another.