Year: 2013 (Page 12 of 37)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I cried. A lot. Mostly behind hidden doors, but sometimes in the much-too public eye, usually after small explosions involving communion and the song Desperado. 

I cried because I would mess things up. I said the wrong things. I was insensitive to young, beautiful girls when they needed the most sensitivity about things like clothes and boys. I let my principles speak louder than the practices of grace and love. 

I cried because things weren’t perfect. The speaker gave the wrong impression. I took seriously the task of forming the spiritual lives of these precious somebodies and would get frustrated with roadblocks. 

So at the end of the week, tired and with fake smiles plastered on, KLR and I wave goodbye to the teenagers as parents picked them up. We would drag ourselves to the nearest Applebee’s to drown our woeful sorrows of the week in a tall Amberbock (me) and Labatt (her). We would vow never to return. 

About a month later we’d dig out our notes from the week and begin the planning process all over again. 

After the third time through this cycle, we noticed the pattern. We decided that if you left Lakeside immediately wanting to come back, you didn’t do it right. Such weeks and required so much of your whole self – so much patience, so much energy, so much prayer, so much explaining for the 18th time why, when it was your turn for housekeeping, you must clean up the dishes. 

I remember the crying and the tired and the wanting to crawl in a hole. Yes, I do. 

And I remember walking into the living room during an experiment in “extended prayer” to see a young girl bowed down on the floor, intensely engaged in her reflections. I remember doing late night yoga with Clinton and Jevon and laughing so hard I fell over from my down dog. I remember Carissa sharing her struggles to fit in with the entire group and their compassionate response. I remember John raising his hand when the speaker asked if anyone was ready to make a decision for Jesus today. I remember doing “yay Gods and help Gods” in the evening and hearing Scott lift up all the other students from other churches. I remember donuts with the incoming seniors to talk and dream about the future. I remember watching Mary and knowing, she gets it. 

It took everything we had to do the work of making room in the week for those precious moments to sprout. 

Little did I know it would show me one of the most substantial truths of parenting. Most any worthwhile day leaves me not wanting to repeat it the next day. In fact, most days leave me sitting with a dull stare on my couch, wistful and sometimes crying. 

Days are hard, not just because #2 refuses to go to bed or you burned a pound of bacon. You cry or feign excitement because it took so much of yourself to make the day happen. Good mama, you just spent the day working the ground and tilling the soil so something might sprout. Sometimes, those good moments might pass you by and in your conversation at Applebee’s all you can remember is the yelling or the bad food. But give it time. 

The work and the tears – those are real. But don’t think of them as an indicator of something gone wrong, but rather energy well spent. If a parent never cried or wanted to crawl in a hole for the next day or ten, then I’m inclined to declare she’s doing it all wrong. Not that she’s screwing up her kids and they’re destined to illicit drugs, but rather I fear nothing would take root. Lots of fluff and kum-by-ya happy feelings without the screw-ups that come when the real work happens. 

When my youth kids look back to Lakeside, they probably imagine what happened there just appeared out of thin air, as if on the other side of the magical gates heaven just sat down on us. And that’s okay. For them, maybe it kinda did. We never put upon the kids how much work Lakeside was for the adults because that’s not the point. That’s not their job. They simply needed to show up attentively, contribute fully and live gracefully with one another. And not take cell phones. 

When my kids grow old they’ll look back at their childhood and remember practicing letters and dancing in the kitchen and bedtime stories with daddy and believe that those arose out of circumstance. They just happened. And that’s okay. It’s not their job to know how much work it is to muster up that last ounce of patience an hour after bedtime. They simply need to show up attentively, contribute fully and live gracefully with one another. 

It’s a lot of work. But good work. And when you end the day over a tall beer and say to yourself, “Thank God it’s over; I don’t want to do it again tomorrow,” give yourself an ounce of grace and a night’s sleep. It’s only with a little time do those moments shine through, reminding you it was a job well done and time well spent. 

My biggest victories during my day include things like: buying chicken on sale in large family packs, then repackaging and freezing to get twice as many meals out of them. Making a killer granola. Writing letters at the kitchen table [for the millionth time this week]. Enduring a no-nap-meltdown with grace and patience. Inexplicable celebrations regarding where the poop is supposed to go. 

And who celebrates these things with me? Mostly my sister, because she’s fighting the same battles. But otherwise, some of my biggest accomplishments go completely unnoticed. I don’t have a project team to celebrate. I can’t walk down to the water cooler or to Dan Who Knows Everything’s desk to tell about my incidents. There’s no LinkedIn group to join to ask about toddler napping strategies (though FB has served me well with this info). 

Motherhood from home is a lonely endeavor, especially in the young-and-numerous years. Not only because you’re limited to play dates and preschool pick up times, but often you find so much joy and purpose in the simple and small things (because, well, we’re dealing with a pretty simple and small audience all day). Those not completely immersed in the culture don’t always identify with your struggles or your victories. 

I’ve found that my good days contain an element of connecting with others on issues not related to the home – helping lead a women’s ministry at church, assisting with some simple tasks at the school, seeing an old friend, and my New Book Club. I don’t do these to “add a level of meaning to my life”, because my life is meaningful. They add relationships to my life.  

I don’t need a standing ovation when the garbage disposal smells like lemon. And a “thank you” is quite enough when all the laundry gets put away on the same day it’s washed (<- alone.="" attention="" celebration.="" div="" experience="" happens="" i="" it="" lacks="" largely="" life="" love="" moments="" my="" nbsp="" never="" not="" s="" that="" the="" when="" yes="">

Apparently a school of thought surfaced that criticized the buy-one-give-one model that Toms made famous. And, as the conversational thread continued, seemingly valid points: Tom himself (though not his real name) has been rumored to own a yacht and makes millions from the company. The drop sites sometimes erupt with violence as locals compete for limited resources. 

Not one to miss an opportunity for flag waving, I applaud these informed consumers. Way to look into the companies from which you purchase! Our society needs more, not less, work toward retail goods awareness. So while I seem to be criticizing the Anti-Toms folk specifically, I do not intend on persuading people to turn a blind eye toward the companies making their goods. It’s not really about pro- or anti-Toms. It’s about our posture. It’s too easy to be critical and excuse ourselves from being part of a proposed solution.  

While I desire non-profits, charity agencies and those who simply desire to give to uphold high standards for the way in which they run their organization, I do believe that we use such transparency as an excuse to make us cheap and avoid giving altogether. Am I looking with such a sharp eye at Old Navy when I purchase their $5 sandals, made by the hands of young children? Am I decrying ol’ Les for his international travel habits? 

Toms isn’t even a non-profit, yet we criticize the good it attempts. Is the model perfect? No. Did the founder make a whopping buck? Sure did. But can we applaud the brilliant entrepreneurial move to combine the general desire for social needs with a product? And in his efforts, he provided more shoes to African children than I have – isn’t that worth something? And not only did the impoverished children benefit, our society became aware of the problem. How many pairs of shoes did I help contribute via Toms? 1. How many would I have without Toms? Zero. The author of that awful Starfish poem would say “it mattered to that one.” 

Others mentioned that micro-finance or other means would be more effective at eradicating the problems that face developing countries. Bravo, I agree. And so, dear critic: DO THAT. Perhaps with your partnership, and with the Toms efforts, and with the small steps made by a local UMW and with everyone’s little bit, such problems can be solved. 

Until then, I’m fine with the teeny-tiny contribution. I didn’t forgo any planned charitable contributions “because I bought a pair of Toms”. It’s not charity, it’s footwear. And I’ll support any businessperson who uses possible profits for the good of someone else. (He could’ve charged $50 and kept the whole thing, yes?) Criticism in this arena only douses desires for business owners to do something good with what they have if they can’t do it perfectly. 

I don’t believe God calls us to perfect charity for it to be a blessing. Wesley said, “Do all the good you can…”I enjoy that I can feel good about a product I was going to purchase anyway (not to mention that they are the perfect fall transition shoe – like an autumn flip flop before the boots come out). If I waited until an entrepreneur came up with a perfect plan to eradicate a detriment to our world, I would never do anything. Until then, I’m glad a few have put money behind their intentions. If they make a bunch of money off of it, then so be it. Maybe Mr. Toms surprise us and give some of that away, too.