Today

Today I would ask her "why?".

Picture

The most recent picture I have of my mom is from several years ago and one that a sibling sent is too blurry.  Today I would call her and ask her to send me a photo of herself that she likes--ideally a headshot.

I need it for her obituary, and I want her to like it.

If

If I could call my mom today I would tell her that I am a little worried that the boy child isn't speaking more.  I would also tell her that he loves jigsaw puzzles.

Church At Almost Two

Wrestling Alligators--Trying to Have a Spiritual Life of Your Own While Instilling Your Faith Traditions in Your Own Child

Last night I visited with a friend in the hospital and got to put on my priest hat for a bit...or collar as it were.  In the chatting part of the visit he inquired about our little guy and how we liked our new congregation.  I joked about the challenges of church with a toddler and he looked at me and said, "but he's a good boy!"  Yes, I agreed, but he is almost two! 

My duckling boy has in the past few months become rather sensitive to a variety of things that he formally enjoyed.  Case in point, loud noises.  

At church there are parts of the service in which the entire congregation prays aloud, together.  On occasion there is applause.  Both of these things now cause my son to start whinging (a combination of whining and cringing) and attempting to crawl into our shirts.  

So, a couple of weeks ago I suggested he cover his ears when loud things bother him.  So, yup, that is my son--the one with his hands glued to his ears and his elbows akimbo--looking anxious during the recitation of the "Our Father..."  

Great.  

Now, I'm not entirely sure what is running through his head in these moments, but I think it may be some variation of the following "They are too loud!   Make them stop!  Why did the music stop?  Why won't we go play with the trains instead?  What the h-e-double hockey sticks is going on?  Hey, can I have more goldfish crackers?  Would you make them stop already?  Loud, loud, loud!  Accckkkk!"

At which point everyone says "Amen" we all sit down and I breathe a sigh of relief that the crisis has been averted for the moment.  At which point the boy child starts kicking the book racks in the pew.  When I move his feet to the side he instantly turns and starts trying to climb up the back of the pew.  My wife fishes in the diaper bag for a snack and we hand him a few pretzels.  He shoves them into his mouth and signs for more...but, now, he wants the bag.  Oh, and he also likes to quack, like a duck.  

Did I mention we sit in the front pew so that he can see the "action" at the altar and be more engaged with the service?  

Did I mention that up until 19 months he insisted on nursing during the service so I'm pretty sure I've flashed the entire altar party?

Did I also mention that he is only in the service for 15 minutes because he spends the first 40 minutes in the nursery?

Did I mention that we do this EVERY SINGLE BLESSED WEEK?  

Yes, the service we attend is great.  They know and like children and are more than welcoming in every way.  But, we are mothers of a toddler.  Right now it sometimes feels like we are just trying to get out of church alive.  

So much for my own spirituality!  That said, I'm a priest, I feel very strongly about my family attending church.  But, it has also been my "job" to go--and is my calling as well--so there often hasn't been a "let's skip it" option for us.  Because, there are definitely weeks we've gone when I would have skipped church because it was just too hard (spit up and diaper blow outs figures prominently in those weeks--as do teething, two year molars are rough).  

I once joked in a sermon that I was impressed by the folks who take their kids to church but aren't themselves paid to go...truth is, I wasn't joking.  And, as I anticipate spending more time at the altar and in the pulpit this summer (yup, I'm a substitute preacher, feel free to groan!) I realize that I'm rather relieved.  As a supply priest I don't bring my child along--the congregation doesn't expect it and many places simply aren't equipped to host small children (and even if they do, my sensitive boy would not do well dropped off in an unfamiliar nursery with unfamiliar people).  

Which, of course, means that I don't have to take my toddler to church!  Woo-hoooooo!  And, you mean I'll get paid!  Yippee-Skippee, even better!  

Okay, I'll quiet down my glee to state clearly--taking my toddler to church sucks but, it is worth it.  (Of course, I'm not the parent who will be alligator wrestling while I lead congregations in prayer in the greater metro!)  

It's worth it because it creates a network for him of folks beyond us.  It sets the stage for the future.  I believe it will give him the grounding he needs to sustain him as he grows.  It will help him to think beyond himself and to the need for justice, mercy and love in the world.  It also gives us a reason to put him in a bow tie (for Easter!).  

There are innumerable reasons why we drag ourselves and our child to church each week and these are just a few.  So, I want to know, if you have ever done church with kids, what made you persist?  What was soooo important that you endured the rounds of pew wrestling and cracker crunching and book dropping?  What made it easier?  What made it harder?  Tell me about it...

Swirling and Centering

I've been feeling a longing lately for a day--a day alone, no interruptions, no one I know.  I imagine a small cottage or hermitage, a simple kneeler with Bible and the Book of Common Prayer.  Candles and incense burning, a small wood stove and kettle for tea.  A day of turning inward, discerning and reflecting.  It needs to be in the woods, this hermitage, and it needs to have a simple pathway to its door.

A book of poems would be lovely, or some of May Sarton's journals ("Journal of a Solitude" comes to mind).  I would want it to be a day in which I let go of guilt and regret, a day in which I embrace calm and peace.  I would want it to be a day of finding joy in my callings.  There would be no internet with the multitude of voices calling to me until I can't hear any for the cacophony of it all, no news, no current events.  Just the breeze in the pines and the singing of birds.

But, I am aware as I write that I am placing too many demands on this day (do you hear the monks singing each to each?).  This day I long for and have not yet had or planned...

I imagine it to be a time of drawing inward, going within myself to let go of self a bit.

My imagined place for this retreat is based on a real place, the hermitage at Agape...I spent a summer living at Agape (an intentional community that works for non-violence) and the hermitage there is my model for the kind of place I can find peace.  Where do you find peace?  Where do you long to be alone?
 

"Look At What You Have"

Today is Ash Wednesday and we started out our day with ashes for the whole family.  Due to scheduling (unavoidable demands and work) we weren't able to actually attend a service, so a clergy colleague of mine swung by and did the honors...

"remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return".

And, as I reflect on Ash Wednesday and the act of incorporating our child into this ritual, I find myself thinking about something I said to him at dinner on Tuesday.  In his frantic reaching and whining for the ketchup bottle he failed to notice that he already had some ketchup on his plate.

And, in that moment of frustration I sternly said to him

"look at what you have, not what you don't have!"

He quieted at my tone and as the words left my mouth I realized that part of teaching him about a theology of abundance, about holding things loosely, giving generously and living gently is teaching him to appreciate and value what he is.  So, whether it's the WHOLE jar of peanut butter or a small swirl of ketchup, I will be repeating these words as a refrain, "look at what you have, not what you don't have!"

And, perhaps that's my takeaway for Ash Wednesday this year--giving thanks for what we have and the gift that is rather than worrying about what isn't.

So, this Lent I will be working on looking at what I have, letting go of what I don't have and remembering that this is all temporary anyway.

The Mama Lake

So, I've written recently about the amazing connections I've made with other moms here.  One of those connections has given arise to a new blogging/friend circle and I dove right in to the metaphorical lake!  I hope that if you get a chance you'll visit us at The Mama Lake

The moms who are writing all come from very different backgrounds and represent a range of perspectives and personality!  We all have toddlers and we all live in the same area, now.

So, check us out, and refer your friends...as we grow things will change and develop, but there are some amazing posts up already!