Year: 2011 (Page 2 of 50)

check yes or no

I remarked the other day to KLR how, as an adult at camp, I had very little patience or sympathy for kids with homesickness. This can be attributed to my general lack of empathy skills as well as the fact that I’ve never actually experienced homesickness. When my parents dropped me off at 4-H camp, I could hardly get unloaded and up the hill fast enough. At the end of the week, I lingered to say my goodbyes. I reluctantly climbed in the car (and promptly fell asleep in the back seat). 

I did wrestle with a bout of adjustment when I went away to college; not so much sick for home, but struggling with the feeling of lack of identity. I’d lost my high school, small town identity and my place of connection with others; I had become one of 20,000 18-22-year-olds in a blue hoodie. Thankfully, over time – and participation with campus ministry – I found my tribe and the very women who would challenge me to never settle with surface friendships again.  
And now on my daily trek home from the sitter’s, it’s as if I’m trudging up the Richland Avenue bridge (behind smokers walking side-by-side, nonetheless. Because for some reason I always got stuck behind smokers in a no-pass situation). I’m lost in a land without a tribe. 
Building new friendships as an adult offers a new level of adversity, especially in an established community where bonds are already formed upon your arrival (as opposed to the mass attention-seeking circus that is Freshman Orientation). By the time we were seniors, my friends and I joked that we were “at capacity” for deep friendships; I have no doubt that the people around me have or do share similar sentiment. Especially when you add kids to the equation – sometimes taking on the work involved for meeting someone new and getting through the trivial “get to know you” conversations looses its appeal. 
It’s also hard to see who else is in the same boat. You could tell a lost freshman by the way they looked both ways on Union. But by adulthood, we all know where to find the produce aisle in Kroger, which is the only social outing I seem to find myself these days. And those centerpoint areas of meeting – work, school and church – haven’t been effective for a work-from-home, parent of younger than pre-K kids. The church we’ve been attending, while offering very enjoyable 1.25 hours each Sunday morning, is too big for us. Husband has always hated how, no matter what church I’m in – visiting or part of the establishment – I’m the last one out the door. But I’ve not been last out a single time in the past 6 months. I see that as a clue that it’s not for us.*
Add to the list of complications the personality of yours truly. I’m simply complicated. Okay, okay. Weird. I’ve become a bit more non-traditional in my views about everything. And not in the cool hipster way that’s underground and slick, but in that weird, eyebrow furrowing way** that at the end of the conversation you wonder to yourself, “Does she still believe in soap?”*** And thus – much like in seminary – people don’t realize I’m hilarious. Even my Friends in Another Town have asked me to rethink my desire to join a group of friends who didn’t like my unlabeled canned goods White Elephant gift. Seriously, folks. You can’t contain the comedy in this average-sized, post-partum frame. 
And so we arrive at Destination Bored. Life isn’t bad, things aren’t tumultuous. But I’m a social creature and when when deprived of my drug I tend to lash out, leaving my poor husband (and the only adult I speak with in a given week) without defense. And I simply am unsure of the steps I need to take in order to bring change to the situation. And, (though I do thank you for the suggestions) most of my options include taking my kids somewhere during nap/bedtime, which would further complicate my life in the form of tantrums and tears. Kind of a non-option for me. I need some sort of Friend Delivery service that arrives at my door during naps, so that we can sit and enjoy a cup of coffee (or if the mood is right, Kahlua) and complain about health care, talk about nothingness that matters and solve the problems of the world. Perhaps I need to work on such an organization. I could make millions from the Naptime Captives hidden in towns across the country. 
So, to you out there that live in an established community, with real friends that come to your real house, I challenge you to a duel. Find a way to include the new people that move in the area. A neighbor, perhaps.  And  not just in the traditional ways – perhaps those fit like a size 4 jean on a size 10 frame. It can be done, but it’s uncomfortable, if not ugly. We can’t wait to get home and out of that situation. 
I’m not looking for you to solve my problems, but it couldn’t hurt of people out there came up with new options for solutions for those around you, of whom you might not be aware.  
(*I’m a firm believer in the responsibility of the church-goer to try to find ways to connect within church, AKA The Small Group. We’d like that. However, we haven’t figured out a way to manage the traditional “connection” activities into the current schedule with the current age/status of the wee ones. It’s a stage, hopefully a quick one.)
**You totally made that face, didn’t you?
***The jury is out on that one. 

o holy night

For decades, centuries, eons and eras, the religious folk have tried to formulate holiness. Once a man walked by a bush lit with a glow; I’m surprised that a religious edict didn’t post that we must bow and inspect all evergreens lest we miss God. It’s probably just human nature to try to repeat that which has provided meaningful, growth-filled and happy experiences. 

Enter “the holidays.” 
While for many, it’s the most wonderful time of the year. My husband nearly turns into an elf on December 1st (or, more recently, the Friday after the holiday before Christmas, known by most as Thanksgiving). And for all the stockings hung and lights bright and scents of clove-filled oranges, I’m not going to say I dislike the holidays. 
But I think we’re missing the point. 
This isn’t a Santa vs. Jesus rambling. It’s not even an anti-consumerism, why’s-it-all-about-the-gifts argument (though I could offer plenty of all of the above). When we miss the point, I mean that we’ve forgotten what it means to be Holy, the root of “holidays” (holy-days in Latin, I’m told**). 
To be holy is to be set apart. To be for something different, special. But you know what is not special? Waiting in line. Laying awake considering all the cookie options for the swap this year. Yelling at your spouse because he forgot the cream cheese and THE DISH REQUIRES CREAM CHEESE, WHAT WILL I TAKE TO THE PARTY NOW? (In all honesty, this one hasn’t happened in this house, but I’m sure you can imagine in your mind what it would look like if it did). Stressing about the “perfect gift” for the one who has everything and then spewing in the car about how ungrateful s/he was when they opened the package.  We put our kids through sugar-filled, sleepless, chaotic days and ourselves through sleepless nights. And in what hopes?
We approach the season as if it’s something out of the ordinary, but yet we forget what really makes it set apart. Just because the season somehow mandates that cookies be baked, that doesn’t mean a holy moment is owed by the act of getting out the powdered sugar. December is not the Holy Moment Vending machine in which we go through the motions of traditions and reap a can of Special Memory. But if we continue to Clark Griswold-ify the season year after year, that’s the mentality we’ll begin to grow. 
Holiness doesn’t happen because you go through the motions. It happens because you create space, you set aside – in terms of time and energy. You block off an area and say, “No. THIS here, this is special.” Holy days don’t happen when you cram more in; they appear when you clear more out. 
I’m all about taking time and energy to make the celebration of Incarnation special. I love making cookies and crafts and visiting family and exchanging presents (and this year the giving has been even better). I want to clear out other things so that these may happen. But I refuse to participate only to cross them off my Holidays To Do list. I will not allow the Ghost of Christmas Perfect to fool me into believe I’m not doing it “right” or “enough” and that therefore my family will be deprived of the Christmas Memories that Could’ve Been. 
Holiness doesn’t come without effort, but it’s also not earned. Neither are holy days. I’ll put the elbow grease into preparing for a special season, but I also won’t formulate the 25th and fool myself into thinking that something will be special because I did everything right. It will be special because I was mentally and spiritually and physically present to enjoy it with those I love. 
**Bonus: the “Xmas” abbreviation is for Chi, or Christ. If you’re trying to keep score on the anti-Jesus sentiment battle, that’s another point for the Pro-Jesus. 

give a little love

Until this year, the greatest satisfaction in Christmas shopping came when I could cross it off my list. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy giving gifts. Those serendipitous finds that scream a person’s name can make my day. But I’d be all for voting that we give gifts based upon those findings, not because the 25th day of the 12th month has arrived. It’s like forced gratitude – I’m sure it has its place, but the whole concept seems a bit misguided.
Each year I approach the Month O’ Consumerism with attempts to discover what my loved ones “need” or want. The answer is nothing. We live in a place and time of abundance. No matter if it’s a “down economy” my circle has always had a full pantry and closet, which is 200% above what 2/3 of the world might wake up to – every day.
Besides, isn’t leaving a Christmas list full of “needs” a bit selfish? Stuff that we don’t want to have to put away for, the disciplined act of planning and saving and researching and purchasing – we’ll just add it to the Christmas list. Or the guilt-laden things. The fact that we want something that we might later feel guilt for purchasing so therefore we allow those who are obligated to shop for us do the dirty work – well, my pining for an ipad hasn’t escaped me. Let’s just say that. (Do I need to mention that in our house there are 3 ipods, an iphone, a Macbook and a regular laptop? Clearly not a “need”).
So this year I approached Christmas a bit differently. My original goal was to buy local – I wanted to be able to meet the maker of every gift. While I wasn’t at a 100% satisfaction rate, I did well. Several purchases from Etsy, a friend who owns her own printing company and a “made in Ohio” gift store at Easton made this much more simple (though I didn’t actually meet all these makers, I decided with little effort, I *could* and thus meeting the spirit of the law). I also made several of my own gifts and complemented them with other purchases – thank you very much, vintage Sears Kenmore. Oh, and big props to the local Goodwill Industries for being the sole contributor to little V’s box of joy that awaits her.
While I had somewhat economic and philosophical leadings for this little project, it should not come to any surprise that the act of gift giving this season escalated my own satisfaction. I’m downright GIDDY to give these presents away. I believe them to be presents that the recipients will truly enjoy – a category outside the need and want. For the kids, I look forward to the play and the experiences that are forthcoming. For the adults, I hope that the personalized nature and thoughtfulness expresses my feelings of privilege for having such wonderful people in my life.
As I said, I’m not at 100%. Maybe I never will be. But this season has changed from the chore of finding to the joy of giving, and that’s reason enough to continue to allow my approach to Christmas to evolve.

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