The events of this past Friday are burned into the public consciousness like the Challenger explosion, Columbine, 9/11. And, for my parents' generation, JFK. We will never forget where we were when we first heard.
We all hugged our kids a little tighter that night, and cried as if our tears might lessen those of the parents whose lives will never be the same.
There are a lot of questions. A lot of speculation. A LOT of finger pointing.
In more than 13 years of working with people diagnosed with cancer, I have looked into the eyes of the dying more than I can count. There are few absolutes.
Ultimately, we live in a place Between. Only those who are near to bridging the gap can actually see it, be it. And I have been blessed and honored to have them share it with me. We live, are ALIVE: BETWEEN. (It is a strange word to look at. It's not elegant or graceful, no matter what font it's typed in. It's awkward and clumsy and filling a space. Like us when we're there.) Between peace and war. Between birth & death. Between hope and heartbreak.
Between heaven and hell.
By being on this earth we are privy to witness aspects of both the real (trust me, very real) heaven and hell.
And many ask where GOD is in times like this. We search, fearful and fragile, looking for the solid ground in the midst of the wiggly-green-jello-nebulous search for TRUTH. (And green jello is very wiggly, and very hard to stab with a fork, and barely passes for "food".)
Of course, GOD is here. Always was, always is. In the entirety of scripture, GOD is given the opportunity to describe itself, in its own words, only once:
"I AM."
GOD is here.
Between.
With us.
Always.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Octoberfest
Last year, we bought Liam a costume for Halloween. He had been saying for weeks that he wanted to be Optimus Prime. So I went and blew $20 on a cheaply made costume at Target two days before Halloween. Then on "dress-up day", he woke up and decided to be Dobby the House-Elf, and wore a pillowcase all day long. So much for that $20.
This year, I told the boys that I would buy exactly nothing for their costumes, but I would be happy to paint their faces. They chose characters, I slopped on some face-paint, and voila!
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| Darth Maul, Kittty, Savage Opress |
The night before, both boys decided to go to school as Harry Potter in the invisibility cloak (thus the sparkles). That night, before trick-or-treating with their cousins, they changed again into General Grevious & a skeleton (the invisibility cloaks morphed into capes).
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| Pirate Elizabeth, Corpse Bride, General Grevious and Skeleton Boy |
This giraffe was immune to the fact that everyone thought she was a boy, and once she figured out she could get candy just by looking cute, she forgot about being shy. Her "trick-or-treat" quickly turned into "choc-ate peez?"
I am so very blessed. And lucky. I look back at these pictures and hold the creative, unfettered fun of these kids as balm for my emotional exhaustion. I find myself holding them tighter every day, as others' tragedy highlights how tenuous this "normal" is.
Oliver Wendall Holmes is credited with saying, "Too many people die with the music still inside them."
My prayer is not for a long life, or an easy life, or a comfortable life. My prayer is for a full life, one that is noisy and joyful and creative. I don't want to be immune to the pain of others. I shudder to think that I may be jaded to the music, no matter how discordant it may be. I want to be vulnerable enough to let it out, and give my kids the passion and freedom to share theirs as well, for they are the harmony.
Please, God, don't let me die with the music still inside me. And may there always be 'choc-ate'.
Please.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Fullness of Friends
I have two goals for today. One is to update my blog. I haven't for at least a month, I think--I can't remember without looking.
The other is to carve our garden-grown pumpkins (there are three--perfect!) with some of our closest friends.
I hope to work these things in between the usual Saturday routine of doing laundry, trying to pick up after the kids, and generally making sure everyone has at least one clean pair of underwear for each day of next week. (Saturday is the one and only day I have to get caught up on the house. It's also the only full day I have to spend with my kids, unless we skip church on Sunday.) Chores are relegated to a lower priority than my kids and are reduced to the bare minimum, the least work by which to sort of maintain a little bit of space to move around in each room and make sure most things are put close to away.
I confess that my home sometimes is an embarrassment. I do not welcome unannounced visitors, with few exceptions, and there are people we don't invite over because of their meticulous habits. I'm afraid they would be grossed out and uncomfortable.
But. I digress.
I am very, very much looking forward to carving pumpkins. There will be six (count them--SIX) children ages 2-9, each with their own pumpkin. (Thank goodness there is an equal number of adults, even though the liklihood of us behaving as adults is slim to none.) It's sure to be a mess. No one is wearing anything I will be sad about throwing away.
These friends are the kind you find, and can't imagine how you got through life before you knew them. These are the people you call in the middle of the night and know you can lean on. These are the people you aren't afraid to talk about the annoying habits of each other, because you know they will understand without judging. These are the people with whom you aren't afraid to laugh so hard you snort, cry, be vulnerable, share your dreams, skeletons, joys, fears and your children with. (Isn't it amazing how many friendships change when you add children in to the mix? That could be a whole different blog.) These are people I'm comfortable having in my house.
My kids don't even realize that we aren't actually related to them, and that they could, theoretically, marry each other. They think they are all cousins, and I hope it stays that way.
I'll try to remember to post pictures of the Great Pumpkin Carving. If nothing else, you can probably see them on FaceBook, between mine and Clay's page.
The other is to carve our garden-grown pumpkins (there are three--perfect!) with some of our closest friends.
I hope to work these things in between the usual Saturday routine of doing laundry, trying to pick up after the kids, and generally making sure everyone has at least one clean pair of underwear for each day of next week. (Saturday is the one and only day I have to get caught up on the house. It's also the only full day I have to spend with my kids, unless we skip church on Sunday.) Chores are relegated to a lower priority than my kids and are reduced to the bare minimum, the least work by which to sort of maintain a little bit of space to move around in each room and make sure most things are put close to away.
I confess that my home sometimes is an embarrassment. I do not welcome unannounced visitors, with few exceptions, and there are people we don't invite over because of their meticulous habits. I'm afraid they would be grossed out and uncomfortable.
But. I digress.
I am very, very much looking forward to carving pumpkins. There will be six (count them--SIX) children ages 2-9, each with their own pumpkin. (Thank goodness there is an equal number of adults, even though the liklihood of us behaving as adults is slim to none.) It's sure to be a mess. No one is wearing anything I will be sad about throwing away.
These friends are the kind you find, and can't imagine how you got through life before you knew them. These are the people you call in the middle of the night and know you can lean on. These are the people you aren't afraid to talk about the annoying habits of each other, because you know they will understand without judging. These are the people with whom you aren't afraid to laugh so hard you snort, cry, be vulnerable, share your dreams, skeletons, joys, fears and your children with. (Isn't it amazing how many friendships change when you add children in to the mix? That could be a whole different blog.) These are people I'm comfortable having in my house.
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| Gracie & Brek |
I'll try to remember to post pictures of the Great Pumpkin Carving. If nothing else, you can probably see them on FaceBook, between mine and Clay's page.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Ferris Wheel & Garden
I rode a ferris wheel last weekend. I got on and tried to remember when the last time I did it was. I know I have, but it's been so long ago I can't remember anything except doing it. I don't remember where I was, or whom I was with, or what I saw.
I was like a kid at Christmas. Look at my face!! And we hadn't even had a glass of wine yet! I usually dislike amusement parks because they're so very overstimulating. But, lesson learned: do the ferris wheel first.
Tonight, we completely picked our garden clean in anticipation of a frost tonight. It was hard to believe that it could get that cold when it was nearly 80 out this afternoon, but even as we picked the wind started.
Our tomatillos conveniently forgot that we live around 6000 feet and are well north of Mexico; the rest of the garden followed suit and I had to look up whether or not green peppers can be frozen (yes, blanched first).
(While we picked, Gracie discovered that sand doesn't taste like brown sugar even though it looks the same, and the boys played 'Killer Zombie Apocalypse' tag like good Mennonite boys.)
It'll be several months before weather is nice enough to consider a carnival again. But I'll wrap my sweater tight around me tomorrow and look forward to drying basil and freezing peppers and green tomatoes tomorrow.
I was like a kid at Christmas. Look at my face!! And we hadn't even had a glass of wine yet! I usually dislike amusement parks because they're so very overstimulating. But, lesson learned: do the ferris wheel first.
Tonight, we completely picked our garden clean in anticipation of a frost tonight. It was hard to believe that it could get that cold when it was nearly 80 out this afternoon, but even as we picked the wind started.
Our tomatillos conveniently forgot that we live around 6000 feet and are well north of Mexico; the rest of the garden followed suit and I had to look up whether or not green peppers can be frozen (yes, blanched first).
(While we picked, Gracie discovered that sand doesn't taste like brown sugar even though it looks the same, and the boys played 'Killer Zombie Apocalypse' tag like good Mennonite boys.)
It'll be several months before weather is nice enough to consider a carnival again. But I'll wrap my sweater tight around me tomorrow and look forward to drying basil and freezing peppers and green tomatoes tomorrow.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Waiting . . . .
My flight was scheduled to leave at 1:50. It is now 5:41 and we have made it from the terminal into the airplane. That was an hour ago.
People who are waiting are interesting. People read, mess with their luggage a little, go get coffee, play Angry Birds (guilty!).
And, eventually, they start talking to each other.
I've overheard stories about where people are going and where they've been (figuratively & literally). There is a scrabble game going on next to me that Is almost over, and I'm going to ask to be included in the next round. A lady and her partner just pranked a very good-natured flight attendant.
I met a chiropractor who has a practice in Woodland Park. She is looking for a bike; I'm looking for a chiropractor. We exchanged information while waiting for an agent (who never materialized) to rebook the connecting flights we have probably missed.
It's interesting what it says about human nature, and I'm sure there is a sociologist somewhere who could iterate all kinds of information about human tendencies. We are capable of a lot while we are waiting, which we do a lot of.
We wait to grow up. We wait for our turn at the bank window. We wait on the elevator. We wait at stop lights. (I once passed time in traffic counting how many people I could see who were picking their noses while they were waiting. It was really, really gross.)
And why do we stop talking when the waiting is over?
Perhaps I should start making eye contact with those around me instead of stressing about the ENTIRE afternoon of lost productivity and fulfillment. Perhaps I am missing other opportunities . . . .
So, how about that scrabble game?
People who are waiting are interesting. People read, mess with their luggage a little, go get coffee, play Angry Birds (guilty!).
And, eventually, they start talking to each other.
I've overheard stories about where people are going and where they've been (figuratively & literally). There is a scrabble game going on next to me that Is almost over, and I'm going to ask to be included in the next round. A lady and her partner just pranked a very good-natured flight attendant.
I met a chiropractor who has a practice in Woodland Park. She is looking for a bike; I'm looking for a chiropractor. We exchanged information while waiting for an agent (who never materialized) to rebook the connecting flights we have probably missed.
It's interesting what it says about human nature, and I'm sure there is a sociologist somewhere who could iterate all kinds of information about human tendencies. We are capable of a lot while we are waiting, which we do a lot of.
We wait to grow up. We wait for our turn at the bank window. We wait on the elevator. We wait at stop lights. (I once passed time in traffic counting how many people I could see who were picking their noses while they were waiting. It was really, really gross.)
And why do we stop talking when the waiting is over?
Perhaps I should start making eye contact with those around me instead of stressing about the ENTIRE afternoon of lost productivity and fulfillment. Perhaps I am missing other opportunities . . . .
So, how about that scrabble game?
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Random Moments of a Joyfully Life
First, the disclaimer: As of this writing, I may or may not have had a glass of wine. This post will probably be more poignant if you do, too. And it will for sure make more sense.
Over the past two weeks, life has involved friends, family, laughter, time-outs, rewards, tears, vomit, laundry, and some genuinely hilarious moments.
Tonight, I am struck again by the simplicity of value, and how infrequently we are able to pursue true quality. The moments and quotes that have precipitated this relative introspection are (in no particular order):
1. Liam, while standing next to me: "Tyler, look! Look how sized I am to Mom! I'm almost tall!" (Yay! Someone thinks I'm tall!)
2. From a FB friend: "Do you ever have a memory leak out of your eye and slide down your face?"
3. Wisdom that was not mine coming out of my mouth to a young patient with an aggressive cancer diagnosis looking for inspiration: "The word 'Triumph' implies difficulty. No one ever triumphs over ease, tranquility, happiness or perfection. One triumphs over hardship with pain, with blood, sweat & tears."
4. Gracie begging me to "Dance, Mommy! DANCE!" Of course I did. As best as this white girl can, anyway.
5. One of Tyler's hard-to-come-by written sentences for homework accurately describing his brother: "Liam thought the word think ment (sic) to talk."
6. Hearing Gracie sing "twinkle twinkle" in the grocery checkout line.
7. The timing of my boss asking on a Tuesday afternoon for a presentation involving data stored in files that have been "cleaned up" (read: gone) on a short timeline (I have a day) the one week we cancelled clinic, which is usually on Wednesdays.
9. Have I ever mentioned how Clay puts Gracie to sleep every. single. night? After cooking dinner. And usually cleaning up. And he knows how to sort laundry. Awesome.
And finally:
10. Kids love hot dogs because they taste like boogers (according to my boys). Enjoy!
Over the past two weeks, life has involved friends, family, laughter, time-outs, rewards, tears, vomit, laundry, and some genuinely hilarious moments.
Tonight, I am struck again by the simplicity of value, and how infrequently we are able to pursue true quality. The moments and quotes that have precipitated this relative introspection are (in no particular order):
1. Liam, while standing next to me: "Tyler, look! Look how sized I am to Mom! I'm almost tall!" (Yay! Someone thinks I'm tall!)
2. From a FB friend: "Do you ever have a memory leak out of your eye and slide down your face?"
3. Wisdom that was not mine coming out of my mouth to a young patient with an aggressive cancer diagnosis looking for inspiration: "The word 'Triumph' implies difficulty. No one ever triumphs over ease, tranquility, happiness or perfection. One triumphs over hardship with pain, with blood, sweat & tears."
4. Gracie begging me to "Dance, Mommy! DANCE!" Of course I did. As best as this white girl can, anyway.
5. One of Tyler's hard-to-come-by written sentences for homework accurately describing his brother: "Liam thought the word think ment (sic) to talk."
6. Hearing Gracie sing "twinkle twinkle" in the grocery checkout line.
7. The timing of my boss asking on a Tuesday afternoon for a presentation involving data stored in files that have been "cleaned up" (read: gone) on a short timeline (I have a day) the one week we cancelled clinic, which is usually on Wednesdays.
9. Have I ever mentioned how Clay puts Gracie to sleep every. single. night? After cooking dinner. And usually cleaning up. And he knows how to sort laundry. Awesome.
And finally:
10. Kids love hot dogs because they taste like boogers (according to my boys). Enjoy!
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Today, we went to an event the shop helped sponsor called the Patriot Ride. It was in honor of police, military, firefighters and the like. (This year, firefighters got special kudos since it was held in the Mountain Shadows neighborhood, with the remnants of homes and the blackened mountainside behind us.)
As part of the festivities, the fire trucks, ambulances and police cars were there for kids to climb in and on. As a special treat, the Flight For Life helicopter agreed to fly in and land instead of setting up ahead of time. I decided this was a good opportunity to get a close-up video for the Buzz.
Flight For Life 101: You are supposed to rescue people from accidents, not cause them.
Everyone was ok, and there was no one in the bounce house. Which was good, since I was laughing. I was holding Gracie, three snow-cones and my phone, and laughing my head off as everyone else was scrambling around yelling and making sure no one was hurt. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!?!? Aren't I supposed to be a concerned parent? And as a nurse, help triage the bleeding and injured?
(Sigh)
I guess I got caught up in the irony of the moment and thought it was quite hilarious, especially since I had just watched all the kids climb out of the bounce house to watch the helicopter and knew no one was inside. (It's just a giant air-bag anyway, right?)
The chopper landed a few minutes later, and the recalcitrant pilot sheepishly made his way over to the Kid Zone to offer his apologies, but by then no one cared because the kids were swarming the helicopter. (I kept waiting for the "What does this button do?" sound.)
And, my snow cone with dirt sprinkles was quite delicious.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
KOA
I know I go on and on about our KOA family in Gunnison. But it really is our home away from home whenever we have the chance, and with our dear friends, the Hamels & Risners, as much as possible.
Where else can you stay up till 2am around a campfire and attempt to ride your bike to the bathhouse after (harrummpphh) shots of Tennessee Honey? Or eat at a restaurant that is so kid-friendly that they hand out boxes of Legos to play with instead of crayons? Or pet the goats, ride a cow named Fancy (pronounced "Fay-un-see") and play pinball until your thumbs bleed? Not to mention the swimming pool, best playground ever, trout fishing, good coffee, epic mountain biking and NO WORRYING ABOUT THE KIDS!!!!!
You really must come next year. I'll bring s'mores.
Where else can you stay up till 2am around a campfire and attempt to ride your bike to the bathhouse after (harrummpphh) shots of Tennessee Honey? Or eat at a restaurant that is so kid-friendly that they hand out boxes of Legos to play with instead of crayons? Or pet the goats, ride a cow named Fancy (pronounced "Fay-un-see") and play pinball until your thumbs bleed? Not to mention the swimming pool, best playground ever, trout fishing, good coffee, epic mountain biking and NO WORRYING ABOUT THE KIDS!!!!!
You really must come next year. I'll bring s'mores.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Forever Summer
I'm always sad when summer ends and school begins. Every year I tell myself that we will do more this summer, go more places and see more people. Every year, I glance through my mental list and see all the items that didn't get checked off.
This year, I decided to try to medicate that feeling of disappointment by looking through photos and seeing all the things we DID get done. Thanks to being up all night with one kid puking into a Tupperware that has since been ceremoniously retired into the trash can, we canceled today's plans and are truly attempting a day of rest.
Here's a representative collection of random photos, in case you care:
I always feel time slipping through my fingers, like the wind does when I'm hanging my hand out the window while I drive. It's pressure can be warm and pleasant, but felt even when at a dead stop.
The Mayans believed that time is circular. I like this philosophy. (That's why their calendar "ended". It didn't actually end, it just started over. So I don't think we are all suddenly going to be on the brink of Armageddon later this year.) It's poetic, and I tend to be drawn to circles more than lines both literally and figuratively. Hopefully when my kids are grown they look forward to making memories with my like I do with my mom, and she did with me.
In the meantime, I'm going to sit back, relax . . . and work on my list for next summer.
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| Tyler & Jessa taking a break from crawdad fishing |
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| First really hot day of summer |
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| Thelma & Louise made a cameo appearance at Liam's birthday party |
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| Tyler being Tyler, while Clay was being Clay with the Expensive Camera |
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| If anyone has true blue cowboy blood in him, it's this guy. No one can wear a hat quite like Liam. (Allison Family Reunion) |
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| Great-Grandma Mona Bebe Yoder King, with all 10 of her great grandkids (King Family Reunion) |
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| This is how we ended the King Family Reunion. The temp averaged 106 all weekend and it really took all my willpower to not take all my clothes off every single day. How on earth do any of you people live there?!? |
I always feel time slipping through my fingers, like the wind does when I'm hanging my hand out the window while I drive. It's pressure can be warm and pleasant, but felt even when at a dead stop.
The Mayans believed that time is circular. I like this philosophy. (That's why their calendar "ended". It didn't actually end, it just started over. So I don't think we are all suddenly going to be on the brink of Armageddon later this year.) It's poetic, and I tend to be drawn to circles more than lines both literally and figuratively. Hopefully when my kids are grown they look forward to making memories with my like I do with my mom, and she did with me.
In the meantime, I'm going to sit back, relax . . . and work on my list for next summer.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Guilty Blessing
I love being horizontal. Especially when it's in my gigantic bed, with it's 4" memory foam mattress topper (thank you, Cosco) with my hubby (in his absence one--or all--of the kids) sleeping next to me.
It's a small pleasure, but a deep pleasure, and if there's only one thing I've ever learned from being a nurse it's to revel in those smallest pleasures.
This past week, one of my patients learned that, in spite of the aggressive chemotherapy he's been getting for the past two and a half months, his tumor has doubled in size and spread to his liver, lungs and bones. Though he wishes, and we support, every attempt at the most aggressive treatments, the statistics are not in his favor. He will likely not see the end of the school year, or spring break with his kids. This will be his last Christmas. (If he makes it that far.) Anything more will truly take an honest-to-God, water-into-wine miracle. All the positive thoughts, prayers and other universal alignments will continue towards curing this, but . . . I get to have that conversation with he and his amazing wife tomorrow.
He is 40.
The Guilty Blessing is that experiences like this are why I have a living will. (There really is nothing worse than families fighting over what a loved one wanted in their last days. If you love your family, give them the gift of never having to wonder.) This is why I have a series of scrapbooks for me and my kids that detail some of the most favorite moments of our lives together. Why I have started a notebook for each of them with random thoughts, lessons, quotes--things I want to leave them with. Why I'd rather have a black light dance party in the living room than get to bed exactly on time.
Just in case tomorrow never comes.
Tragedy happens. To honest, good, stable, productive, happy families. Every day. And yet the sun still comes up the next morning.
Sometimes I think that if something horrid happened to my family that I would feel like the universe was taunting me by being so normal. Yet I also see those who have suffered incredible loss, and end up healing--strong, smart, functional, productive, happy and NORMAL.
I guess the awareness is a blessing in and of itself. The icing is being able to meet some incredible people. Someday I want to write a book, to be able to tell some of their stories.
In the meantime I'll hug my kids and try to make a small difference for those who have to face it.
It's a small pleasure, but a deep pleasure, and if there's only one thing I've ever learned from being a nurse it's to revel in those smallest pleasures.
This past week, one of my patients learned that, in spite of the aggressive chemotherapy he's been getting for the past two and a half months, his tumor has doubled in size and spread to his liver, lungs and bones. Though he wishes, and we support, every attempt at the most aggressive treatments, the statistics are not in his favor. He will likely not see the end of the school year, or spring break with his kids. This will be his last Christmas. (If he makes it that far.) Anything more will truly take an honest-to-God, water-into-wine miracle. All the positive thoughts, prayers and other universal alignments will continue towards curing this, but . . . I get to have that conversation with he and his amazing wife tomorrow.
He is 40.
The Guilty Blessing is that experiences like this are why I have a living will. (There really is nothing worse than families fighting over what a loved one wanted in their last days. If you love your family, give them the gift of never having to wonder.) This is why I have a series of scrapbooks for me and my kids that detail some of the most favorite moments of our lives together. Why I have started a notebook for each of them with random thoughts, lessons, quotes--things I want to leave them with. Why I'd rather have a black light dance party in the living room than get to bed exactly on time.
Just in case tomorrow never comes.
Tragedy happens. To honest, good, stable, productive, happy families. Every day. And yet the sun still comes up the next morning.
Sometimes I think that if something horrid happened to my family that I would feel like the universe was taunting me by being so normal. Yet I also see those who have suffered incredible loss, and end up healing--strong, smart, functional, productive, happy and NORMAL.
I guess the awareness is a blessing in and of itself. The icing is being able to meet some incredible people. Someday I want to write a book, to be able to tell some of their stories.
In the meantime I'll hug my kids and try to make a small difference for those who have to face it.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Blaming Christian
I'm not at church this morning. Again.
Don't get me wrong, I am very, very thankful for the faith family that I have. It is a relatively diverse group of people who come together more or less weekly for the purpose of seeking spiritual guidance and fulfillment. And it's exquisitely important to note that some of the people who I commune with regularly on the most spiritual levels do not frequent the same church--or any church.
To be completely honest, I have a very paradoxical relationship with organized religion. Which is a bit odd given my personal history and what I consider my depth of faith to be.
My dad has been a pastor since I was three in a Mennonite church. First at West Union in Parnell, IA for 17 years, an now at Beth-El Mennonite in Colorado Springs for the past 18 or so. (For those of you whose education about Mennonites has come from reality TV or tour-guide type books, we drive cars and wear shorts and listen to Black Eyed Peas and drink beer and have real live flush toilets and electric lights and I have never owned a horse.) If you've never attended a Mennonite Church, do. They are--generally speaking--very welcoming, tolerant, grounded, deeply spiritual people who are less interested in "the Bible tells me so" than "love thy neighbor". My experience has been one that has grounded me to seek Truth, and not based on religion.
Let me explain:
The Bible tells a love story. It is not, contrary to popular belief, a book of rules and regulations and judgements about lifestyle and lists of punishable sins.
It is amazing and heartbreaking to me how many people read the Bible--regularly--and completely miss the point. There are, roughly, 1186 chapters in the version of the Bible most widely read. (For you scholar-type people, there are several different versions and scripts used in other faiths, especially Jewish tradition, that are not usually published in the version decreed as acceptable by King James the somethingth--thus the King James version. It gets fairly confusing, but scholars decided which books to include in this version, which as been accepted as Unarguable Truth by Christians Everywhere ever since.) This is not your average lazy Sunday read. To even plow through some of it will take days. Most people cannot even read the whole thing in a year.
It seems to my little pea-size brain that the Biblical story is easiest to understand when taken in the context of the original listeners. What details were important culturally and socially? What parts that seem insignificant to me may have had fundamental meanings to those originally hearing the story?
In that context, I realize that there was a lot that God asked of those who claimed to love and follow God. Take Jesus, for example. He did not come to die on the cross to save our sins. As I read the story in the context of the Old Testament, following the entire story line, it seems his original intent was to completely buck the politio-religious system that existed at the time. I would even argue that he didn't come to establish followers, but was God's effort at a continued relationship with misguided humanity. In the end, salvation through his death on the cross was the gift he left for those who entered into that relationship with God.
I'm not sure I can measure up.
In the wake of a lot of prattle about gun control and Chick-fil-a over the past couple of weeks, I was deeply grieved to see that, once again, Christians everywhere have confused a commitment to an issue over commitment to people. Commitment to relationships with people, no matter the "cause". Truthfully, it makes me ashamed to be associated or categorized with those who would use one's experiences and understandings--in this case even oneself--against them. I know that I've heard people say, "Well, we have to draw the line somewhere," when defending the contradictions of their beliefs and their actions. But the Truth is that the line between right and wrong runs through the middle of each one of us. We'd tear ourselves and everyone we care about apart if we tried to draw a hard line irrespective of the relationships on either side. It's impossible.
I do not intend to stop going to church. Even though it is imperfect--the dysfunction that affects every family affects every church family as well. That's part of being human and part of belonging to a family. I may not agree with how everyone votes or how they choose to spend their money or what they think the issue is. They probably don't agree with me. But I value that relationship and conversation.
I hope that I can teach my kids how to read the Bible and other faith writings--it's one thing to read, another to read wisely. I hope they learn faster and are wiser than I have been. I hope they learn to love enough to be able to enter that relationship and converstaion unconditionally. And though it seems paradoxical at first, perhaps I'm just painfully aware of the contradiction of being a Christian.
Don't get me wrong, I am very, very thankful for the faith family that I have. It is a relatively diverse group of people who come together more or less weekly for the purpose of seeking spiritual guidance and fulfillment. And it's exquisitely important to note that some of the people who I commune with regularly on the most spiritual levels do not frequent the same church--or any church.
To be completely honest, I have a very paradoxical relationship with organized religion. Which is a bit odd given my personal history and what I consider my depth of faith to be.
My dad has been a pastor since I was three in a Mennonite church. First at West Union in Parnell, IA for 17 years, an now at Beth-El Mennonite in Colorado Springs for the past 18 or so. (For those of you whose education about Mennonites has come from reality TV or tour-guide type books, we drive cars and wear shorts and listen to Black Eyed Peas and drink beer and have real live flush toilets and electric lights and I have never owned a horse.) If you've never attended a Mennonite Church, do. They are--generally speaking--very welcoming, tolerant, grounded, deeply spiritual people who are less interested in "the Bible tells me so" than "love thy neighbor". My experience has been one that has grounded me to seek Truth, and not based on religion.
Let me explain:
The Bible tells a love story. It is not, contrary to popular belief, a book of rules and regulations and judgements about lifestyle and lists of punishable sins.
It is amazing and heartbreaking to me how many people read the Bible--regularly--and completely miss the point. There are, roughly, 1186 chapters in the version of the Bible most widely read. (For you scholar-type people, there are several different versions and scripts used in other faiths, especially Jewish tradition, that are not usually published in the version decreed as acceptable by King James the somethingth--thus the King James version. It gets fairly confusing, but scholars decided which books to include in this version, which as been accepted as Unarguable Truth by Christians Everywhere ever since.) This is not your average lazy Sunday read. To even plow through some of it will take days. Most people cannot even read the whole thing in a year.
It seems to my little pea-size brain that the Biblical story is easiest to understand when taken in the context of the original listeners. What details were important culturally and socially? What parts that seem insignificant to me may have had fundamental meanings to those originally hearing the story?
In that context, I realize that there was a lot that God asked of those who claimed to love and follow God. Take Jesus, for example. He did not come to die on the cross to save our sins. As I read the story in the context of the Old Testament, following the entire story line, it seems his original intent was to completely buck the politio-religious system that existed at the time. I would even argue that he didn't come to establish followers, but was God's effort at a continued relationship with misguided humanity. In the end, salvation through his death on the cross was the gift he left for those who entered into that relationship with God.
I'm not sure I can measure up.
In the wake of a lot of prattle about gun control and Chick-fil-a over the past couple of weeks, I was deeply grieved to see that, once again, Christians everywhere have confused a commitment to an issue over commitment to people. Commitment to relationships with people, no matter the "cause". Truthfully, it makes me ashamed to be associated or categorized with those who would use one's experiences and understandings--in this case even oneself--against them. I know that I've heard people say, "Well, we have to draw the line somewhere," when defending the contradictions of their beliefs and their actions. But the Truth is that the line between right and wrong runs through the middle of each one of us. We'd tear ourselves and everyone we care about apart if we tried to draw a hard line irrespective of the relationships on either side. It's impossible.
I do not intend to stop going to church. Even though it is imperfect--the dysfunction that affects every family affects every church family as well. That's part of being human and part of belonging to a family. I may not agree with how everyone votes or how they choose to spend their money or what they think the issue is. They probably don't agree with me. But I value that relationship and conversation.
I hope that I can teach my kids how to read the Bible and other faith writings--it's one thing to read, another to read wisely. I hope they learn faster and are wiser than I have been. I hope they learn to love enough to be able to enter that relationship and converstaion unconditionally. And though it seems paradoxical at first, perhaps I'm just painfully aware of the contradiction of being a Christian.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
My Olympics
Watching the Summer Olympics inspires me to be more active and attempt athletic-type things. But the reality is simply this:
I could NEVER do that.
While I like to be active, my abilities are limited with average (and even slightly below-average) performance at waaaayyyy above-average effort.
I propose a new Olympic event. It's called Mom-lympics. The events will be as follows:
1. Moving Target Pigtails
2. Work-Family Balance Beam
3. Couch Cushion Diving
4. Swimming in Circles (a specific rule here is that you may only use one limb for actually swimming, and must have at least 4 kids you are responsible for)
5. Wet Toddler Steeple Chase
6. Speed Stain Removal
7. Matching Sock Search
8. Creative Drinking
9. Unevenly Matched Bars
10. Weightlifting (you have to lift each of your children 10 times while singing a Disney tune)
Gold is awarded to the parent who is still laughing at the end.
I could NEVER do that.
While I like to be active, my abilities are limited with average (and even slightly below-average) performance at waaaayyyy above-average effort.
I propose a new Olympic event. It's called Mom-lympics. The events will be as follows:
1. Moving Target Pigtails
2. Work-Family Balance Beam
3. Couch Cushion Diving
4. Swimming in Circles (a specific rule here is that you may only use one limb for actually swimming, and must have at least 4 kids you are responsible for)
5. Wet Toddler Steeple Chase
6. Speed Stain Removal
7. Matching Sock Search
8. Creative Drinking
9. Unevenly Matched Bars
10. Weightlifting (you have to lift each of your children 10 times while singing a Disney tune)
Gold is awarded to the parent who is still laughing at the end.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
sister-wives
There are sisters, and there are sistas.
This post is about the latter. The women in my life who complete me, and who are my closest companions. The ones who understand what makes me tick, and who love me anyway when they don't. These are the women whom share my family and my cooking (which is saying something); who parent my children and who don't mind me parenting theirs. These are the women I want to grow old with, laugh with, cry with, breathe in life with.
I had the privilege of spending two weekends IN A ROW with these amazing people.
We spent a lot of time talking, eating good food, and spent time in both Santa Fe and Taos. If you have never been there, go. Both places are beautiful, especially with the Native history and influence in the area. Plus, the artwork, architecture and jewelry are second-to-none.
This peace was good preparation for the following weekend. My sister-sista and I drove to KS with our combined five kids to visit our cousin-sista and her three. We visited a farm where our grandad grew up and is still owned by Mom's cousin; we played and went swimming and ate freeze-pops and had movie night outside on the lawn. We managed a few minutes of adult conversation spread over two days. We really did look like sister-wives with our eight children all blended together like the Sneetches after their stars got all mixed up:
". . . . Until neither the Plain nor the Star-Bellies knew, whether this one was that one . . . or that one was this one . . . or which one what what one . . . or what one was who."
I love the expressions of everyone watching the pigs. "What's it doing, Mama?"
These two littles look an awful lot like three mostly grown up bigs did.
And since it wasn't chaotic enough, we added fire. A whole case of sparklers.
Ahhhhh. This is what lifetimes are made of. Thank you, sistas, for feeding my heart.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Once Upon Allison Reunion
On July 4th, we drove 10 hours to the booming burg of Alpine, AZ for the Allison Family Reunion. In addition to seeing long lost mostly related relatives, we enjoyed good home cooking, hours of catching up conversation, four-wheeler tours, sight-seeing pit stops and a small-town Independence Day Spectacular (Allison Float in the town parade included).
I should note that no 20 hours on the road with three children isn't necessarily my idea of the ideal vacation, but ours travel well with the in-flight movie of their choice. (For those of you who believe I am bending to sorrowful, head-shaking lows by offering nearly 4 hours of screen time each way, I do not apologize. You may consider yourself to be the chauffeur for our next trip sans electronics. Please be prepared to wipe mashed banana off the ceiling, provide snacks at 20 second intervals, play the 'smelly feet' game, be nearly deaf after 2 hours of 21-month-old screeching, sing "wheels on the bus" a bazillion times--with motions--and say "black probe droid" five times fast.)
Here are some photographic highlights of the trip, in no particular order:
I should note that no 20 hours on the road with three children isn't necessarily my idea of the ideal vacation, but ours travel well with the in-flight movie of their choice. (For those of you who believe I am bending to sorrowful, head-shaking lows by offering nearly 4 hours of screen time each way, I do not apologize. You may consider yourself to be the chauffeur for our next trip sans electronics. Please be prepared to wipe mashed banana off the ceiling, provide snacks at 20 second intervals, play the 'smelly feet' game, be nearly deaf after 2 hours of 21-month-old screeching, sing "wheels on the bus" a bazillion times--with motions--and say "black probe droid" five times fast.)
Here are some photographic highlights of the trip, in no particular order:
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Burning
This is a bit surreal.
Just for a bit of history: a forest fire started in a popular hiking canyon just west of Colorado Springs sometime on Saturday afternoon. No one yet knows the cause. Over the last 4 days firefighters, forest service and military groups have been trying to contain--at least slow the progress--of this blaze.
At 4pm this afternoon, famous unpredictable Colorado weather played a major part of pushing this fire down into town. The smoke has been as thick as fog.
This taken on my phone from the corner just behind the administrative building of the hospital around 4, when the winds kicked up.
This is from Clay's phone, at the shop, as the wind began carrying the smoke northeast. (Perspective: our shop is on the far east end of the city.)
This one was posted on Facebook and shows the extent of the fire. For anyone familiar with the area, you can see the "scar" of the old strip-mine area near the center of the photo.
As of right now, 32,000 people have been evacuated. The entire northwest side of Colorado Springs has been ordered to leave.
Flying W Ranch has burned. That is sad and even the newscasters started crying when the news came in. Many of us have been there multiple times and taken family there for a taste of the "old west".
Someone asked me if the people living here think about the risk when building. Just like people who live in tornado alley, people know that it is an inherent risk of living here. We know it can happen, but when it does happen, it doesn't make it any less devastating to the people that it happens to.
Miraculously, there have been no injuries reported, of residents or firefighters. I pray that continues. I thank the residents who have been incredible at cooperating with the evacuation orders, and the many, many people who are working late into the night to provide temporary shelter and comfort for those who are displaced.
They say history doesn't feel like it when you are living it, but I disagree. This will be talked about for generations.
Just for a bit of history: a forest fire started in a popular hiking canyon just west of Colorado Springs sometime on Saturday afternoon. No one yet knows the cause. Over the last 4 days firefighters, forest service and military groups have been trying to contain--at least slow the progress--of this blaze.
At 4pm this afternoon, famous unpredictable Colorado weather played a major part of pushing this fire down into town. The smoke has been as thick as fog.
This taken on my phone from the corner just behind the administrative building of the hospital around 4, when the winds kicked up.
This is from Clay's phone, at the shop, as the wind began carrying the smoke northeast. (Perspective: our shop is on the far east end of the city.)
This one was posted on Facebook and shows the extent of the fire. For anyone familiar with the area, you can see the "scar" of the old strip-mine area near the center of the photo.
As of right now, 32,000 people have been evacuated. The entire northwest side of Colorado Springs has been ordered to leave.
Flying W Ranch has burned. That is sad and even the newscasters started crying when the news came in. Many of us have been there multiple times and taken family there for a taste of the "old west".
Someone asked me if the people living here think about the risk when building. Just like people who live in tornado alley, people know that it is an inherent risk of living here. We know it can happen, but when it does happen, it doesn't make it any less devastating to the people that it happens to.
Miraculously, there have been no injuries reported, of residents or firefighters. I pray that continues. I thank the residents who have been incredible at cooperating with the evacuation orders, and the many, many people who are working late into the night to provide temporary shelter and comfort for those who are displaced.
They say history doesn't feel like it when you are living it, but I disagree. This will be talked about for generations.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Grandparents
I remember my mom's 36th birthday. It was the year of the 17-year cicadas in Iowa, and we sat in the dining room with the shades-of-70's-green and brown shag carpet, eating homemade cake and ice cream. We gave her little trinket gifts and sang and she smiled and said 'thank you.' Then she wailed, "I'm SO OLD!"
Now I'm 36. And most days, I don't feel too bad, but I'm starting to see new wrinkles and my skin is turning papery in certain places, if only just. My joints don't ache, but they are starting to creak, and when I jump on the trampoline I feel like every organ under my bellybutton is going to fall out on the next bounce.
Mom is in her early (very early) 60's. She walks just like her dad and LOVES doing things for her grandkids she NEVER would've done for us. Like make certain that there is a candy dish within reach in every single room. And telling them not to bother picking up the toys. And they LOVE her back.
On the days that are hardest on my morale for being a mother, and I find myself wondering what's in it for me, I have to remember that every adult with grandchildren says that being a parent is only the work you have to do to be able to reach the penultimate joy. Which is SPOILING ROTTEN all your grandchildren.
Just look how happy they are in that chaos. I guarantee that if those were all their own squirrelly boys and unsmiling daughter, not sitting still and smiling nicely for a photo, they wouldn't have been nearly as giddy. There is a good reason I still shudder when I hear "Olan Mills" or "family pictures".
But we are SO BLESSED they are here.
Two years ago, on December 3rd a little after 6pm (and about 2 minutes after my sister and brother-in-law had picked up their two little boys), two men came to the door. Dad, thinking it was Mom coming home from Bible Study (she was already 15 minutes late), went to the door to meet her. Two men entered armed with pistols, pushed him to the floor and held him at gunpoint for nearly 20 minutes while they searched the house for someone they thought was hiding there. As they left, one said, "Don't move." Dad waited for the bang that would end his life on this earth.
But the gunshot didn't come.
The men left. Dad waited, still, about 60 seconds before running up the stairs and picked up the phone to call 911. At that moment, Mom walked in.
According to police reports, this was the only breaking and entering that year which did not end in someone getting shot and killed.
We are lucky in so many ways. There are many times that I have felt that divergence in what could have been and what is within the last few years. I've realized that, many times, our lives become as defined by what almost happened as by what has happened.
Dad said that, while the men were yelling and threatening him, he knew he was being held in God's hand. He felt God's indescribable presence, the "peace that passes all understanding." He knew that no matter how that night ended, he was being held in the hands of One bigger and more complete and more whole than any of us can ever be.
There is an awful lot that I think I believe. Some of it very strongly. But there are only two things I know. I know that there is so much more out there that we cannot see or study or understand. And I know that, when our souls leave this limiting body, one of the only things we can take with us is love. Not romantic love or happy love or content love, although it may be all of those things, too. God-love, Peace-love, Whole-Love. That love that we can only get from one Source and that cannot be completely understood in this life.
And every time I think about how frustrating my kids can be in any given moment, I think about how much my parents have impacted my kids, and how much my grandparents have impacted me, and I pray that I can be that for my grandchildren someday, too.
Someday.
Now I'm 36. And most days, I don't feel too bad, but I'm starting to see new wrinkles and my skin is turning papery in certain places, if only just. My joints don't ache, but they are starting to creak, and when I jump on the trampoline I feel like every organ under my bellybutton is going to fall out on the next bounce.
Mom is in her early (very early) 60's. She walks just like her dad and LOVES doing things for her grandkids she NEVER would've done for us. Like make certain that there is a candy dish within reach in every single room. And telling them not to bother picking up the toys. And they LOVE her back.
On the days that are hardest on my morale for being a mother, and I find myself wondering what's in it for me, I have to remember that every adult with grandchildren says that being a parent is only the work you have to do to be able to reach the penultimate joy. Which is SPOILING ROTTEN all your grandchildren.
But we are SO BLESSED they are here.
Two years ago, on December 3rd a little after 6pm (and about 2 minutes after my sister and brother-in-law had picked up their two little boys), two men came to the door. Dad, thinking it was Mom coming home from Bible Study (she was already 15 minutes late), went to the door to meet her. Two men entered armed with pistols, pushed him to the floor and held him at gunpoint for nearly 20 minutes while they searched the house for someone they thought was hiding there. As they left, one said, "Don't move." Dad waited for the bang that would end his life on this earth.
But the gunshot didn't come.
The men left. Dad waited, still, about 60 seconds before running up the stairs and picked up the phone to call 911. At that moment, Mom walked in.
According to police reports, this was the only breaking and entering that year which did not end in someone getting shot and killed.
We are lucky in so many ways. There are many times that I have felt that divergence in what could have been and what is within the last few years. I've realized that, many times, our lives become as defined by what almost happened as by what has happened.
Dad said that, while the men were yelling and threatening him, he knew he was being held in God's hand. He felt God's indescribable presence, the "peace that passes all understanding." He knew that no matter how that night ended, he was being held in the hands of One bigger and more complete and more whole than any of us can ever be.
There is an awful lot that I think I believe. Some of it very strongly. But there are only two things I know. I know that there is so much more out there that we cannot see or study or understand. And I know that, when our souls leave this limiting body, one of the only things we can take with us is love. Not romantic love or happy love or content love, although it may be all of those things, too. God-love, Peace-love, Whole-Love. That love that we can only get from one Source and that cannot be completely understood in this life.
And every time I think about how frustrating my kids can be in any given moment, I think about how much my parents have impacted my kids, and how much my grandparents have impacted me, and I pray that I can be that for my grandchildren someday, too.
Someday.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
This one guy I know . . .
When I was twenty, I decided I would probably not get married.
It wasn't that I don't like guys, I just didn't see most guys as marriage and commitment material. While some of my gal friends would be ogling at the eye candy, I was seeing Mr. Unreliable under that six-pack and chiseled jaw.
Perhaps some of it had to do with nursing school, and knowing that even the best bodies succumb to the wisdom advice of wrinkles; the strongest arms decide that it's better to be able to wave the bat-wings at one's best friend instead of hefting weights until those biceps are shiny.
Besides.
I'm not the easiest person to live with. You can ask my sister, whom I shared a room with for most of my growing up; or my cousin, whom I challenged for the alpha-bitch status every time our parents got together to try to have an adult conversation. (I can say that because she is now one of the three people who I tell my secrets to.)
Or you can ask this one guy I know.
The truth is, he makes my world go 'round.
He cooks almost every night, and usually ends up cleaning up, too. He makes sure the house is clean when we have guests coming over. He makes sure we all have clean underpants when I get lazy. He is starting to get gray at the temples, which is distinguished-looking, and he looks best when his hair is all mussed first thing in the morning--especially if he is holding one of the kids.
There are only about three things he can't do:
1. Sing
Just trust me.
2. Drive slowly
to anywhere in town. He does ok on the open road.
3. Be diplomatic
He will tell it like it is. Especially if you are being an idiot.
Other than that, he can literally do anything. He's better at changing diapers, getting a crying baby to sleep, cooking, making excellent adult beverages, gardening, decorating, yard work, fixing things, putting Transformers back together--just to name a few--than I will ever be.
Mom once told me, "Lisa, when you find Mr. Right, you'll be engaged long enough to order the flowers. Maybe."
She knows me well.
When Clay and I met, I told him I wasn't interested and, while I was happy to comply with being a climbing partner, dating was O-U-T. Once I finally conceded that maybe I kinda sorta could be persuaded to be a little bit interested, we dated for three whole months.
Then I asked him (Yes. I asked him. You read correctly.) to marry me, and the rest is history.
I love this guy.
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