My Little Camper

Tonight is the eve of our journey to E’s first two-week summer camp experience. We chose Mystic as her home for the coming weeks and I may be more excited than her to see it. Mrs. Lehman, one of my guardian angels and the motivation behind this blog, always spoke of Camp Mystic’s beauty and the magic of the Guadalupe River. I will not be with E for 14 days but I know she will not be alone. In addition to my angel, Mrs. Lehman (I have asked her to hang close to E), one of E’s closest friends will be joining her at the camp. So she will not be alone but she will not be with me, or any family members (gulp).

Like any good working mother of two, I dropped some balls and did not get done all that needs to be done before we leave tomorrow. Today she and I endured all the ugly traffic of Austin, Texas, the August heat and bad parking jobs to try and complete our checklist. I get why people hate driving here. I do not who failed who: the electorate or the city government but Austin, we have issues. Anyway, we went in and out of stores looking for the necessities that fell through the cracks. I do not remember who thought horseback riding was a good choice for a camp activity but preparing for that one session has neither been fun or cheap. In summary, today was tiring, expensive and not fun. Did I mention the heat?

At each store, we parked, locked the car and E found her way by my side and without thought grabbed my hand. We held hands all day. My first reaction was to shake her off because it was hot (really hot) and our hands were sweaty but I saw she was undeterred. The realization lasted only a second but I looked down at her and decided she can hold my hand as long as she is willing to do so. I am lucky that at 9 years old she not only wants to be by my side but she wants to hold my hand.

Saturday night she will be sleeping in a bunk and far away from my protection. Sunday morning she will wake, dress, eat and walk to chapel under her own direction. Her friend will be in her cabin and she would be willing to hold hand if needed but I doubt E will try. Secretly I hope she won’t try. Secretly I hope she reserves that for me, at least for now.

Tonight we are packing and E and her brother are fighting. I think her annoyance with him is a defense mechanism for her to not miss him as much but maybe that is wishful thinking on my part. I am doing a lot of wishful thinking these days.

Please keep E in your thoughts and prayers. Peace.

We Are Enough

Session is a complicated time for everyone who plays a role at the Capitol. The legislative process is meant to kill bills; the good ones and the bad ones.  The actual process of accomplishing this requires long hours, at times shortened tempers and attention spans and a lot of communication. Many times, after session people find that not only their bills did not make it through the process but neither did some of their friendships, marriages, sanity, and relationships. 

I try to hold things together, maintain perspective and keep moving forward but there are days where I get stopped cold in my tracks. Today was one of them. I decided, with Wednesday being my long hearing night, I would escape the Capitol for lunch with E. It was meant to be a surprise for her and therapy for me; also a reminder about what is real and what is not in my world. 

She was thrilled to see me. We joined for a huge hug and I could feel her heart racing in her chest.  I waited for her to get her food and find us seats in her cafeteria. She is so independent, tall and beautiful so while her heart raced mine felt like it stopped trying to freeze the moment and her image.  We sat and started our visit. My phone started beeping, the kids around us were loud; the scene was less than ideal and I got overwhelmed. I looked down in her big blue eyes and mine filled with tears.  I could not hold them back. I wondered if she would ever know this feeling-this overwhelming, all consuming love that I feel for her. Mothers worry, pray, bite our tongues, speak our minds and endure countless sacrifices to help keep their babies’ world whole. I am a mother. But there is a price we pay for these things and during certain moments like our lunch today I feel the weight of that price and simply broke under the pressure. 

Typical of E, she pulled from a conversation we had last night to comfort me. And with her face turning red and tears building in her eyes she said, “Mommy, you are enough.” In a broken voice I whispered, “So are you, baby.  So are you.  Today you are MORE but you are always enough.”

Last night she was having a moment where her struggle for perfectionism reared its ugly head.  I sat her down and said, “Above all else in this world, know you are ENOUGH.  I am ENOUGH, you are ENOUGH, and we are all ENOUGH.  That is the beauty of having God in our lives because we know He loves us, and because He does we are ENOUGH.  Even when we mess up, act up, whatever.”

I am enough.  Session be damned.  Bring it on.  I am enough (at least me and my family think so).

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.