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

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.

All I can do is hug you

On Monday explosions devastated Boston.  Last night a fertilizer plant in West, Texas caught fire and exploded, injuring hundreds and evacuating a town.
News like that makes some want to crawl in a hole and hide from the world.  Not me.  I want to run outside right now at 5:24 a.m. in my nightgown to go wake my neighbors and tell them they're fantastic and can I hug you?  I want to drag my kids out of bed so I can hug and kiss every inch of their precious hands and feet and tell them  how much I love them and what I dream for their future.  I want to teleport myself to St. Louis to interrupt the Steel Conference to inform Adam Boyette that I love him.  (Flying or driving would take too long.  I would like to be there now and a phone call isn't the same as a hug.)
I want to get in the car and take a road trip to visit every single one of our friends to personally hug them and tell them I love them.  Even Wayne in Saudi Arabia, although there's not a direct road route there, so I'd settle for hugging his wife in California.
Unfortunately my schedule doesn't permit that, so what I will do today is radical hugging of the people I can see.
I can't stop bad things from happening and I can't even predict the future so I can warn people.  I can't even give blood to the blood bank today because I have a terrible cold and possibly will end up on antibiotics before the end of the day.  I can't give millions of dollars to non-profits.  I can't go rescue people myself; I know little about first aid anyway.
But what I can do is hug people.  I can tell you that I love you and that I believe love is the most powerful force in the world.  I believe God is love and when you feel love you are experiencing God.  I believe love is our soul and sole purpose in life and can I share with you that I love you?
So if you are in my path today, especially if you're not a hugger, be prepared.  You will get hugged.

Sanctuary

From Houghton Mifflin's online dictionary:
sanc·tu·ar·y    (sngkch-r) KEY 

NOUN:
pl. sanc·tu·ar·ies

1. 1. A sacred place, such as a church, temple, or mosque.
   2. The holiest part of a sacred place, as the part of a Christian church around the altar.
2. 1. A sacred place, such as a church, in which fugitives formerly were immune to arrest.
   2. Immunity to arrest afforded by a sanctuary.
3. A place of refuge or asylum.
4. A reserved area in which birds and other animals, especially wild animals, are protected from hunting or molestation.

I work at a church, so sanctuary is a word I use frequently.  We have a room at our church called the "sanctuary" where we "worship."  I attend worship services here, too, but this room is not my preferred sanctuary.  My sanctuary is in my kitchen.

For our small house, we have a large kitchen.  The kitchen is my sacred place, place of refuge, a place where I am protected from the pressures of my world.

Our kitchen is adorned with artwork from our children.  We've also got baby photos from the cutest kids in world.  The freezer portion of our refrigerator is completely covered with photos of our best friends.  It is hard not to feel love in this room.

I've got a speaker for my I-pod in the kitchen, and plenty of dance floor.  Claire and Paul have decided, like me, that they enjoy dancing to Billy Joel.  His songs are so upbeat and happy.  The kids love screaming and dancing to "Uptown Girl."  (Please don't tell them this is an old song.  They think it's new and hip.)

Sword fights and Hot Wheel races also are a near-daily occurrence in the kitchen.  I am always prepared to be a "bad guy" and dodge Paul's sword or light saber.  

Beyond play, we have a beautiful coffee pot in the kitchen. Drinking my first cup of coffee in the mornings while doing my Bible study is a sacred ritual.

The counter, the stove, the refrigerator, are all magical instruments used to transform ordinary ingredients into  food for loved ones.  My KitchenAid mixer is from my grandparent's kitchen and used regularly to make baked goods for others.  The kids love mixing chocolate chip cookies in it and sticking their fingers in the batter.

We have a window above the sink that overlooks the oleander bush my grandparents gave us for a housewarming present nearly 10 years ago.  When I open the window, I can always hear birds singing.  We also have a family of lizards that likes to run across the screen at night.  Bugs are drawn to the light from the kitchen, so the lizards find the kitchen window is a great hunting ground.  Some evenings Adam and I stand in front of the window watching the lizard show for a long time.

Herbs are growing on the window sill and I snip them when I need some fresh ingredients for dinner. Ivy from my grandfather's house trails the tops of the cabinets, which are decorated with gifts of roosters and special wine bottles from friends.

Last week and the beginning of this week was busy, and I wasn't able to get in the kitchen and cook a decent meal.  I just threw together quick fixes to feed us on the go.  Yesterday, though, I had time and took it to thoughtfully prepare a home-cooked meal.  When I have time to do that, all the stress goes away.  Paul came in and searched for his Darth Vader costume and Claire wanted me to give her a dog for a baby.  

This morning, like all mornings, Adam will come in with his coffee and iron his clothes.  We'll discuss the plans for the day as I prepare the children's lunches.  Our routines in the kitchen are so normal and so sacred.

In the Bible, there is a famous story about two sisters, Mary and Martha.  Martha worked in the kitchen and complained, and Mary sat and listened to Jesus.  I find that for me, the opposite is true.  I work in the kitchen to listen to Jesus.  There is only love here, and that speaks of God.

Love and Logic Skirts

This is what Paul looked like when I rolled out of bed this morning. Notice the lovely ballerina skirt. I could say this is the first time it's happened, but that would be a lie. One time I put him to bed and he woke up in a grass skirt. As part of our "Love and Logic" parenting, we put the kids to bed (together if they want) and let them go to sleep when they feel ready. Sometimes this means they go right to sleep, but sometimes it means they stay up late playing dressup together. Last night when I went to bed at 10, there was a tea party going on in Claire's room. For some reason, Barbie had a teacup on her head. Paul's skirt happened sometime between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. Adam and I took a Love and Logic class when Claire was about one year old. We have consistently benefited from the course. There are several one-liners that we use consistently: "Uh-oh. Little bit of room time coming right up!" and "I love you too much to argue with you." are our favorites. We use them so much that the kids have taken to saying them. I have heard both Claire and Paul in a dispute say, "I love you too much to argue with you!" It's pretty awesome.

Being a Hippie

I consider myself a modern hippie. I've always loved peace, love, and 1970s clothes.
I've been this way my entire life. When I was in kindergarten, my teacher labeled me the class "peacemaker." When I was in middle school, I was on the "spirit team." When I was in high school, I wore bell-bottoms and flower necklaces. I made sure that no one in Haltom High passed me by without a cheerful hello.
Today I am much the same way. Don't even try to pass me on my morning walk without receiving a greeting. The same goes for church. If I see you at church, you are getting at least a smile and a hello, if not a hug.
Last Christmas, Adam and I sent out about 200 Christmas cards. No one ever gets dropped off our list and every year the list grows.
I say this not to document how awesome I am, but to tell you sharing love always pays off.
Yesterday I spent an hour or two writing cards and sending pictures while the kids were playing. I keep our address book on a clipboard and flip through, writing cards for anyone we haven't had contact with in a while.
Later in the day I received a call from an elderly lady at church who wanted the children to have some hand-made dolls she owned. She had left them for me in the church parlor. We were all honored to be the recipients of such cute grandma and grandpa dolls.
Not only was that lovely, we received another gift last night. Alex, who used to be our favorite sacker at Tom Thumb, and now is a busboy at a local restaurant, bought the kids each a pumpkin for Halloween. I was so humbled that he would spend some of his small and hard-earned paycheck on my children.
So I am here to tell you that when you offer love, it is always returned. Not always from the same place that you gave it, but it always comes back. Take it from a hippie who knows.

Getting Along at Church

When I was a kid, my behavior at church was the best it was all week. My sister and I might have been fighting in the car en route to church, but we knew once we walked through the doors, we better straighten up. My mom would pinch the underside of our closest arm to get us in line should we waver.
As an adult, Adam and I pride ourselves on attending a church where people act the same in church as they do outside of it. There's not a metamorphosis that happens at the church door like I had growing up. We can go to church on Sunday morning and then later go out to lunch and order a beer. If we run into one of our ministers at the restaurant, we don't have to disguise the beer.
We love our church and all the people in it. Obviously, we are closer to some than others, but we don't have anyone we actively avoid. We are friends with the entire congregation.
That's why it's so confusing to us when others don't share our view. I'm involved in several groups at the church: a prayer group, Sunday school, ladies organizations, book clubs and committees. The last few years, several of these have suffered rifts. There was the prayer group rift over who was serving at a special worship service. There was the Sunday school rift over liberal vs. conservative theology. Last Sunday, there was a rift about the homosexuality issue.
Adam and I believe that everyone has their mind made up about certain issues. I will never debate hot button issues with my friends. I don't discuss homosexuality, the death penalty, or abortion with others. No good ever seems to come out of those conversations.
I do discuss love. I believe we are supposed to love everyone, regardless of their beliefs and doctrines. If you are Muslim, I feel free to call you friend. If you are homosexual, you are my buddy, too.
I believe love fixes everything. If I remember that I love you, I'm less likely to get upset when we disagree. Little comments or issues don't matter. Love does.
So to you, friend I agree with, I offer you love. And to you, friend I disagree with, I also offer you love.