Sweet Sweet Spirit

The Christmas decorations have been carefully packed away and the annoying elf has gone back to Santa (i.e. back in his box).  The house is looking empty but I am finally able to sit down and breathe. 

Sunday morning I went to church.  I asked the family to join me but they had made other plans while I was at an exercise class (insert shock here) so went by myself.  I will confess that when I go alone, I am tempted to skip altogether. I have used the time to write or read or just sit and think. I figure God understands this precious time and is okay with it.  I worship in my own way but this week I went to the service; something called me there. 

The opening music was beautiful and I wished my parents were with me to hear it.  Mom has always loved a good church choir.  Then I noticed the “Stuff” on the front table that revealed the congregation would be “breaking bread” today.   My first instinct was to plan my escape before communion started to avoid the longer service but something stilled my mind.  I was not snapping my fingers at the kids to get them to sit, I was not having to give approving nods at all their drawings or divvy up the M&Ms that have become a requirement before the service.  I was on my own and for today another’s hunger pains did not dictate my church schedule. So I sat and took it all in.

The sermon was about the “in-betweens” we have in life; the moments we are waiting for something to happen.  The minister told a story about going to watch an orchestra once and arriving a bit early.  He heard someone was tuning an instrument, saw someone was studying the score and someone was playing a beautiful piece of music.  He thought to himself that must be her solo, her chance to shine.  The seats around him began to fill and the theater’s lighting went dark then to a dimmer light than prior signaling the concert was about to begin.  He noticed the orchestra was now perfectly still awaiting their conductor, no movements seen or heard.  His companion commented, “now all there is to do is wait.”  His clever summary was this: in our everyday lives some of us may study His coming, some of us may practice our talents, and some may tune our selves in various ways like learning, exercising, etc. but we are all waiting for the next thing to happen in our lives and what we do while we are waiting matters.

So there I sat debating on if I should sneak out and get my alone time when the deacons rose to get their serving plates.  Normally, the congregation fills the aisles and walks down front to receive the bread and wine but today was different.  The deacons walked the aisles and passed the bread as they do the offering plates.  In watching this change of routine I missed my window to leave and realized I did not care.  I felt like I was where I needed to be.  An older man approached my pew and leaned in with the bread.  I broke off a piece and looked up to smile at him and say thanks but before I could he looked me in the eye and in a baritone voice said, “this is the body of Christ given for you.”  He was so serious and the gravity of the act we were partaking in struck me.  Tears filled my eyes, the intimacy of communion was clear.  I wasn’t aware of my craving for that level of intimacy with my faith but it was real and I was fulfilled with the Holy Spirit. 

Last year was not an easy one for me in some respects.   As the days of this New Year reveal themselves I am hopeful for what could be and what is to come.  I pray the in-betweens of my todays and my tomorrows are filled in purposeful and positive ways.  I do not want to count the minutes between sunrise and sundown because I only want the day to end, for the noise to stop and for life to give me some reprieve from the stresses I carry.  I hope I keep my courage to continue practicing, studying and tuning myself to be a better whole person not the fragmented person that I found myself to be at the end of 2014.  On Sunday, a soulful voiced messenger reminded me the body of Christ is in me and is a constant companion.  Today I am trying to let him carry the load for a bit and give my back a break.  Our relationship is a work in progress. 

Intruder drills

E bounced into my backseat after school, “We did an intruder drill today.”

(Lump formed in my throat) “What was that like?”

“It was okay, the music teacher moved the bleachers so we could hide behind them.  Then we laid down flat and covered our heads.”

(Lump still in throat) “Was that scary?”

“No.  We have to know what to do if someone breaks into the school and starts shooting.  The only scary part was when Mrs. B (the principal) shook the door handle trying to get in the room.  She tried to break in and the door was locked so that was kinda scary.”

My hands were firmly grasping the steering wheel in the 10 and 2 position.  Coach Rod, my driver’s education teacher/football coach would have been proud.  Although I think he advised against driving under emotional stress and what I was feeling in that moment probably qualified as such.  I finally got air to pass the lump in my throat, “I am glad you are doing those drills.” I say meaning every word and hating that they are coming out of my mouth. 

This is now the world we live in, the world that is forming my kid’s childhood memories.  I remember filing into the windowless hallway of my elementary school for tornado drills; E will remember hiding behind the bleachers in music or behind her desk in her classroom during intruder drills.   It is not progress or regression; it is not right or wrong, it is just the world we live in today.

It is also a world wherein she was one of only a handful of kids in her class that did not have a “device” to bring to school to enjoy the class reward of earning 100 behavior stars.  My kids do not have iphones, nooks, an ipad etc.  They have coloring books, reading books, Barbies, and a TV that they cannot move out of our living room. I want my kids to be kids as long as possible.  I make them play outside when possible even when they protest.  I cannot give them my childhood, not that they would want it, but I want to give them as good a childhood as we are able to give.  It will include intruder drills and standardized tests, gluten free birthday parties and the “there is a pill or an app for whatever plagues you” mentality and they will remember it fondly as they age. 

The power of a voice and a boy band

The music filling the arena was on a loop that was attacking our eardrums with each bass thump and adolescent screech.  The earplugs I jammed into my skull did little to shield me from the endless drone of empty lyrics; for the first time in a while I felt old.  My mind wandered for a minute and I decided this could be a teaching moment.  I looked at my baby girl, my 8 year old, who was anxiously awaiting her very first concert with her favorite band, One Direction.  Her eyes were getting heavy.  The band was over an hour late…did they not realize their fan base all have bed times earlier than their showtime? 

            “E, did you know one voice can change the world?” 

                        “Huh?,” she asked removing her own ear plugs.  I leaned in closer and said it again.  She tilted her head and said, “What do you mean?”  I tried to convince her to walk down five rows to the railing and start chanting, “ONE DIRECTION, ONE DIRECTION, ONE DIRECTION” to override the loud music that was clearly meant to deter this kind of rebellious behavior.  She shook her head, “I can’t do that, mom.”

            “Wars have been started by less, E.  You could do it,” was my response and there we sat for another 20 minutes until Harry, Liam and the others decided to get to work.

            The reaction of my daughter watching the concert was so fulfilling.  She was happy, genuinely happy.  We stood, danced, sang and cheered throughout the show until the last song played.  We knew there would be an encore but of course, before that there would be more waiting. 

We took our seats, I was secretly thankful for the break when E cocked her head to me and gave me a sneaky little smirk that set off alarm bells in my head.  She had my smirk…. that was my smirk, how does one inherit a smirk?  Crap.  I am in trouble. Calming myself I simply asked, “What?”

E had decided it was her turn to try and change her world.  She opened her mouth and started chanting, “ENCORE, ENCORE, ENCORE”.  I joined her and then the people behind us joined her and a few people in front of us joined her.  It was not a rousing response but she got a few yelling with her.  She leaned in, “Mom, they are doing it!  They are following me!!!  I am leading!!!”  Tears filled my eyes; my smile so big it literally hurt my face. 

If I do nothing else for her as long as she lives I am content knowing:

1) I took her to see One Direction for her first concert

2) I was there the moment she learned to appreciate the power of her own voice.  I pray she will always use it for good.  And also remember punctuality is a social grace that should be respected. 

3) My smirk will live on; May God help you all.

Ella, my peace and smile maker

“Mom, I am going to address my school tomorrow about peace tomorrow in our assembly,” said Ella while I was tucking her in at 830PM Thursday night.  I was surprised at this declaration. “What do you mean?" I asked, "What are you going to say?”

The school has been studying about peace and Dr. Martin Luther King.  E said she asked her principal last week if she could say a few words about the subject to THE ENTIRE SCHOOL.  She did not ask her teacher or the school secretary she asked the principal directly.  Her principal reportedly told her she could do so the next week, which was this past Friday.  After this impressive story, the other shoe dropped, “I still need to write my speech.” 

I walked downstairs not knowing if this was all real or not.  E is not overly outgoing, she is even shy around most people she does not know.  This found confidence baffled me.  I was excited for her, confused and too tired from the day to think any more about it.  We had decided to write the speech in the morning so I let it end there.

Friday morning E came downstairs already dressed with shoes tied and coat zipped.  We wrote out her speech and she and her dad walked to school.  I got to the school in time for the assembly still unsure on if her speech was actually going to happen.  There was no time to drop B off at his school so I found a chair and he squirmed on my lap waiting for the show to begin.  E’s principal took the stage and greeted all the classes, K-6^th grades with at least two classes in each grade and about 100 parents.  It seemed like most of the parents there regularly attended these things.  This was my third assembly in three years at the school so I will not be winning the Mother of the Year award.  The fact my Best Mom Ever Award would not be arriving was proven further when the principal actually asked E to come forward and deliver her thoughts.  Tears filled my eyes; this was really happening.  E stood up, dropped her One Direction backpack and unzipped her jacked to reveal she was wearing….. her pajama top.  A cute but very thin, white, sleeveless cotton shirt in 50 degree weather.  Nice.  I looked at my husband who had found us in the mob of people and said, “we have to check under her coat from now on, period.”

Ella was now on stage and took the microphone in her little hands that were shaking from nervousness.  B decided it was now he had to pee.  He was bouncing and holding myself trying to make sure E did not deter attention away from him.  Miraculously, the promise of Fruit Loops for the next day’s breakfast bought me some time with him.  (I know I am not digging myself out of the gutter with these confessions.)   Ella read her speech word for word; she asked the students to be kind to one another, to smile at each other and do their personal best to spread peace throughout the school. My tears of pride kept coming as she spoke.  My baby girl who doesn’t like to leave the house on weekends did not only address her entire school but she asked HER PRINCIPAL for the opportunity to do so. 

Everyday I am in awe of my children.  Some days it is because of their audacity, their ability to create chaos and messes or their natural talent to get their voice to the highest octave humanly possible when they scream.  On Friday it was E’s bravery that took my breath away.  When she rejoined her class on the gym floor after her speech she looked back to find me and flashed a priceless smile.

I took that smile and borrowed it the rest of the day.

Captain America is taking a sick day

No. Mommy that’s not how it goes

Rise it up, float it down and make it cover my toes

Those are just the blanket demands; there are others to obey

The sun is shining but my baby is sick so inside is where we will stay

Mommy, you can’t leave; you have to stay right here

So I gather my precious devices around me, and then I see the tear

“Lay with me?” he asks, phrased as a question not demand

I snuggle over; his head is on my chest, his hand now in my hand

It is like that we lay through the duration of his nap

The world is arriving in my inbox with my baby on my lap

I close my eyes; the tears now belong to me

With his limp, fevered body, he touches my cheek, “I love you mommy”

I will cradle my baby and tend to his care

This world will continue whether I am in here or out there

He will be better as the medicine works its magic ways

There will be more karate and Captain America days

But for today he’s my baby and I’m his mom

I’ll cherish these moments preparing for the storm after this calm

My Sobering Moment

My friend earned his one year AA sobriety chip and asked me to attend his meeting.  I agreed to go.  I did not know what to wear or what kind of people I would encounter.  I was feeling a little nervous, a little scared and secretly a little superior to those I was sure would show up in attendance.  The meeting was held on campus, close to downtown so I was sure there would be a mix of students and professionals.  All of them would be addicts.  I was sure I would not fit in with them.

The meeting started promptly and that I sat overdressed with my arms crossed, open ears and an open heart.  These people deserved my respect for what they have overcome and my pity for where they have been in their journeys to sobriety; didn't they?  I looked around and surmised the average age of the crowded room was about 22.  I was not just overdressed but now I felt old.  The fresh, innocent faces showed few, if any signs, of their addictions.  One by one, they put a voice to their struggles and it become clear that although I was older than most of them they had all lived enough for four lifetimes.  The journeys and Hell they have seen and lived also made them wiser than I expected.  It was sobering moment when I realized I could learn a lot from an addict.

The meeting took place in a basement but the atmosphere loosely resembled a church.  Actually, it resembled what a church should be.  The honestly in the room was disarming.  "Hi.  I am John and I am an addict/alcoholic"  I smirked when I first heard it because it really was just like in the movies.  After hearing one testimony after another the purity of their words and the strength of their faith was overwhelming.  The was a room full of addicts and alcoholics; this was also a room full of Christians.  My presence in my church every Sunday (most Sundays….) is a declaration that I am weak.  I should stand and say, "Hi, my name is Wendy and I am a sinner," but I don't speak.  I go to church each week for one hour, pray a few times during the week and then question why I sometimes feel lost.  The people in that basement on that day live "church" every minute of every day as a way to stay clean and more importantly to stay alive.

A familiar theme in the meeting was living not in the past or future but the present; this very moment.  When you live in the moment you are fully present and can correct or address actions that cause anxiety. When you live in the moment you live without regret.  That is when it hit me; I am not an addict or alcoholic but I am "one of them" only I at times aspire to reach their level of faith on a daily basis.  We should all be so aware to live with that kind of faith.  I hate to think I would need an addiction to get me there.

To be blunt, I am inspired.  There were no saints in the that room.  We were all sinners just trying to find our way.
Be blessed

For all the thank you's… a piece of my past

E is out playing with a friend, Hunt is watching the game, B is asleep; the house quiet.  I should be tackling my never ending to do list but I am not.  Today I needed a reminder of who I am in this world; who I was and who I have become.  It is rarely a lighthearted journey but as I am buried under blankets today, the heaviness of the search seemed appropriate.

I have written for as long as I can remember.  There are so many of my writings you will never see in print.  Too many pieces are personal to reveal and I have too little confidence to release them to be reviewed and edited by your eyes.  My collection is now in several 3" binders so I chose one and sat down to read my own work.

Here is one I can share, written on Thanksgiving in 1998 for my parents:

For all the thank you's I never said
For all the times you made my bed
For all the words I said in anger
For the times my clothes were not the floor; not the hangar
For the messes I left for you to clean up
For the times I spilled red Kool Aid from my "big girl" cup
For all the times I stumbled in my "walk"
For the times you listened when I wanted to talk
For the times I got a ticket because of my speed
For the times you offered refuge in my time of need
For the times I made you worry and cry
For all my gifts we really could not afford to buy
For the times you punished me when I had done wrong
For not touching the radio dial during my favorite song
For all the bruises, burns and cuts that your kisses healed
For all the letters sent to my dorm that your love sealed
For the time you bit your tongue while you were screaming inside
For each comfort gave as another romance died
For all the times you have welcomed me home
For all the words of wisdom offered over the phone
For all the silent prayers that followed me out the door
For the times I wanted to quit but you encouraged me to do more
For the times you stood up for me to defend my rights
For the times I kept you up all those nights
For the times you donated money to make my ends meet
For the times you know it bruised my ego so you made it discreet
For the times you gave me space for problems only I could work out
For all the times I nodded while having no idea what you were talking about
For the family you gave me and the memories we made
I owe my life to you and all the love I have saved
We have stood together through the years, some good and some bad
I am eternally grateful that I have you, Mom and Dad
--Wendy 11/98

Here we are, so many years later, and the meaning holds true.  Today, I would add a few lines about helping with the grand kids, celebrating good health, etc, etc.  but I am still eternally grateful for my family and today also, more than ever for my home and its heater.
Be Blessed!