Giving thanks - November 15:: A Time To Remember

I'm so thankful for this book and it's telling of the Pilgrim's true story. I got to share parts of it with my daughter's advisement class twice in the last two weeks. (I'm thankful for that too.) Through the book I'm reminded that it's impossible to be grateful and resentful at the same time.

I'm choosing the grace of gratitude.

The Good Samaritan was a 6th grader - the story.

A week ago I spent my week with about eighty 6th graders* in Vacation Bible School. That's a lot of 6th graders. Our structure for the 3 hour morning is that after a very fun and loud gathering (of what turned out to be 440 kiddos), they head out, by grade level and group. Three groups going to three activities and switching during the morning so they get to do all three.

I love teaching, talking, sharing, all of it, so for about 9 years, I've jumped at the chance to be a story teller. This year, we walked through the significance of the Jesus' Parables. I love the parables. I love these stories that require thinking and learning to open them up, to understand them, to grasp the clues about who God is and how He operates.

So the 3rd day, we focused on The Good Samaritan.

I struggled with how this story could go beyond just a good guy - how to make it meaningful. These beautiful kids range widely in their backgrounds and home situations - from white/suburban/churchy to hispanic/gang territory/unchurchy. How do you help them see a division of unspoken law in a way that touches their hearts and minds but doesn't really divide them as a group? So we talked about the division between homeless people and the rest of us.

I asked them about what I should do about the homeless lady I ran into that morning. They all replayed what they had been taught - you shouldn't give them money.
Why?
Because: they might not be really homeless, they might use the money for drugs, they might use the money to buy alcohol, they might just keep coming back to you instead of getting a job. (The list went on.)
But how do you feel when you see a homeless person?
Icky. Bad. Really bad. Sometimes they have homeless kids. And I think sometimes they get really, really hungry and really, really cold. I want my mom and dad to pull over so I can give them the rest of my dinner from the restaurant we ate at. My mom says we can give them a bottle of water - that's all.
What do you wish you could do?
I wish I could help. I wish I could give them something.
How can we help?
We can make sandwiches. (Light bulb!)

We continued, talking about how we can share what we have, even if what we have is very little or all we have is a kind smile or a prayer. None of us really wanted to just walk past the homeless person as if they weren't there.

So the next day, my friend Robin and I abandoned plans for a game or another way to set the scene for the next parable. Instead we set up two tables covered with butcher paper, food prep gloves, bread and knives - one table with turkey, ham, mayo and mustard and the other with peanut butter and jelly.

As each group came in they found a place at the table and made a sandwich - the best sandwich, or their favorite or one that anybody would love. David tried to make a triple decker with peanut butter, turkey and ham, but it just wouldn't fit in the sandwich bag. They wrote messages, drew smiley faces, and even prayed over the gifts in ziplock bags.

Then they sat down to hear the story about the friend at midnight. 

When we finished and they went on to recreation or games, Robin and I got to remind them that "tonight, someone is going to eat, because of you." They beamed on their way out. A couple of kiddos said they were going to share sandwiches with a kid at school who doesn't bring lunch. And several said thanks for letting them do that.

I'd asked our Pastor Larry for a place to take these sandwiches and he responded later with a note - they were to be delivered to the Long Beach Rescue Mission. To the division called Samaritan House. (I think of that as a wink from God.)

So, while I was moved to tears over the miracle of the 6th graders' hearts and hands, my husband took 102 sandwiches, some apples and tangerines to the people we all too often don't really see.

My own daughter was one of the sandwich makers. She's taken the lead on making sandwiches on Sunday mornings to have with us on the way to church, just in case.

So maybe the word, "homeless" popped into my mind by coincidence. And maybe the kid said, "We can make sandwiches" by chance. Maybe even, the place was called Samaritan House out of serendipity. But I think, by definition, the remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent casual connection was totally orchestrated by the One who wants me to understand His heart and His love for all His creation.

In the parable of the sandwich makers.

* And an amazing 5th grade teacher whom I'll share about in a later post.

Quotable Sunday ~ The Name is Mom

"What am I supposed to do with my life?  The question of how to live our lives especially presses on those of us who sense we are not merely humans trying to be spiritual, but are deeply spiritual beings endeavoring to live as fully human."

- Brent Bill, The Sacred Compass

Spiritual motherhood might be more interesting a consideration than I have, well, considered. It isn't the intentional teaching of the theological thought, the Bible story, the scripture. It is the glasses I loan to my boy or my girl who, standing in the yard, declares to the beauty of the night's sky -- "Wow!," when I simply say, "Yes -- He is that amazing."

The Happy Mother's Day Mom ~ The Name is Mom

Here she is in the midst of an art show at my daughter's school. The one who defined the word, Mom, for me. For those of you who, like me, enjoy a list, here are her astounding accomplishments:

• Taught me, from the first skin on skin touch of my life, the meaning of faithful love
• Raised two girls, in the face of the unpredictable, inconceivable event of her husband leaving her when her second daughter was just days old
• Walked, whistling in the dark, with a desperate need for her heavenly Father, seeking and trusting Him for everything
• Made ball gowns for grown up ladies
• Made school and play clothes for not-so-grown-up young ladies
• Taught that "young and lady" were inextricably linked words which did not exclude fun, but did require discernment
• Worked, when many moms stayed at home
• Cooked endless meals when the kitchen was her least favorite room
• Responded to every little peep, tear, wail, story, action, need, desire, requirement coming from either my sister or me and often with the word, "no"
• Gave up things I can't imagine or haven't considered to provide a home and those previously mentioned "needs"
• Repaired endless tears, rips, breaks to toys, clothes and bears
• Scolded
• Cajoled
• Loved
• Encouraged
• Never (NEVER!) missed a concert from the time I picked up my violin in 7th grade until I graduated college and there were many orchestras 
• Typed term papers that were started waaay too late
• Let go when I moved for my career, but was never really too far
• Moved in for weeks when the babies came
• "Reminded" me of all the mommie techniques required for those babies
• Hosts endless overnights and after school meals for my kiddos
• Loves at every corner
• Tells good secrets 
• Shares every experience
• Houses old secrets
• Giggles in cahoots
• Listens

Mom is somewhat ageless. My cousin Pam told me yesterday about my mom's secret plan to focus on herself over summer so she can take on 4th graders three days a week after school and 6th graders every Wednesday morning. After the recent passing of our next door neighbor, Mom announced she's also decided not to make friends with anyone over 40. They can't be relied upon to be around when she wants to play.
I love her like crazy and I'm very aware, very aware of how blessed I am to have her for all that has been and all that is in front of us.

Guest Blogger, New Blogger, Meghan ~ The Name is Mom

There's a new blogging gal on the block and this musing on motherhood is her inaugural post.
I hope you'll stop by and visit Meghan at The Brain Frame:

~.~.~

My little Ella is 9 months old. She's lived as long outside as she did inside. I've heard a comedic statistic: "90% of the population was unplanned." Ella is one of those 90%. My husband and I were in the crucible of life: differentiating ourselves from each other, moving through personal past pains and how they were affecting our married life. We had divorce pounding at all doors around us: my husband's brother as well as his mother were in the midst of divorce proceedings. The terror and guilt (yes, guilt) I felt at discovering I was pregnant still leaves me jealous of those moms from whom I hear jubilant and tear-filled excitement over their announcements. I look forward to the day when I am that expectant mother.

A close friend jokingly suggested that we name our daughter-to-be Phoenix, a beauty rising out of the ashes of life around us. We decided (not only do we live in Arizona, and felt that it would have just been too cliche) that it was a bit too 'out there' for our little one. While we chose a more traditional name, I still see the image of the mythical Phoenix as a picture of her. She is strong, independent, fiery, full of life and of a spirit that absolutely amazes me. As she moves into life--which is destined to be full of her own pains and struggles--she will come to a place where she will build her own pyre, step into it, and emerge reborn, stronger, more beautiful, and more determined than she ever imagined she was capable of being. She is my hero.

Although the anticipation was full of fear, stepping into the roll of mother was just perfect. Having Ella has changed me in so many ways--ways that I didn't even know I needed to change, needed to discover, or had the capacity to do. For many years I have hung onto Psalm 27:13 as a life promise: "I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." Years ago I found this and wondered what it actually might look like for me. And with Ella, every moment of my days is that promise, fulfilled to the fullest extent that I couldn't have even imagined. She is the goodness of the Lord in this land of the living, and at times I can't even bear the joy that fills my heart. She is the beauty grown from the ashes of my life.

My Phoenix, my Goodness, My Ella.

A rubber band or two and God ~ The Name is Mom

I'm not saying whom, but someone in my house (besides me) can spit out snappy responses with a bite. (OK, more than one someone.) I've found myself concerned, confounded, curious about the how of the necessary change. Admonishment, punishment, etc.? Not so effective when the moment strikes and the response is spat. So there we are, my Missy and I on Sunday at church and our pastor takes the stage (in my younger days it was a pulpit - now it's a stage) and begins to talk about blessing with our mouths.

Two seconds into it, I was giddy. Exuberant even. There he was, my friend, my brother, my pastor talking directly to me...I mean, my girlie and I, us, her, us! Bless. Choose to bless. Bless with your tongue. Oh the talk is much longer about how he got there and the James and Corinthians scriptures that underscore the dangers of the tongue, but all that mattered was the shift.

As a mom I know the distraction away from "don't" to "do" is powerful. And there we were. Soaking it in. Bless.
Bless.
Bless.

Then he handed out these lovely bracelets (rubber bands) to remind ourselves every time we revert to misusing our mouths. We're in. Both of us. Even as we snap away, the awareness has shifted. Oh, I love my new point of view and I love watching daughter, my friend snappin!

Once in a while God does the parenting.

Satisfaction Saturday ~ Seasons, Cycles, Renewal

This week has been filled to brim with lessons and underscoring of life's cycles, seasons and God's always-fulfilled promise of renewal.


This Redbud tree graces my backyard. Its called the Forest Pansy tree. We have two other Redbuds in the front yard, Western Redbuds. My friend, John Petach, a wonderful northern California artist, made a great argument for planting these about eight ago. They're slow growing and provide four seasons for we Californians who seem to have fewer. 

In spring the Redbud offers a showing of these profuse and beautiful, more-pink-than-red buds. The buds are followed by leaves. Green on the Western, deep red on the Forest Pansy. Both heartish shaped. These take us through summer when, the Western version adds magenta pods. Leaves and pods turn to brown in fall, and drop. Winter in both trees leave the leafless tree that speaks to the barren rest of winter, preparing, gestating to spring.

I love these trees and all the more as they progress through their cycle.


The pondering alongside, is the loss of a dear, dear, family matriarch, my Aunty Margie. The earthquake of my 7th year brought a baby sister, a departing father (and doggy) and new neighbors. The Foscos, Margie and Fred, moved in to the house next door and brought their three kids, Barbara, 16 and model beautiful, Nancy, 14 cute, darling, fun and the one I wanted to be just like when I grew up, and Freddy, 12, a lanky blond mystery called older boy.


Margie saw the effects of loss in our house and quickly enfolded Mom and we girls. We were granted side door access and spent our days running in and out of the Fosco house. We attended graduations, had the best baby-sitters in the world (Nancy did my hair and make-up, taught me how to eat bags of sunflower seeds and could read a Nancy Drew book in one night), ate bowls of Mostaccioli at every family gathering, watched TV, played cards and every Christmas Eve after going to church, went directly through the kitchen door to one of our best Christmas traditions, time with the Fosco family. We held conversations across our two facing kitchen windows and often just saw the beckoning arm -  come over. The family had big borders too. Auntie Margie's parents, her brother and sister and their families were all part of the celebration and Uncle Freddie's family would visit from Chicago. There was always a recognition that we were in the midst of comfort and joy. My sister and I received love and correction and laughed loads within this family. It was all our normal daily fare. Uncle Freddie would tease me about my love of those Bums - the Dodgers (it was his team too unless the Cubs were in town). My sister was teased about how she drove her VW into the driveway, stopping an inch before the front porch. On a dime. Margie allowed the escaping into her house in my teen years when being at home wasn't always my very first choice. We shared weddings and births and were connected in a simple, expected way, the way neighbors can be.


At 89, Auntie Margie passed on and we all gathered again to celebrate her going on to Glory. Freddie's son, Nick created a beautiful slide show of his "Gigi's" life. I absorbed every picture. I learned bits of the life before ours. I never knew she was born in Texas. What I knew and what I experienced all over again as we gathered and ate and talked is this: She was filled with a very happy love. She met the perfect man, Fred Fosco, and grew this family with joy and laughter, leaving all kinds of marks in all kinds of lives. 


The renewal here, is in the gathering. In the connected lives, who love each other because she, when her beloved and both of her siblings were gone, when loads of grandchildren and great-grandchildren were born, just kept enfolding every one as if they were maternally hers. 


In this loss, I see the cycle. There will be, I suppose, some dormant time, but I see the promise of this spring too. Barbara and Nancy are grandmas now. As I sat with and watched two of their beautiful daughters loving their babies, I saw Margie's love all over. 


There is so much satisfaction, and I am blessed, in the confidence of Love and Renewal. 
I love you Fosco family. Good bye Auntie Margie, may you rejoice in the arms of the others who love you too.

Quotable Sunday - Simplicity

"Everything should be made as simple as possible and no simpler." - Albert Einstein

This quote has found it's way into my life three times recently. So I'm paying attention. The third time way yesterday, as the chapter quote in the book I'm starting, Simplicity,  by Mindy Caliquire, on care of the soul. (It's one of a four part series from Renovare.)

If I hold this up next to my realization that I lean into the complex to get to the simple, I'm encouraged. I'm seeking simple. But in honesty,  I can spend more time in the complex or even seek or see complexity when I simply don't need to.

I'm seeing such value in this ideal. Simplicity. And I'll put it the terms that make it work for me: while opening a can of tomato soup and adding milk or water is simple; combining whole tomatoes, sweated onions, chicken stock, a bouquet garni and a bit of rice for soup just might be as simple as it should be and no simpler.

Are you with me?


Oh! And check out the sweet Lisa Leonard giveaway at A Journey to a Simple Life.

I Love:: 21 ~ Belonging.

I am fortunate to belong to a great church. I've been there with my family for a many years. We each have specific roles within the church, have grown and are growing where we are. Before my surgery tomorrow, my friend Faith and her husband, an elder, asked if they could come and pray with us. Well they did, tonight, along with a deacon, and a few of my treasured friends. My house was filled with prayer, love, laughter and a wonderful sense of focus on God's sovereignty and will.

I feel amazingly covered, loved and importantly; that sense of belonging that comes with being a part of the Body. When I think of the analogy - the Body and our bodies - I find it poetic and joyful to think that we do want each other to be whole and well - in the same way the body sends the out white blood cells to conquer infection. 

The body wants the body to be whole.

The Body needs the Body to be whole.

I am so pleased and satisfied to simply be a part.

I will sing of the blessings of the LORD forever. 

I Love:: 20 - Quiet

My current situation has me in the quiet spot.

This doesn't mean it's quiet around me.

But I am quiet. Can't really do too much busy-ness.

So here I am.

An interesting space.

Faithfulness

Yesterday, the last day of 2009,  my mom had a little surgery. It only lasted an hour and a half. But the day itself was long.
Just after we arrived in the pre-operative room, our pastor came by to tell my mom that she's beautiful and that she's loved with the lavish, incredible love of God. His faithfulness, his love, poured over my already faith-filled mommie.
So, as I sat in the waiting area, on my own, because my darling husband was home for that part of the day with Mom's dog and our children, I could sit in complete confidence.

That confidence is knowing that my mom felt whole and prayed over and loved and safe. It made me feel all the more faithful myself. And that's a delight.