On Easter and Nerdlings

This season of spiritual holidays left me in a state of near-constant reflection. I am always captivated by the very secular interpretation of Easter and the fact that it is kind of a made up holiday, for which a translation accident is partly responsible. (For more specific information, click here for a succinct and accurate summary by the History Channel). 

Don't get me wrong, the religious significance is massive, and represents the crux (play on words intended. Thank you.) of THE love story of all time. The political significance is also staggering, especially if you put the character of Christ in modern-day geo-politics. The saying "live like Christ" takes on a whole new--and, face it, terrifying--significance. 

I also love Love LOVE the Jewish tradition of Passover. The events and story of the Israelites leading up to the Passover is one of the most meaningful stories in religious and global history. It really is the first salvation story. And the fact that it is paired with the Passover Moon, or Blood Moon, makes my breath catch every time I am blessed with clear skies to see it. 

But, more on my spiritual musings later. Here is where Easter week and "Real Life: Holidays with Nerdlings" intersect:

Dyeing Easter eggs is a loosely held tradition in my upbringing, usually culminating in green dye being spilled on a green-and-brown calico carpet, and massive amounts of deviled eggs and egg salad, and at least one egg that gets missed for months, only to be discovered after an argument that culminates in a fistfight about who farted. 

This year, we skipped the tradition, and opted for an early Easter egg treasure hunt in KS over spring break. In the mix of festivities, no one really missed it this past week. 

We did, however, embark on a discussion at breakfast one morning about where eggs come from and how humans might have figured out they were edible. I'm pretty sure there is a fine line between genius and insanity, and I won't place bets on which side of that line the person was on when they figured it out (along with drinking 'whatever comes out of those things when I squeeze them' regarding milk--it was probably the same person).

I am also pretty sure I have the only kids in the world who call each other "cloaca".

It is decidedly more disgusting than calling each other "butt-face" or "fart-head", although it doesn't generally cause quite the same reaction amongst peers on the playground.  In case you aren't familiar, a cloaca is the "the common cavity into which the intestinal, urinary, and generative canals open in birds, reptiles, amphibians, many fishes, and certain mammals", according to Webster. In other, less elegant terminology (thank you, Sister) it is the butt-gina where the eggs fall out.

I am quite certain that zoo camp this summer will provide even more fodder for unusual insults, which may or may not require the insulted to google the term on one's smartphone while the insultee gloats over his superior intelligence, even though he may or may not be bothered to tie his shoes. 

Nine Unicorns

There are precious few things I believe with absolute certainty. One of the things I believe with absolute certainty is STUPID. I believe in STUPID.

There was a debate today between Bill Nye (Bill Nye, the Science Guy, is an Emmy Award-winning science educator) and Ken Ham ("leading creation apologist and bestselling Christian author"). Neither of them are STUPID. They are both highly educated men with advanced degrees who are scholars at heart and aren't shy about speaking publicly about their beliefs.

But.

The debate was about creation vs evolution, and was sponsored by Answers in Genesis. The debate advert states, "Each man delivers what he believes is the best information currently available for his case. Each then has an opportunity for rebuttal and afterward answers questions submitted by the audience." Obviously, the debate is about whether or not God created the universe in 7 days or not.

Tickets sold out in two minutes.

STUPID. STUPID. STUPID.

My question from the audience would have been: "Is it true that the King James version of the Bible mentions unicorns NINE TIMES?"

(The answer is 'yes'. When it was translated, editors didn't know exactly what one particular Hebrew word meant. Creation apologist theory states that these probably represented "the great aurochs or wild bulls which are now extinct." Do you see the impossible double-standard here? Or am I just STUPID?)

Theory of Evolution

I am quite certain I have produced offspring which are better adapted for the changing environment than I am. I have a 10-year-old who can explain Newtons Laws of Motion, and a six-year-old who told me today he learned multiplication at school with the second graders. I am joining the ranks of genetically obsolete and intellectually inferior species than successive generations. My grandchildren will likely grow wings and fly to the grocery store, instead of walking on the common ground like the rest of us. 

It should come as no surprise, then, that my youngest made me wonder if I should commit myself to Neanderthal Science as a subject of study first thing in the morning when she asked me, "Mommy, what comes after sticky?"

Um. *blink* Ummmm. Sticky. I repeat the question in my feeble mind, then aloud, just to be sure I heard correctly. 

"Sticky what?"

"You know: Sticky. What. Comes. After. Sticky." (Carefully annunciated so I can process each word individually.)

This question is coming from a three-year-old blonde missile who is uncomfortably familiar with various viscosities of "sticky". 

"Wash your face and hands? Washing comes after sticky."

She stares at me for a moment with a blank expression, as if trying to figure out how I missed left field so completely that I'm not even in the free parking 2 miles from the stadium. I can see her trying to decide if it is worth her while to bother repeating the question, or perhaps she should ask to borrow my iPhone to watch 'Daniel Tiger' and secretly Google her question. Somehow, she decides that--if nothing else--she may gain some additional amusement from seeing what nonsense her less-evolved mother might come up with. 

She takes a deep breath, and re-states her question slowly and clearly.

"Mommy. What comes . . . after . . . sticky."

I cast about for a reference, some semblance of context to form my response around. What comes after . . . before? 

"Well, what comes before sticky?"

Again, an uncomfortable stare. I have flashbacks to high school trigonometry, or whatever class it was that our teacher was trying to help me understand the value of imaginary numbers. My answer was always reaching towards the theory that, since they are imaginary, they can be whatever I needed them to be to get the correct answer and pass the quiz, which I never did. I ended up taking remedial algebra and finally convinced Will Brenneman that as long as I could consistently balance my checkbook, I would faithfully use a calculator for any other necessary calculation. Or Google it. 

She looks out the window for a moment, as if she can feel her wing buds sprouting out her back. She is clearly annoyed. 

She gathers her patience, turns back to me and gently, ever so gently, explains the context of her question.

"You know. Twenty. Firty. Forty. Fifty. Sticky. What comes," she pauses to make sure I'm still with her, "after sticky?"

It takes me a moment to C.O.M.P.L.E.T.E.L.Y. reorient myself to her question. I feel relief flooding me like baptism. I know this one. 

"Seventy!"

I am triumphant. Perhaps I will be smarter than her for another year. 

Living Better

I think one of the lies of Satan is the definition of 

BETTER. 

 When we are small, we begin to believe the lie, as we are held away from things we want.

"Wait until you are bigger."

And, thus, we begin to believe the lie. 

As we grow, we work more to earn more to spend more so that we can be bigger. Bigger house, bigger car, bigger vacation, bigger retirement, bigger birthday parties, bigger gifts, bigger restaurant tabs, bigger business, bigger debt. Bigger anxiety, bigger stress, bigger schedule.

And when we get to the end, we realize it isn't better. Just bigger.

Bigger regret.

Last weekend, I had the honor and sacred privilege of caring for my husbands grandfather before he died. He was, by the standards of his community, wealthy. He channeled his wealth back into his community and opened a summer resort and winter ski area that was open to the general public in a generation when skiing was only available to the elite who were wealthy enough to purchase a membership to the Country Club. He gave local kids cheap lessons, jobs, instructor certification and a ticket to a different life, where choices were made based on character and not by how much bigger they were able to live. Many left the community for higher education and different opportunities. Almost as many come back every season to pour their hearts back in to their home. 

This makes it better. 

Lloyd seemed to know the difference early enough to mold his life's choices around being better. And, when the time came, he was able to reflect and say, "I've had a good life," and then wait to greet death like an old friend instead of something to be feared. 

The gift of the dying is that we have a window to what is most important. The things that are bigger are not what make life better. Easier, perhaps, at certain times. But not better. We are given direct insight to the difference between bigger and better.

And we can choose BETTER.

New Year's Un-Resolution

2013 is gone and I'm pretty sure I missed it. I got to the end of the year and felt like I didn't check nearly all the things off my list that I had written there. Even though I did get to go camping a couple times with the kids at the Sand Dunes (which is the most peaceful place on earth, in case you were wondering).

So. I wrote down the events I will do in 2014. Some of them are written on the calendar in permanent marker, others will happen spontaneously when there is a nice day. Many of them are simply spaces that fill me up, that help me center on the people that are most important to me. Some of them will require a babysitter or Camp Grandma. Some of the will require doing extra laundry. Some of them will mean skiffing an assignment at school or taking an extra day of precious PTO. But they WILL happen. In no particular order:

1. Stay at the Parlin house with good friends (preferably in the summer when we can be outside fishing in the pond or drinking coffee on the deck.
2. Camping at the Sand Dunes (because it's tradition. And peaceful and beautiful and reminds me how my insignificant troubles are--no bigger than a grain of sand). 
3. King Reunion (July)
4. Buffalo Creek Bike/Camping trip
5. Take Liam and Wyatt hiking at the Crags
6. Cross Wedding (June)
7. Eitzen wedding (July)
8. Sipapu ski trip for Clown Clinic (February)
9. Scrapbook Retreat (January)
10. Ski with the family another weekend, just for kicks.
11. Family bike ride
12. Hubby bike ride
13. Eat at Mountain Flying Fish
14. Hubby Hike
15. Spend a day at Mt Princeton Hot Springs
16. High School Reunion (I'm not going to tell you what year. You get to guess.) 
17. Talk with "Dear Kate" at least once a month, either by text, FB, phone or (ideally) in person. 
18. Seven. Seven minutes of a workout and seven minutes of prayer. Every. Day. Because even the busiest of us can find seven minutes of something we can give up. 

It's going to be a busy year! Let's get started . . . . 

Glimpse of the Holy

One of the privileges of being a mother is that one has an inside line to Spirit. 

Not just the random feelings of spirituality that people experience during euphoric experiences or the faded notes of casual holiness one might experience while singing worship songs during church. 

Occasionally, 

One actually gets to see 

SPIRIT. 

Children are, especially as they are becoming verbal, able to express the language of SPIRIT in its purest form. They aren't yet marred by the constraints of this world, and their souls still remember the language of the ONE who Gave them. . . . (do you hear that?)  

Gave Them

breath

hope

love

spirit

life

GOD

life

spirit

love

hope

breath

I had a GLIMPSE of GOD today. 

Because children still know. 

LOVE the 

I AM.

I was sitting on the floor reading a book to my Graciela (someday, I will tell HER story)

and she looked up at the wall, 

and waved.

waved

I stopped. 

What? Who--What--did she just see?

I asked, "Who were you waving at?"

"Just that thing."

"What thing?" Was it happy?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"It was Gjhwanna."

(There are truly no letters to describe this sound. The first 'note' is kind of breathing through a "G" sound. It's the closest I've come.)

"What is Gjhwanna?"

(she looks at me like I am seriously nucking futz and she is about to send an FMLA note to my boss about how crazy I am)

"It's GJHWANNA! You know. Your Angel."

Uh. 

My Angel.

ANGEL. 

(if it's possible for souls to have a rhythm, mine just skipped a beat)

"What's Gjhwanna look like?"

(Shrugs.)

"I don't know. A Angel."

(DER)

Did I know this once? Have I see my angel before? 

Once? Did I know who this being is? And how close I am--every moment--to the much larger, much more focused, much more HOLY, reality?

When I was small?

did i KNOW?

THIS IS HOLY

AND I AM IN  AWE.

GOD WITH US.

selah

Children are for Humility

There is nothing quite so humbling as children. 

The perspective they bring puts the lid on the crock of any delusions of grandeur I may have of myself, typically at the moments in which I am almost convinced that I am ALL THAT. 

Between a massive belch at the church potluck and the tantrum in the salad isle at the grocery store, or the statement in the drink isle to the local grandma that he's tasted beer, it's a wonder I don't just shrivel up before walking out the door in the morning. Yes, Pride is safely tucked away in the B.C. era of my life. 

Some examples, so you may laugh at my good fortune:

       I am riding my bike, with the wind in my hair. I can feel the power in my legs . . . pedal, Pedal, PEDAL. That little just-turned-three blondie calls out to me from her tag-a-long trailer, "Mommy, put my shade down." 

     "Why?" I ask. "It's not very hot today." 

     "Because I don't want to look at your butt!"

     From my middle child: "Mom, when you were little, were you in black and white?" This is also the child who told his teacher that I am as "pretty as a zebra". 

     And from my eldest, in a hot wheels driving "class" with his younger siblings: "Today, class, we are going to learn how to speed without getting caught." 

These short people (who will only be short for a few more years till they are ALL going to be looking down at me from the rafters--thank you, Clay) have given me a depth I never knew existed. They have given me the ability to be in a euphoria that only exists in movies and the simultaneous capacity to be emotionally anhiliated. 

If they grow up to be God-being, people-loving, justice-seeking, beauty-seeing, courageous-asking, happy-living people, I will rejoice. That will be the ultimate success.