Social Gracious

Hey, Dummy, Are You Listening? It's Me, God

  At my office, there are very few people with young children, hence, when 5:00 rolls around the place is still humming with activity.  I typically try to come in by 8 and leave around 5 or come in at 730 and leave around 430 or so.  My office mates tend to come in later and leave later.  This doesn't generally work for me because my kids want to eat dinner by 6 and go to bed at 730.  If I leave at exactly 5, get home at 530, then I can get dinner on the table by 6 and we can spend an hour together before they go to bed.  If I stay later, I am taking time from the kids so I'd rather log in later from home after they are in bed if I need to.  Still, I always feel as if there is a contest to see who can sit at their desk the latest in the evenings at the office.  I am forever getting these reminder calls from UberGeek at 5:05 inquiring as to whether I have departed, then 5:10, then 5:15.  He usually leaves around 4:30 from work as his office is a ghost town by 5.  UberGeek is always on me to just come on home to be with them.  Still, I feel weird heading off down the hallway when everyone else sits fixed in front of their terminals.

Sometimes God speaks to you, but in my case, apparently God has to repeat the message, more than once.  When I was in my early twenties my stepmother, Lynn, died of cancer at the age of 44.  At the time, both of her biological children, my brother and sister, were under the age of six.  Before they were born, Lynn's work was everything to her, she was published in a number of academic journals, loved teaching, lecturing and traveling.  I still remember the assorted lab frogs living on the back porch during the summer.  Once my brother and sister were born, work was no longer everything to Lynnie, and she simply would not commit her time in a way she once had.  She was still a very passionate person about nursing, about biology and about research, she simply could not give it twenty four hours a day as she had for nearly fifteen years. 

In hindsight, it was a good thing Lynnie was so dedicated to her family, she certainly didn't know she would be given so little time with them.  I remember not long after her terminal cancer diagnosis she said to me, "Kristie, this will be the thing that kills me, but I want the treatment to give me more time.  I can't die yet, the kids are just too little."  They were too little; when I think about it now, it crushes my heart to know what that did to her, having to leave them without a choice.  The treatment did buy her more time, she was given a prognosis of a few months and she lived about a year.

I am 35 years old, nine years younger than my stepmother when she died.  My children are the age that her oldest child was when she died.  Although I often miss her, and I ache for my brother and sister, I also realize that I learned one of the most beautiful lessons in my life from her.  Today, I was editing a website at work and I came across this quote from Stephen Covey, "Most people struggle with life balance simply because they haven't really paid the price to decide what is really important to them."   I was around to watch that price be paid.  As I read that quote, I started reflecting; I have been given a similar message in several different ways, from several sources lately, so perhaps my ear should be perking up.

A couple weekends ago, I was in church and the focus of the sermon was Psalm 39:4, "Show me, O Lord, my life's end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life."  The pastor continued to talk about the power of that reading, that our days are numbered, that we only get one chance, one chance to be a child, one chance to be a teen, one chance to be a young adult, there is no going back. "You have made my days but a hands breadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man's life, is but a breath."  I could feel emotion well up inside me as I squeezed UberGeek's hand as he sat next to me in the pew.  OK God, I'm listening; be patient with me, sometimes I'm a slow learner.

How Big is Your Bible Cover?

Some time ago, during our ongoing quest to find a church we could both agree on, UberGeek and I decided to try a church not too far from our house. We got dressed, packed up the kids and headed out. Before long we were pulling into the parking lot. We noticed that many of the church members were already heading into the building. We also noticed that we appeared to be missing something that all of them had in hand, a Bible. Not just any Bible though, not a plain, nondescript Bible that could be any book, but a blinged out super Bible. Every member had a Bible with a super fancy hand made Bible cover. The Bibles were big too, big, ruffled, some sparkled, glittered, all colors but not all sizes, they seemed to only come in one size, XL. In our house, the Bible is scuffed, shoved from bookcase, to bedside table, to floor to chair. It is not in a beautiful cover and it is definitely not fancy. Some years it gets read pretty frequently, other years not often at all. The children's Bible is the only one you can depend on always being read on a very regular basis. At least we all get a daily Bible story that way, even if it is Jonah and the Big Fish over and over. UberGeek spotted the Bible covers and he gave me "the look" that is his pleading look. The one that means, I think this church may also be the kind that would go to a foreign country and teach them to read but only if it was from the Bible. 

UberGeek loves God and follows Jesus' teachings, it's some "Christians" he can't stand. The stone throwers and neighbor judgers drive him bonkers. People who will complain openly about gay people (or as they call it the gay lifestyle) but happily sit next to a divorced person even though Jesus never specifically addressed homosexuality but said plenty about divorce and remarriage. In our minds it's best to sit next to whoever shows up and worry about our own sins, we've got plenty, if you need to borrow some, let us know. We're not sure the whole "love thy neighbor" thing had exceptions so for us it means love your poor neighbor, love your drug addicted neighbor, love your gay neighbor, love your conservative neighbor, love your liberal neighbor, love your immigrant neighbor, you get the drift. 

Although he enjoys contemporary music in his Sunday services, if there is a Jesus rock band and anyone is wearing heavy eye shadow, closing their eyes and swaying, UberGeek cannot contain himself and begins to suppress bubbling laughter. If we enter a church and there are leather couches, marble floors and crystal chandeliers everywhere we are both turned off. How much of that money could have been given to the poor we wonder? What is the mission of the church if the contents of the building are so important? It's not that I don't believe that people in those churches don't do good things, I'm sure they do. I do think a church should be safe, comfortable and attractive, but there is no need for luxury. I prefer a little edge of shabbiness to my churches, it reminds me of my childhood parish. 

That day UberGeek's eyes continued to widen as giant Bible cover after Bible cover marched toward the church building. Finally he turned to me, "Could we please just go get breakfast and say our prayers together?" "There is no way I'm ever getting a Bible cover like that." I agreed, I prefer my Bible understated as well.

The Passion of the Preschoolers

It's Lent, past the feast of St. Patrick, at our house that means breaking out the Easter decorations. Today, the Easter wreath and garden flag were installed, assorted bunnies and eggs were strewn throughout our house and the Easter tablecloth was placed on the seldom used dining room table. It also means a time when our children begin to chatter about Jesus at a more rapid pace. UberGeek, uncomfortable with their fervor, attempts unsuccessfully to turn the talk to chocolate candy and magical rabbits who bring baskets. They will not be deterred. 

Once, I came upon them in the living room, Diva was on her back, still for once, Eddie Haskell peering over her. "What are you guys doing?" I asked "We're playing Jesus, dead on the cross" they replied happily. Then, "Mama, who died-ed Jesus?" I nearly had a heart attack right there. Surely they were too young for such questions?? Think, Kristie, think. I started into a discussion about Judas and Pontius Pilate, then realized it was definitely too complicated, finally I just changed the subject. I called my friend, who sympathized with me, and said that after her religious discussion with her twin sons they came away believing that Jesus lived in a yellow t-shirt, so she figured religious education best left to Sunday school. I felt better immediately. 

Being Catholic, I am no stranger to religious devotion. It's just that I don't think I had such an understanding of things at a young age. Primarily, we played communion with Necco wafers and went to Sunday school for the free graham crackers. My mom doesn't remember me asking any difficult Biblical questions at an early age. 

When it's my turn for church (we alternate worship locations) we head to our nearby parish for Saturday evening service. The kiddos are awed by the relatively large cross that hangs in the church. They want to know if Jesus is going to die on that cross. This requires a relatively complicated explanation, broken down in preschool terms, about  Jesus, specifically, that He only had to die once for our sins, He rose again and will not be making a repeat performance each Sunday. I am delighted by my children's faith, their grace and beauty. The way they love others and give without question is beautiful, the simplicity of their faith challenges me each day to renew mine, to question it, to learn and to teach what little I know to them. I am thankful the "greatest of these is love", I've got that one covered at least. 

The Kenny Coat

Last week, it was really cold here and when that happens we pull out the big coats.  We took Eddie Haskell to the big box coat store last year and let him pick out his own heavy coat.  He selected a bright orange one with fur trim around the hood.  This tickled UberGeek and I to no end and we immediately trussed him up in it, pulled the drawstring tight and pronounced him Kenny!  Every time he wears it we get the giggles together, waiting until he is out of earshot and then poking each other and saying, "OMG, you killed Kenny!"  I know it's juvenile but our pleasures are small.  Neither of us has actually watched the show in years but it's hard to forget.  Warning:  The following video contains violent cartoon scenes!

During the cold snap one morning  last week we bundled Eddie Haskell up in his puffy orange coat, stuffed he and Diva in their car seats and off we went to preschool.  We unloaded them from the car and began to walk up the sidewalk toward the door.  On the way in, one of the parents remarked to me that she really liked Eddie Haskell's orange coat.  I thanked her and said, "It's his Kenny coat."  She gave me a blank look.  I said, "You know, Kenny, from South Park."  "Oh" she said blankly, nodding.  She smiled at me a little tightly and walked off.  

Did I mention that my twins attend a Christian preschool?  It's a fairly conservative environment.  It has been a great school for Diva and Eddie Haskell; they have had two excellent teachers and a wonderful group of friends.  I was raised a liberal Catholic; I know that's sort of an oxymoron but I think it's mostly from the Church's teaching regarding the poor.  I call it the Mother Theresa effect.  My family and a lot of the parisioners I knew were mostly focused on Matthew 25 31-46 that says whatever you do for the least of these you do for me, the me referring to Jesus of course.  So primarily it was about serving the poor and taking care of others.  This by the way, includes the sick, prisoners, the hungry, really the least of these.  So it was that I spent many an evening serving barbecue sandwiches in the bingo hall (AKA the elementary school cafeteria) to earn dough for charity.  But when it came to stuff like evolution, we were taught it in our Catholic high school with no bones about it.  I never had a problem understanding that even if Evolution was an adequate theory there still had to be God in there somewhere in the process.  It's part of the mystery of faith.  We also had really great sex education.  Mrs. Foley taught it and we were given all the material  in full glorious detail; I can remember that I blushed a lot during class. Of course, in addition to all this we received a full primer on the Catholic church's teaching about morality.  My mom was thankful to the school I know.  Herself a victim of old school Catholic guilt, she had trouble talking to us about, well, you know, the word that starts with an S and ends with a baby if you are not careful.  

I'm not always the most conservative person I suppose.  So, that morning, I forgot where I was.  I was standing on the sidewalk in front of my children's conservative Christian preschool telling another mother that my son resembled Kenny from South Park. Smooth move Kristie.  I pray I will be forgiven in more ways than one.

The Search for a Spiritual Home

When I was growing up we went to church every Sunday, at least when I was living with my mom I did. Same for UberGeek.  It was an important part of my identity and many of my close friends came from my parish community.  We grew up together, went to school together, participated in youth ministry and other church activities together.  UberGeek and I were married in the Catholic church as I was raised Catholic and it was important to my family and I that we be married in the Church.  UberGeek isn't particularly excited about Catholicism.  He doesn't dig all that stand up, sit down business or the fact that he is not invited to take communion.  He is also perplexed by the existence of a gift shop at many of the larger parishes that include a shrine.  Nor is he interested in converting, he was raised Methodist.   

When we moved here we started sporadically attending random churches to try and find one that was a fit for the two of us.  As soon as people found out we did not have a church home we were practically attacked.  Neighbors brought us food, ostensibly to welcome us, but then they began to question us about which church we went to and to try and lure us to their preferred church.  This infuriated UberGeek who then resolved never to attend their place of worship.  Then one day I was chatting with someone about being a lapsed Catholic and having trouble finding a place of worship that fit both my husband and I.  The man I was chatting with mentioned that he was a lapsed Catholic as well and said that he really enjoyed his church which was Lutheran, fairly diverse and very welcoming.  I asked UberGeek if we could try it and he was game.  

Thankfully we liked the church and we soon became members.  It reminded me of the Catholic church, it is best described as Catholic light.  UberGeek liked it too.  Soon after we joined I became pregnant with my twins and was stuck on bedrest.  Our pastor often visited us at home and later at the hospital when I was on hospital bedrest.  After our twins were born we were not allowed out in public with them for three months so we could not attend church.  Soon after they were baptized we began attending again occasionally, placing the children in the nursery.  Getting two infants and later two toddlers ready for church, however was such a treacherous task that we often did not make it to service. Sometimes I would go to Catholic mass at the nearby Catholic church on my own.  I then began to miss the comfort of the Catholic church.  Don't get me wrong, I don't agree with all of the Church's tenets. We don't play the Vatican Roulette (that's the rhythm method for you non Catholics) for birth control and I believe women should play a greater role in the Church.  

UberGeek is more vehement in his disapproval.  When we got married, we had to attend a Catholic marriage preparation course.  It was hysterical.  A married Catholic couple came to speak with us about the joys of practicing the rhythm method and how the husband took the wife's temperature each morning and charted it.  Much sighing and eye rolling commenced among the couples in the room. When I called my mom to tell her about this she laughed and said, "Are they still teaching that stuff, geez."  Then, when asked about the basis for this stance against birth control, the priest talked about the biblical basis and also included the whole "the body is a temple" hub bub.  This didn't sit well with me since during the entire class we had been taking breaks every fifteen minutes for cigarettes and donuts.  I'm not sure cigarettes and donuts were such great temple offerings.

This being said there were many wonderful parts of growing up Catholic.  We had a parish full of all sorts of people.  Poor, well off, able bodied and people with disabilities, straight and gay, down and out, upstanding citizens, people with addictions, just really all sorts.  My mother and grandmother taught me to close my mouth, not stare and accept them all because they all belonged in our church.  None of the other kids I know would have dared to say anything either.  We volunteered for bingo, fund raisers, all kinds of events to help the poor.  Our church wasn't sparkly or new, there was no Jesus rock band or teleprompter.  There were only believers and what we could do for each other, our community and our God.  It was enough and maybe that is what I am missing. 

The Greatest Rip Off On Earth and the Palm Roses of Passion

Today we took Diva and Eddie Haskell to see the "big" circus for the first time.  For the last couple of years we have taken them to the Shriner's circus which they really enjoy.  It's sort of a small venue and since they have done so well there we thought it might be time for the Greatest Show on Earth.  So I loaded up my purse with juice boxes, animal crackers and trail mix, UberGeek stocked up on cash and off we went.  

Once we shuffled past the PETA protesters, looking guiltily at our feet, and made it inside there were kiddy wonders everywhere.  I really wanted to get each of the kids one of those lighted wand type things as a souvenir.  We had passed on the $15 souvenir program to save some of our cash and I figured this would be an indulgence we could handle.  I walked up to the novelty stand, Diva already eyeing the lighted pink wand with the star.  I asked how much the lights were and nearly fell over when the woman manning the stand announced that they were each, no matter what style, $20.  Since I have two four year olds and there is absolutely no chance of them sharing, my purchase of two plastic light wands was going to run me $40.  I just couldn't do it.  I knew what would happen to those wands, we had purchased them at the Shriner's, for much less money, but same idea.  They break in a couple days or are quickly forgotten by the children and placed in a toy box or closet somewhere only to be discovered months later and thrown away.  I broke the news to Diva that we could not buy the lights because they cost too much.  She handled it well and I was proud of my daughter.  

We stopped at a stand to get something to eat, then it was off to find our seats.  Once we were settled in and the kids had juice boxes and something to eat they were happy watching the preshow.  The vendors walked up and down the aisles selling their wares.  There was a man in front of me with a four year old daughter; he inquired about the price of cotton candy, the vendor replied $12.00 but it came with a cheap hat.  The poor man looked as if he was going to keel over.  Then UberGeek was thirsty and decided he didn't want to share my water since he had been sick.  There was a lemonade vendor going by and typically at any other function we would not ask about the price of a lemonade, however, after the light wand and cotton candy sticker shock we thought we should.  Thank goodness we did, they were $9 a piece, to me that is the price of a good martini, not a lemonade.  UberGeek scampered up the steps for a water.  

The kids enjoyed the show, it became too loud for Eddie Haskell so we had to leave at intermission.  Next time we'll bring ear plugs.  Walking toward the parking lot I noticed a man sitting on the sidewalk with what looked like palm fronds all around him.  He looked down on his luck, maybe homeless, and I wasn't quite sure what he was doing.  At a glance it looked like he might be making something, kind of like people do at Palm Sunday with the palm fronds but I couldn't tell what.  We made it to the parking lot and packed up the kids.  Then I asked UberGeek for a ten spot.  I'm sure after eight years of marriage he knew what I was about to do. I walked back to the man on the sidewalk, by then his palm fronds had taken the shape of roses, unlike any I had ever seen on Palm Sunday.  I asked him if they were for sale.  He was very friendly and said that he noticed me looking at them on my first walk past. He explained that they were Palm Roses of Passion, for the Passion of Christ.  Then the man told me I could have a rose for a donation, whatever I thought was fair.  So I asked for two for my ten spot.  It was an agreeable price and I picked the two most similar I could find to avoid a fight between Diva and Eddie Haskell.  I thanked him and headed back down the sidewalk.  

When I got back to the car and knocked on the window the kids saw the roses and wanted to know what they were.  I explained that a man had made them out of a palm frond just for them.  Diva sniffed it deeply with her picky nose and pronounced it good.  A much better souvenir than the light wand.