Seminary, Work, and Being a Present Parent this week

Just so I don't forget it and so I make sure all my readers share in the hilarity...

On the first day of class I was printing off all my class materials for that night.  I mentioned to Adam that I would be discussing Martin Luther. He says, "How many theses was it that he nailed to the church door? I can't remember." Claire immediately said, "Who put their feces on a church door? Why would they do that?"

And thus was my first seminary theological discussion.  Feces vs. Theses.  

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I wanted to share about my day yesterday because it is becoming typical of my days now.  I am so glad that I did research on time management last semester, because all my new knowledge is being put to use!

Yesterday

4:30 a.m. Jump out of bed, turn on coffee, start the computer, work on my paper on Martin Luther and  his understanding of grace.

6:30 a.m. Just finished printing the rough draft of my paper. Make sure everyone's out of bed, start making lunches.

7:45 a.m. Get kids to the school, race home.

8:30 a.m. Send rough draft of worship bulletin announcements to all who need to edit it, race out the door to my school.

9:00 a.m. to 1:55 p.m. I tutor in groups of 5-6, about 40 kids. One child got sent back to class for standing in his chair. One child got sent back to class for punching the assignment/table. The rest act precious and love reading with me. Each child anticipates the end of group when they get a cool sticker (My Little Pony or Transformers, their choice. Yesterday one boy chose a My Little Pony, but all the girls opted not to receive a Transformers sticker.)

1:55 p.m. I RUN, RUN, RUN to my car so I can make it to TCU in time for my writing appointment.

2:10 p.m. I arrive on the TCU campus and remember I'm not the only person that attends this school and I must park four blocks away from my destination.

2:20 p.m. After running as fast as I can and speedwalking when I am weary, I arrive five minutes late to my appointment. I tell my tutor that I will be a size six by the end of the day.  She reviews my paper on Martin Luther and gives me some valuable tips on how to improve. She kindly asks me to point out my thesis statement and I realize it stayed in my head and didn't make it to the page.

2:50 p.m. More running. It must be a typical class change period, because there are TCU students everywhere, all looking skinny and beautiful.  I don't care. I have to get my precious children from school. I plow them over with my giant backpack and giant coat flapping in the wind.

2:58 p.m. Arrived in car, called the school to tell them I would be late.  Driving as carefully and as quickly as I can, I realize there are two policemen going the same way I am.  I don't speed, but in my head I'm driving the Indy 500.

3:10 p.m. Arrived late to get the kids. Have phoned a friend to tell her we would be late for play date.  The kids aren't mad; they are laughing at my description of how I was running across the TCU campus to come get them.

3:30 p.m. Have baked some cookie dough for snacks for guests. Claire has laid out a spread of healthy snacks. Scrubbed bathroom for freshness, picked up terrible messes that we don't want anyone to see. Accepted that laundry will be seen and that's okay.  Doorbell rings.

4:00 p.m. Claire has shut herself in her room with her friend and Paul and his friend are in the hallway frustrated at the secrecy of girls. Paul steps on a clothespin and pinches his foot.  He screams unceasingly for 30 minutes. I worry that something is broken because he is never upset like that.

4:20 p.m. I call Adam to tell him Paul is possible injured badly although I can't see where. I hang up with him and call the doctor's office. I leave a message with the on-call nurse.  I try to ice Paul's foot. I put a bandaid on it. I distract him while I put a sock on it.  I pretend the dog is a doctor inspecting him. I sing cheesy songs. I offer to take him to the vet. None of this stops his crying.

5:00 p.m. The on call nurse phones us. I tell her what happened and during the conversation I realize Paul is running on two feet all throughout the house.  He has been healed! 

5:10 p.m. Company leaves and I remember Adam won't be home for dinner.  I won't be cooking then. We'll get drive through food after bath time.  I put Paul in the tub and Claire begins a two-year old meltdown.  She is seven.  I shut her in her room and make an important phone call.

5:30 p.m. Claire's drama has subsided. Paul is out of tub.  Claire gets in tub.  I talk with Paul and snuggle him for a few minutes.

6:00 p.m. Both kids are clean and dressed for bed. I snuggle Claire for a few minutes. I let them pick where they want dinner.  They pick McDonald's. (Yuck!) I take them there anyway. I try to find the healthiest option for my dinner and settle on Popeye's chicken, which isn't healthy at all, but at least it's not McDonald's.

6:45 p.m. Start reading bedtime stories.  Doze off a couple of times, but successfully read about Bad Kitty and Claire's book, which I can't even remember this morning.

7:45 p.m. Kids in bed. Time to clean up the kitchen from the maddening day. Pick up as many messes as I have energy for.  Pour myself a glass of wine.

8:50 p.m. Move to the bedroom with my same glass of wine to read.  Adam is still at his engineering event.  I read and try to stay awake as long as I can.

9:15 p.m. I believe I was snoring at this point and Adam arrived home.  We'll get to talk in the morning.

And today I start the cycle over, but instead of tutoring I have church work and instead of an appointment at the Writing Center I have class.  Hopefully today won't contain a mortal injury from a clothespin.

Reaching for the Stars

Just one year ago I came to the understanding the seminary was in my future. I hadn't planned on acting on this understanding for ten years, but life often moves faster than my plans.

Now I am a graduate student, working toward a Master of Divinity at Brite Divinity School.  On Monday I entered the process to become a candidate for ministry in the United Methodist Church. The Earth is spinning and I am propelled forward toward reaching a goal.

My world has a newness that both disorientates and excites me. I feel like a ballerina balanced on one toe, stretched as far and as high as I can to reach a dream.

I could topple easily. I hold so much as I reach for that next star. Two children, two jobs, a husband, and now homework. It appears that a strong breeze would knock me over into despair. But I know that won't happen because while I am balancing on one toe, while I am stretched to my entire limit to reach for that star, I am held up by loved ones.

Almost daily, a friend or acquaintance congratulates me on my new goal. My children proudly explain to teachers about Mama going to TCU. Family members that I don't see often offer their support. Friends who've known me for 20 years are cheering for me. Loved ones pray for me daily.

I am continuously humbled and grateful. I'm honored as I purchase a parking pass for a major university. I'm giddy as I purchase my four textbooks. I'm grateful as I pay my tuition bill in full thanks to baking 40+ loaves of banana bread and donations of loved ones. I'm humbled as I pull onto campus early for an appointment, thinking I have so much free time and then realize I must walk four blocks to my destination. I'm relieved as my professor confesses he usually goes to bed at 9 p.m. and works hard toward an energetic presence in this night class.

Grasping the star of my dream will take a long time, but I am confident that the universe has recognized I belong here. Even if I get weary, I won't fall because I'm held up by so many strong hands. I'm anxious to see how much growth and depth will occur as I stretch just a little bit further to reach my goals.

www.sxu.hu

Day One of the Rest of My Life

Yesterday was my first day of orientation at Brite Divinity School.  I have enrolled in the Master of Divinity program.
My enthusiasm for entering this phase in my life is a little bit intimidating to those who don't know me,

so I try to keep half of it to myself and share the other half. I'm also about to Google synonyms for the word excited so I can stop saying, "I'm excited!"

My entry into seminary has been a community effort. Friends encouraged me to explore the idea. Friends helped me with my application by writing letters and proofing my essays. Friends bought banana bread from me to help me pay for my tuition. Friends contributed privately to help.
So when I am standing at Brite Divinity School, it's not just me standing there. I'm being pushed forward and lifted up by loved ones. I know I'm in exactly the right place and I know I'm not alone.
When I met with my adviser, he informed me that the class I wanted had only one opening left. "Go, Sarah!" he told me as he waved me out of his office.
When I got to the computer I needed to register on, another community was quickly formed to help me register. I had left my password at home, I had never used the system before, and I had no less than five people helping me. One helped me reset my password. One helped me find the course number and navigate through the screens. One helped me with my student ID number, also left at home. Others looked on and offered tips. After all that, I was too late. The opening in the class was filled.
Back to my adviser, I selected a new course. The team rallied again to register me and then we realized I didn't have the prerequisites to take that course.  We recruited another team member to find another course for me.
Finally, we enrolled me in History of Christianity II, Reformation and Modern.  It meets on Thursday nights at 6:45 p.m. The professor is a published author. This is the perfect class for me and it fits into my schedule without turning the world upside down.
I'm only taking one class this semester so I can get my feet wet and not turn the world completely upside down. I want to ease back into scholarship and learn how it fits in my schedule.
I wanted to provide an update for all of you who have supported me thus far. Thank you. I am humbled and grateful beyond words. You helped me pay for my books and tuition for my first semester of seminary. Thank you.
More than financial aid, though, I would like to thank you for the encouragement and support as I enter this new phase of my life. When I feel overwhelmed, all I have to do is picture the faces of everyone who has gotten me here and I am renewed and encouraged to go forward. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Not Sharing My Toys

I have recently realized that shouldering my children with my toys as well as theirs devalues all of them.
Growing up, I had plenty of toys. I don't think I had too many, but some might argue that. They all fit neatly in my room and closet. I played with them all. Many were so special that I saved them. I boxed them and put them in the attic. As a child, I wanted my future children to be able to play with my special toys. After Adam and I were married, we reclaimed all my childhood treasures from my parents' attic and they sat on bookshelves or remained in boxes in our attic.
Now we have children. The imaginary daughter I saved all my Barbies for is real.  The imaginary son that would love a teddy bear in camouflage is asleep in his bed right now.

Some of my Cabbage Patch Dolls

I saved my treasured childhood possessions, assuming they would be treasured childhood possessions of the next generation. What I didn't foresee was the sheer volume of possessions this generation has.
Adam and I buy the kids toys at Christmas and at birthdays. On vacation, we get them a souvenir or two. Otherwise, we pay for their needs, and they use their allowance for toys. Of course there is also an influx from Grandma, but really not too much.
However, when you add up the toys from Christmas, birthdays, Grandma, and allowance spending, you have quite a multitude of toys. Add to that my treasured dolls, bears, and books and games and it's just too much.
After Christmas, we cleaned out Claire's room.  We removed everything from her room except for her bed.  All books, all toys, and all clothes were sorted into piles of garage sale, Goodwill, and keep.  We threw away trash and immediately had three full bags of paper and toy parts.  As we weighed the value of each object, I realized that because she has so many objects, they all have the same value.  It's like she can't see the trees for the forest.  I also realized that as sweet as she is, she pretended that all my old toys were special to her. They are, but all the toys are special and mine are no different.  She was drowning in toys and I was adding to the mix instead of helping her value each item.  I realized that shouldering her with the responsibility of valuing and caring for my toys was selfish in a way.  Assuming my five Cabbage Patch kids would be prized possessions also assumed she wouldn't have anything special of her own or her own scale to weigh value.
Both Adam and I come from resourceful families.  His mother and I trade coupons regularly.  My grandmother is famous for finding uses for everything, even restaurant napkins. Adam and I inherited a bit of that ourselves and have passed it on to our children. Boxes from Costco become cars, pirate ships, or dog houses. Scrap paper becomes signs, scripts, books, and spyglasses.
Resourcefulness plus toys they received plus toys I saved is just too much.  We spent hours sorting through everything, from a tiny Barbie shoe to a giant 60" teddy bear.  I reclaimed all my old toys to free Claire up to take care of her toys and not have to worry about mine.
Then I realized that giving Claire my things was the same thing others have done to me and that I have done to myself. Elderly friends have given me plates and books. I treasure them all because they are daily reminders of loved ones.  When my grandfather moved to an assisted living facility, I helped clean out his house and brought home trunk-loads of dishes, books, clothes, and other housewares I didn't even know existed. It's as if I believed my love for them could be conveyed through keeping their possessions.  I kept all my grandmother's unfinished crafts. I don't know how to quilt, but I have parts for at least three quilts.
Understanding Claire's position helped me understand my own more. It also helped me let go of even more things. So now I'm sifting and valuing my possessions, both those that originated with me and those that represent lost loved ones.  I'm trying to sift through the forest to find the truly valuable trees.

Goodbye, Papa Charles!

Last night Fort Worth lost a great man.  Charles Perry passed away.  He was a veteran, a teacher, a coin collector, a husband, a father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and a man of faith to the end.
My family first met Papa Charles at church, but it was outside of the church walls that he and his wife Mama Joy have made the most difference in our lives.
Recounting memories of him last night, we decided that Adam first got to know Papa Charles through his involvement in the United Methodist Men. I first met him and Mama Joy through my involvement with the Emmaus community at our church.
Papa Charles always had a good story to tell. I would try to tell him a cute story about my life and he would follow that with a story of history behind my story. I would tell him something like, "We got a new oven at home so I'll be cooking more.  Hahaha." Then he would look at me, take a breath and say, "You know the reason the oven is designed that way? It's because hundreds of years ago........"  I wish I had written down some of the  histories he shared with me, but I was usually caught off guard and wasn't expecting him to provide so much meaning in each exchange.  He had a talent for infusing meaning in everything he did.
Paul and Claire both have loved Papa Charles since birth.  When Paul was born, Papa Charles and Mama Joy began "visiting" the children regularly.  I would often slip up and call them babysitters but then they would correct me.  Papa Charles would say, "Now you know we don't babysit. We visit with children."  I have photos of Papa Charles and Paul as an infant, both taking a nap on our couch.  Adam and I both laughed as we shared with others that the kids were at home "with a young couple named Mama Joy and Papa Charles."
About the same time Paul was born, Adam rediscovered his love of coin collecting. He regularly takes Paul and Claire to coin shows and nearly always met Papa Charles there. Papa Charles would share with the kids history of coins.
It was cancer that took his life in the end, and Papa Charles gracefully entered into his role as a hospice patient. Just before Thanksgiving I took the children to visit him.  We sat with him while Mama Joy escaped to the grocery store.  While the kids acted crazy, he shared with us the names of birds outside and points of local history.  He also recommended I get my kids into chess because it focuses smart kids.  It was a profound moment for me when faced with death, he kept on teaching those around him.
Over the Thanksgiving holiday, he had to be hospitalized briefly and from his hospital bed, he told Mama Joy to get out some of his wooden puzzles.  She shared the story with me.  "Why do you want puzzles out, Dad?" she asked him.  He replied, "Because we're going to have children at our house visiting and I want them to have something to play with."
The next time we saw him was a couple of days before Christmas when we came to sing Christmas carols.  After the singing was over, we stayed and visited.  I eventually had to pry the children away from Papa Charles' puzzles so we could go home. He was so smart and selfless, making sure my kids had entertainment while he entered his last days.
Upon receiving the news of his death last night, Paul wanted to run over for "one last hug."  We all loved Papa Charles and will miss him greatly.

Papa Charles and Mama Joy waving goodbye to me from their front porch.