Monthly Archives: September 2009
A Moment in God’s Presence
“It’s not just what you think, you know. Everyone thinks it is all fear and trembling. And some days it was. Especially in my early years. But I will tell you the truth. The memory that keeps my heart strong and my head clear is the thought of days when my heart was pure before Him. When I had spent time reading the Sacred Texts, preparing myself beforehand, had sung His praises, asked for forgiveness of my sins, I would enter the temple and suddenly be engulfed in His presence …”
At that moment he jerked his head back and stared into the ceiling as if he were seeing some opening into heaven itself. He made a small keening cry, like that of a newborn child. Then he looked down and his gaze was turned so inward he seemed to have forgotten we were even present. Several more tears fell from his cheeks onto the table. Finally he looked up again, not quite back to the ceiling but just over our heads, as if meeting our gaze would have simply been too much at that moment.
“G-d really does have a presence, do you know?” He asked it almost petulantly, as though his proximity to tears was due to some skepticism on our part. “My whole being would throb with this awareness of His person. I thought I could feel His heart. And at such times I was glad everyone else kept their distance, because often I would dance and laugh and weep and sing and shout all at the same time because my chest felt like it would truly, truly burst if I did not. I felt — I felt … well, have you ever seen a young child greet a beloved father after a long absence? The little arms pumping, the little legs churning, the leap into his arms, the tears in the father’s eyes? I felt like that. A child so overcome with joy at His return that all I wanted to do in this world was to leap as high into His bosom as I could. And I could feel His tears, too. That’s the wonder of it, don’t you see? I could feel His Spirit being fed, His heart gladdened, His pain — yes, His pain — being healed somehow.”
He halted his speech and looked down into his lap somberly. Then he said very quietly, almost a whisper, “I could feel G-d’s pain. In fact, I thought of it on my journey here whenever I looked out at the eternity of the desert. Go-d’s pain because of sin and evil and heartbreak was vast and endless and searing. I can still feel its weight up on my soul.”
He looked at me with a glance that had suddenly grown edgy and piercing. Then he shook his head, obviously disappointed. “That’s only a tiny part of it, don’t you know?”
He threw up his hands in a gesture that spoke of futility and allowed them to fall back limply onto his lap. “I also felt struck by lightning. I tingled with a knowledge that I stood in the presence of the Being who created the universe, who created me. And that anything could happen. I could be ushered into glories unspeakable. I could be granted the kingship of Israel. I could be struck dead. Who knows? When you are in the presence of the King of Kings, destiny — not just your own, but the world’s — can change in the twinkling of an eye.”
“I always believed,” Jacob continued, “that the catalyst for these times of blissful closeness to Him was that I had focuses my attention on Him, not on myself. Not on the fact that the Master of the Universe, may His name be blessed, stood in my presence, and I in His at that moment. I could not even think of such a thing, although I suppose it was true. No, like that little child, I was completely enraptured by His arrival and His presence, and my own part in the matter was completely forgotten. Then, of course, as He surrounded me and wrapped me like an infant in those Abba arms, it became even more impossible to turn a thought unto myself. What caused His joy was not my puny righteousness — my holiness, which would have been like filthy rags to Him had He chosen to examine it. In that moment His charity — His favor — was far too great to scrutinize my fault. Again, it was not about me. Not about me at all. What caused His joy was seeing my rapture at His presence and the communion that it sparked. That is what gladdened His heart. Often I have to remind myself that the example of parenthood is not accidental. His is our Father. He is many other things, too, of course. But He is every bit as much a Father, and more, than any man whose heart has ever ached at being separated from his little ones.”
Jacob took one last gulp of stew and leaned back on the bench, wiping his pathetic beard with an edge of his filthy tunic. “I never forget those moments with the King of Kings, not ever. Today, I suppose I am the most expendable person you could imagine. An old, infirm man. One good whack of a bandit’s sword would do me in. Yet I remember, without vanity I hope, that I have stood in the presence and found favor with Him. And no one can ever take the joy, the knowledge, the certainty of that away.”
————-
This is an excerpt from Hadassah: One Night With the King, a novel by Tommy Tenney with Mark Andrew Olsen (Bethany House, 2004). The speaking character, Jacob, is an elderly priest who has visited Mordecai and Hadassah for the night. He has traveled from Jerusalem to Susa in order to collect offering for the newly restored temple. Hadassah, still a young girl at the time of Jacob’s visit, would later grow to have one night with a different king and, as a result, become Queen Esther.
Recipe Swap Sunday: Green Pea Soup
It’s the end of summer and while I look forward to the warming harvest flavors, I’m not quite done with the freshness of summer. Here’s a recipe that combines both beautifully.
It’s from a brand new cookbook by Bindu Grandhi called Spice Up Your Life: The Flexitarian Way.
The what-a-who-ian way? Flexitarian. Don’t worry; it’s good for you! I’d never heard the term before this book either.
Flexitarian is a nice way to say “vegetarians who cheat.” My friend, Karen, knows exactly what I mean. She’s “a vegetarian who occasionally eats boneless, skinless, vein-less, connective tissue-less chicken.” It’s not picky; it’s selective.
Vegetarian diets are tremendously healthy. Fish, chicken and other non-vegetarian choices can also be very healthy. Flexitarians are … well, flexible. They make healthy food choices, even if those exist outside vegetarian realms.
I was actually a flexitarian (I just didn’t know there was a term for it) before I met my husband and he introduced me to the glorious world of red meats.
Bindu’s cookbook combines a healthy flexitarian diet with traditional Indian flavors.
This soup is light, refreshing, invigorating. I gotta be honest: Rick and the kids weren’t particularly taken by it. They’re not fans of spice. But I loved it! Serve it with a nice, hearty bread and a cheese tray; you’ve got yourself a great meal.
Green Pea Soup
by Bindu Grandhi
- 1 1/2 cup sweet peas or 10 oz frozen peas
- 2T extra light olive oil
- 1 onion, peeled and chopped
- 1 tomato, chopped
- 1 medium potato, peeled and chopped
- 1/2 t cumin seeds
- 4 mint leaves
- 1 1/2 cup whole milk or low fat milk
- salt to taste
- 1/2 t red chili powder
- 1/2 t ground black pepper
- 3/4 t brown sugar
- 1 T cilantro
- bread croutons (optional)
Place peas in a saucepan with just enough water to cover; cook for 8-10 minutes or until tender. Remove from heat, drain and set peas aside. Reserve 2 T cooked peas for garnish.
Heat the oil in a large saucepan. Add onion, tomato, potato, and cumin seeds. Saute for 5-7 minutes or until the onions are tender. Let cool for 5 minutes.
Transfer the contents from the saucepan into a food processor or blender fitted with a steel blade. Add mint leaves, milk and cooked peas; puree.
Pour the mixture back into the large saucepan. Add salt, chili powder, black pepper and brown sugar. Simmer for 5 minutes. Serve hot. Garnish with chopped cilantro, reserved peas and croutons.
Tanya’s Notes: I omitted the potato and used Skim Plus instead of whole or 2% milk. Also, I hate doing dishes, so I always use as few as possible while cooking. With this recipe, I kept everything in one saucepan and used my immersion blender instead of a food processor. This means I only had to wash one pot, one colander and a blender attachment — rather than two saucepans, a strainer, a bowl, a blender, etc. (Actually, I think Rick washed the dishes, but you get the point. 
) Finally, the author recommends serving it hot, but I liked it at room temperature as well. Either way, it tastes great!
How and When to Tell Your Kids About Sex
As an endcap for our lovely little discussion of unpleasant things, I want to recommend a couple excellent resources.
We all know that sex permeates our culture. Kids are going to learn about it probably sooner than we expect. It is far better for them to learn a correct, healthy, biblical perspective from their parents, than for them to learn an alternative lesson from outside sources — classmates, the media or exploration. Unfortunately, many parents wait too long to have “the talk.” They then have to un-teach the errant lessons children already accepted and re-teach the truth.
With that in mind, Stan and Brenna Jones have written a number of fantastic books offering parents “a lifelong approach to shaping your child’s sexual character.”
First is their Parents’ Guide: How and When to Tell Your Kids About Sex. This 250-page book guides parents toward building a Christian understanding of sex and sexuality within their family. The beginning chapters lay the foundation: why sex ed should be much more than a simple relay of biological information, but rather a well-rounded integrated part of forming of godly character. The book then details what and how parents should teach their children by age.
- Infancy through kindergarten: Handling sexual curiosity and sexual play; Preventing and overcoming sexual molestation; Gender identification and sexual orientation
- Pre-puberty: Inoculating your child against destructive moral messages; How and when to explain sexual intercourse; Preparing for the physical changes of puberty
- Puberty: Preparing for dating; Dealing with romance and sexual attraction; Pornography and cybersex
- Adolescence: Building moral discernment about physical contact; Encouraging commitment to chastity; What to tell your child about contraception
The author’s have also included a section on what to do if you’re getting a late start in teaching your kids about sex.
Typically a “Parents’ Guide” accompanies resources for children. You’ll find no exception here. These authors have written a series of children’s books, four in all, that parents may use as tools to teach their children about God’s design for sex. 
The first two books (The Story of Me and Before I Was Born) are picture books parents read to their children. They target kids ages 3-5 and 5-8, respectively. The other two titles are chapter books targeting kids ages 8-11 (What’s the Big Deal; 89 pages) and 11-14 (Facing the Facts; 125 pages).
All of these books are wonderfully age appropriate. The illustrations in the first two are purposefully vague and Impressionistic; the text is thorough and lovingly positive. The chapter books broach every subject you could want to discuss with your kids at those ages. They include diagrams, Q&A sections, discussion starters and plentiful Scriptural supports.
You can currently purchase the entire set of four books from Christianbook.com for just $33.96. (That’s 23% off the cover price!) It’s a great deal. Now, since my kids aren’t that age, I’ve not yet read through the chapter books entirely. However, if they’re of the same quality as the Parents’ Guide and first two books (and I’m sure they are), I highly recommend the entire series.
Answering Tough Questions
I once heard a story of a man riding the subway with his daughter. He held in his lap a large bag filled with metal tools. His seven-year-old daughter sitting next to him asked a question. I can’t remember exactly what it was, something about sex or another adult topic. The father handed her the heavy bag and asked her to carry it for him. She replied “Papa, I can’t! I’m not strong enough.” He answered that when she was old enough, she would be strong enough to carry it. In the same way, when she was old enough and strong enough to carry the answers to her questions, he would give them to her.
I don’t want to burden my children with answers and information they are not strong enough to carry. Children need children’s loads. They may ask adult questions, but as the adults, we are responsible to determine how much they can carry.
The responses to my 2012 Days post made three things evident. First: not many of you are familiar with that part of my story (my family’s history of sexual abuse). Second: my story is not unique; many of you are dealing with similar challenges. Third: a little bit of openness can help a lot of people.
That post was written with one intent: to praise God for protecting my children and giving them an extended innocence, one longer than that which I experienced. This post, however, will deal more with the specific questions asked and the answers I gave to Ellie on that day. Everybody seemed to want to know HOW I answered the questions.
Some with pasts similar to mine avoid the questions all together. Others give far too many details. I hope I’m somewhere in between.
I write this post acknowledging I am an expert at nothing, least of all parenting. I write this not from superior wisdom, but from experience, and with the hope that someone somewhere will be encouraged, challenged or somehow helped.
All right. Without further procrastination, here are the main questions and how I answered them.
Q: Why doesn’t your daddy live with Granny? What is divorce?
A: Divorce is what happens when a man and wife decide they don’t want to be married any more.
Ellie (my wedding-obsessed child) and I have had several discussions about marriage, how important it is, how those promises are made to each other before God. She knows it’s serious stuff and, up to this point, had never considered the possibility that anyone would ever try to take back those promises. The tricky part is explaining honestly what divorce is without mistakenly giving your child new fears. “If Mommy’s mommy and daddy got divorced, maybe mine will too!” Because I don’t want our children to fear, I reiterated how much I love their father and how much he loves me. I explained that everyone means those promises when they say them, but sometimes people forget. Mommy and Daddy, however, still mean those promises today and tomorrow and the day after that. I also reminded them how much we love God and seek to honor Him in all that we do.
Q: Why would someone who loves God break their promises to Him?
When the time and questions come, I plan to tell our children that my father didn’t know God when he was my daddy. (He may know Him now; I don’t know, but that’s a discussion for another day.) People who don’t know God, don’t know how to please God. Even if they make promises to God, they don’t always know what that means. And if they don’t know what it means, it’s almost impossible for them to keep those promises.
When Ellie asked this question, though, she referred specifically to my mom. She knows Granny loves God more than anyone or anything else in existence and simply couldn’t fathom why Granny would do anything to hurt God or make Him sad. My answer is quite specific to our situation, but (as noted before) our situation is not unique. Here’s how our discussion went.
A: My daddy was not a nice man. He did some very bad things and he hurt children. Granny was given a choice: to keep her wedding promises or to protect her children — me and my sister and brothers. She loved her children so much, she chose to keep us safe. That meant she had to get a divorce. God is always sad when people break their promises, but God loves it very much when parents protect and love their children. It’s our most important job.
Q: What did your daddy do? Why was he mean to children?
A: When you’re older we’ll talk about it more. Right now all you need to know is that he did some things he shouldn’t have and that children were hurt because of it. More important than that, though, is that Granny loved her children enough to get them away and keep them safe, as best she knew how. And God helped her! Mommy and Daddy love you the same way. We will always do our very best to keep you safe because we love you and we want God’s best for you.
Q: Did your daddy love you?
A: Sometimes people get confused about what love means. I know my daddy thought I was very special.
—–
More questions will come, I know. I’m already formulating some of my answers. I’ve not given a ton of details here; I don’t think it’s necessary — especially for children as young as mine, but also for internet publication. This is not a matter of telling all without purpose. It’s a matter of telling enough that some may be helped. If you want to discuss details or if you have specific questions, feel free to email me.
“Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.”
– Ephesians 3:20-21 (NIV)
Things unsaid.
Blame it on ADD. Sometimes I start a conversation on this blog, then never get around to finishing it. Other thoughts emerge and seem much more urgent, and I leave all y’all without much closure. I’m going to try to remedy some of that today.
First — THE RUG.
I’ve decided to send it back.
Several of you encouraged me not to settle, and I’m grateful you did. The longer the rug sat in my living room, the less comfortable I felt with it. At the same time, I can’t justify spending the extra money on the “original” rug. If we were talking a little discount, that would be different. But this is a matter of several hundred dollars’ difference, close to two grand, actually. I cannot in good conscience spend that much (more) money on a rug. One rug. For one room … it’s just too much.
So, I don’t know what we’re going to do just yet. In the meantime, though, we’re going back to naked hardwood. (I dread the spam that will surely come from using those two words in the same sentence.)
Second — LONDON.
We had a fabulous time!! In less than four days we saw Westminster Abby, the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, London Bridge, Waterloo Bridge, the Tower Bridge, the National Museum, Trafalgar Square, Harrods, Notting Hill, Hyde Park, Paddington Station, Windsor village, Windsor Castle, Kensington Palace, the Royal Gardens, Canary Wharf, London’s Eye, Piccadilly Circus and the place where they filmed the original BBC “The Office.” Oh, and a bazillion cool little shops and several stops on the “tube.” We ate at a dozen incredible restaurants and stayed in two fine hotels. Overall, it was splended mini-vacation!
Here’s a picture of us inside Windsor Castle.
We have several other, better pictures of the Castle, but this is the best picture of the two of us together. (Isn’t he great?!)
Here’s how Rick spent half the vacation: texting Grandma to make sure the kids were okay and not ruining our future chances of getting away together with free babysitting at home.
Behind him are Parliament (left) and Westminster Abby (right).
Here’s a picture of me trying to remember how to smile. (I am absolutely terrible with poses! It’s best if I’m oblivious to the presence of cameras.)
Here’s another picture of us, this one near a nifty fountain in Hyde Park. I really like this one, even the one Diana appears to be scratching my ear.
Finally, the requisite first-trip-to-London pic:
The subsequent picture, taken seconds later, shows me realizing that, since everyone now has cell phones, these funny booths are now public restrooms.
We learned new words! Nappy, for example, is not something you take in the afternoon, but rather something you change. Like a diaper. Brits don’t get flu shots; they get “jabs” which are covered with “plasters” (a.k.a. band-aids). My favorite, though, was Hooters. This store, unlike the American version, does not offer large-breasted women in too-tight tops serving chicken wings. No, this is a store where you purchase musical instruments, like horns and other things that “hoot.”
I also saw an advertisement of “Top 30 Things We Love About London.” Number 27 stated this: “Going potty with paint.” I have no idea what that means and wasn’t brave enough to ask anyone. With my mom experience, though, I would guess it has something to do with far too much food coloring in some type of sugary food that then produces technicolor poo. Personally, it’s not in my “Top 30″ list.
Last, but not least, we found these:
Yes, you’re reading that correctly: Prawn Cocktail potato chips. This was not an isolated finding. We also found Pringles of this flavor! They were in local shops, the airport, the train stations … Nuts. What’s worse: our daughter — the self-proclaimed “Shrimp Girl” — LOVED them. I bought a bag as a joke, but then had to ask Rick to bring home some more because the kids, Zach included, liked them so much. I didn’t try them. My mother-in-law did. (God bless her!) She said they tasted like horseradish sauce and a little bar-be-que. Interesting.
Third — Well, I had planned to write a third, but this post is already too long! Let me just say THANK YOU. I’ve received several emails, facebook notes and comments about my recent post: 2012 Days. The purpose of that post was simply to praise God for extended innocence. I am SO VERY GRATEFUL that my kids have had charmed lives. There is much more I can say about this, but words elude me. My heart overflows with God’s grace and goodness. He is forever faithful, merciful, GREAT.
I’ve learned (though I never truly doubted) that I am not alone in this challenge. Recognizing this, I want to share more specifically about the discussions I’ve had with our kids. I’ll do that tomorrow. This is not because I’m an expert by any means! Rather, I know that we learn from each other’s experiences. Perhaps something I’ve said or some wording I’ve used can help one of you. Perhaps what I say will spark a discussion where you can help me based on your experiences. I’m happy to take all the help I can get! So, stay tuned. A bit more closure will come in tomorrow’s post.
Summer’s Observations
On summer days when the weather is upwards of 95 degrees, the library is more crowded than the mall. However, when it rains (on equally hot summer days), the mall is more crowded than the library. My conclusion: everyone loves air conditioning, and most people firmly believe that shop therapy can overcome weather depression.
When scavenging seashells, Cape Cod has much more (quantity) to offer than the Jersey Shore. Even with the daily beach combing, shells are everywhere and easy to spot. The Jersey Shore, while more densely crowded and possessing a lower shell supply, provides the best perfectly white sea glass and polished stones, even if they are small. Cape Cod has the mother of pearl.
Kindles are amazing things, but they’re worth little more than a paperweight, if you forget to pack the charger.
Stretch marks don’t burn, as in sunburn. At least not in my experience. I may be rather lobster-esque on all parts of my body, but the silver road maps that cover my thighs and muffins top stay the same. Weird – right? Momentary insanity (brought on by the noxious smell of aloe coupled with searing pain) sprinkled the desire to have my entire body covered in stretch marks. As quickly as it came, the thought left me, and I ordered another mojito (passion fruit, please).
Sea air makes everything soggy and sticky. I love the ocean. No, I really and truly LOVE the ocean. I love the sand (in the appropriate places), the sea, the salty air, the sounds, the breeze, the rocks, the seafood … everything about it! But chips do not last, pretzels wilt, and my beloved freeze-dried green beans turn to mush. Everything else mysteriously becomes sticky, no matter how many times you wash them. It’s a little odd, don’t you think?
Glasses (for seeing) are useless on the sea, especially if a hurricane is coming. Within seconds the mist, salt, and wind combine to coat the lenses with some icky grime that only comes off with 100% cotton tee-shirt material.
I should always pack extra contacts, even when I *know* I won’t need them.
There are two types of tears in soft contact lenses. One is a mere slit which appears to fit back together peacefully. The other type of tear leaves a chunk missing from the edge of the contact. Contrary to what one might think, the contact with the missing piece is actually far more comfortable than the one with the slit. Furthermore (and my optometrist might disagree here), it’s better to have one blind eye and one chunk-absent contact than to wear grimy glasses. Just don’t drive. The depth perception is a little off.
Moms don’t get vacation. Well, we do, but it’s different. Dads (generally speaking) get vacation from everything: work, neighbors, church, household chores and all the stress that comes with all of these. Moms go on vacation, but still cook, clean, take care of the kids, break up fights, settle disagreements, hand out punishments, wake up far too early (and frequently throughout the night), do laundry (if they can), and play in preschool-age-appropriate ways. We still worry about our family’s safety, activities and happiness. We still plan agendas, pray incessantly, and continue to set aside those books we’ve been meaning to read, so that everyone else can relax: read books, take naps on the beach and play golf before a night of non-G-rated movies and poker. And – this is the amazing part – we don’t mind. Not one bit. Somehow seeing everyone else get vacation, even providing the vacation for them, is enough for us. Most of the time.
2012 Days
Certain topics strike fear in the heart of parents. We’re not sure how to explain them or even if we want to talk about them. Do we buy a book? Do we wait for the questions to come? Or do we simply lay it all out of our own initiative? Do we tell the full truth or is it okay to create imaginative explanations? Sex is one of these. The reality of Santa and the Tooth Fairy is another. And let’s not forget homosexuality, which is becoming ever-present even in conservative communities. For us there is another more personal topic: my dad.
Our kids have never met my biological father. I take that back. Ellie met him once at a family wedding, but she was only 10-months-old. I’m sure she doesn’t remember it. Furthermore, even if she did, we made no obvious connection between her and him.
Our kids don’t know anyone who is divorced. They’ve never considered why their granny doesn’t have a husband or why their maternal cousins have a grandfather they don’t share. They haven’t any idea what abuse is, much less rape. And sexual abuse against children? I am absolutely thrilled at their ignorance! How many kids today in American society can boast of such?
But the question remains: how does one explain these things? Especially to young kids who live such a charmed, innocent life?
One of my favorite things about being a parent is the power, as limited as it may be, that I have to protect my children from the childhood I endured. Please understand: my mother is amazing and she did everything she possibly could to give us a safe, wonderful upbringing. She did a wonderful job! But Rick and I have a chance to give our family a fresh start void of all the baggage associated with my family’s dysfunctional past. Our kids can have the life that was stripped from me and my siblings.
Claiming this power, we have intentionally never mentioned my father to our kids. If they ask questions, we answer them, but we’ve never gone out of our way to talk about him. The questions have never come often and never been overly involved. Little things like: “Mommy, what color hair did your daddy have?” or “Mommy, did your daddy teach you to ride a bike?” We’ve never had to get into the messy past. I knew it would come, and I dreaded the day.
Today was that day. Today I couldn’t avoid it. Questions came that made avoidance impossible. Today marks the beginning of a new stage of questioning, a new level of curiosity and understanding, a new level of authenticity and raw truth. Each question led down a path that became stickier and sticker.
“Mommy, where does your daddy live? Why doesn’t he live with Granny? Is she sad that he doesn’t live with her? What’s divorce? Why didn’t they keep their wedding promises? What happened?”
I’m still weighing my answers. It’s difficult to be honest in age-appriate ways without getting too complicated or casting undue blame. Ellie became very upset that Granny would break her marriage vows. She knows those are promises before God and couldn’t imagine her granny ever doing anything to hurt God’s feelings! So I explained as gently as possible that my daddy was a bad man who hurt children. That, of course, led to ask why and how and a load of other questions I wasn’t ready to answer. I simply told her she didn’t need to know right now and that we would talk about it more when she was a little older. (We have talked about sex and good touches and bad touches, but I’m not ready to reveal those details of our family history to someone still oblivious to social boundaries.)
More questions will come. More answers will be required. (Oh, God, help me when they do!) In the meantime, I’m going to rejoice that we made it this far: 2012 days.
I’m okay.
Today is the second day of school. Here’s a picture of our two big kids on their first day.
(See the dress Ellie is wearing? My mother-in-law hand-smocked that dress for my sister-in-law’s first day of kindergarten. Isn’t it precious? She lovingly made every stitch and then carefully preserved it for the next generation. So sweet!)
I had to laugh yesterday. As the parents herded out of the building toward the special prayer and bagel session, at least two of us were singing “It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”
I adore my children and I love having them home with me. I love being a stay-at-home mom! But I am one of the few moms who doesn’t get weepy at sending them to school. I am one of the few moms who actually gets excited to ship them off on this new adventure of learning and socializing. And — let’s be honest — I’m thrilled at the prospect of having a few hours each week to myself!
Part of me (the part heavily influenced by my super-mommy, homeschooling friends and our uber-traditional Mrs. Cleaver family members) thinks I should feel guilty about this, that I should be sadder on my daughter’s first day of kindergarten and my son’s first day of preschool. But most of me is perfectly confident that we’ve placed them in good hands. Most of me rests assured that it is healthy for women to have non-mom times, moments — even short-lived ones — in which they can tend to the other parts of who God created them to be. This doesn’t diminish me as a mom nor increase me as a woman. It just is what it is.
I firmly believe this and have stood emotionally strong in spite of this monumentally transitional period of our lives. That is until I opened a package from Ellie’s teacher.
She gave it to me yesterday, but I didn’t open it until today. Inside the petite bag was a tissue, a cotton ball, a bag of chamomile tea, and a note. It read:
Dear Parent,
Thank you for entrusting your child to me. Your child and I are companions in learning and I am looking forward to our many adventures in Kindergarten.
You have let go of your precious little one. After you have wiped your tears, make yourself a nice warm cup of tea. When you hold the cotton ball close to your face, remember the gentle touch of your little lamb. And remember our good Shepherd, Jesus, will always hold them in His hand.
May God give you His grace and peace today.
Okay, maybe I’m not so okay after all.
But I know that God loves me and He loves my children even more than I do. They are in His hands and in the hands of others who love Him. Let me say it again: we are extremely blessed! And I’m okay with that.
It’s 5am.
I woke at 1am (EST), which would be 6am London time. Is it easier to lose time or gain time? I’m still not sure.
I lain in bed until 4am trying to force myself to slumber. It didn’t work. Instead I prayed. Mama always said the best way to get to sleep is to pray. Satan would happily put us to sleep rather than allow us to pray. That is the logic anyway. My thoughts scattered too freely to form cohesive prayers, so I don’t think it worked. Though it may have in spurts. All I know is that by 4am I surrendered to reading.
I received Kimberly Stuart’s newest yesterday (Stretch Marks, an autographed copy) and am already loving it. She’s a fabulous writer, another author with whom I would love to be best friends. She’s funny and witty and authentic and … well, fabulous. I’m sure I’ll blog about this book before too long.
I’m hungry. All I ate yesterday was airport food and two scoops from Carvel: Caramel Cone and Pralines and Cream. It was lovely! The ice cream that is, not the airline food.
I learned yesterday that if you request vegetarian meals on eight-hour flights, you get served significantly sooner than everyone else. Your food also smells better and probably tastes better, though I would advise against it if you’re not a fan of Indian food.
I sat next to an Indian fella yesterday. We had a nice talk about Hinduism and the relevance of God in everyday life. We also talked about arranged marriages and parenting and how America, as a nation, does not respect marriage as it ought. This line of thinking parallels with another book I’ve been reading: I’d Trade My Husband for a Housekeeper. Contrary to what the title suggests, this is a great book promoting the value of marriage. More specifically, the book’s purpose is to help readers maintain great marriages even after having kids, a task that is much more difficult than I think anyone expects.
My conversation with my seat-mate was nothing compared to the conversation I had with the taxi driver who took me to the airport yesterday morning. (Time frame: the cab ride started around 2am EST; 7am London time. It’s been a long two days, and yet I am still full of energy! WHY?)
This guy was from Nigeria, but had been living in London for quite a while. Not long after starting our one-hour trek from Canary Wharf to Heathrow, I asked him if people in London generally believe in God. He answered “Of course!” but quickly backtracked to say the whole country belongs to the Church of England, which is truly to say nothing at all of what the people believe. He also added some international details about the immigrants, particularly Hindu monks and African Muslims now residing in a large portion of the city. This catapulted into a fascinating discussion of the differences between Islam and Christianity.
Having lived in Muslim Bosnia for some time, I really enjoy these topics. I love hearing why people believe what they do, especially those who have gone back and forth between religions — such as this man had done. He was raised by a Muslim family, but attended Christian schools. As an adult he was part of a protestant Christian church for twenty years before choosing to return to Islam. I found his story … well, challenging.
The kids start school today. I’m not fully sure of what the day will hold. We have opening ceremonies this morning, and it is Zach’s very first day of school ever. Can you believe my baby is starting school? It feel very surreal. After the kick-off events, I think I have a parent’s breakfast or something. And a social for class moms. I hadn’t planned to be a class mom this year, but it seems to be working out that way. It may be a lot of work, but I look forward to building a solid relationship with Ellie’s teachers. It should be fun. And I’ll get to meet all the parents on a new level. Pretty cool.
I sincerely hope my body finds a normal rhythm soon. I don’t know how many 20-hour days I can stand. (Of course, living at Starbucks would not be the worst life for me.) Today will be another long, full day, but I’m thrilled with my life.
Do you ever have those moments when you know you’re rich? Not materially, necessarily, but in life. My life feels so full … it’s overflowing with tremendous blessings, and I can hardly take it all in. I’m overwhelmed with this grace that continues to rain upon me. Even the busy days, long, sleepless nights and wacky internal clock issues kind of tickle me. They remind me of all I’ve been given — all perfectly without reason or merit. GOD IS GOOD. And I’m thrilled to know Him.
