A Little Liberating

Back in October, when Jay got really sick, we started making a mental list (followed by an actual written list, thanks to Jay) of all the things we wanted to do--our bucket list of sorts. At the top of the list was a trip to Germany. Jay spent time in Germany in both high school and college, and he has been intentional about speaking German to both Joshua and Clare in our home. So it wasn't a surprise when he said that taking the kids to Germany was really important to him. Of course the kids are too little to remember it, we reasoned, but that wasn't really the point. The point is that we will share the experience.

There's something really liberating about pushing the bucket list up a few years. We are trying to prioritize the things we want to do instead of trying to convince ourselves that we'll do things when we have enough money/when we have enough time/when the kids are older/when we'll enjoy it more. Yes, there are tons of reasons not to do it, but none of them cancels out the thought of sitting in a hospital room with Jay, thinking, "Boy, I wish we'd gone to Germany when we had the chance."

So while I am terrified by the thought of two children under the age of four suffering from jet lag, I am also somehow grateful that we don't have the luxury of waiting until X, Y, or Z happens. It's helped us to live in the present and realize the importance of having a good time together. We've always been delayed gratification kind of people, so this is a real discipline for us. One that I hope we won't ever take for granted.

Harder Than I Thought

Three years ago I was commissioned by the Northern Illinois Conference of the United Methodist Church and became a probationary Elder in the conference. Six weeks later I went on Family Leave. Today marked the ordination of the group of men and women with whom I was commissioned three years ago. They have survived and thrived throughout three years of probationary membership, met together regularly to support each other, endured another round of interviews with the Board of Ordained Ministry, and undoubtedly done some wonderful things in their churches. Had I not decided to stay home with my children I might have been with them today.

So I've been a little teary today as I've read their status updates and caught little glimpses of how this next step is affecting them. Had I thought about it I might have made the effort to go to St. Charles and cheer them on. They are an amazing group of men and women with incredible gifts for ministry, and their ordination today makes me hopeful about the future of the United Methodist Church--maybe we can be a church that lives up to its promise of open minds, open hearts, and open doors. Maybe we can be a church that gives hope to the cynics and that lives out the unconditional love of Christ in all we say and do.

And while I celebrate with them, I can't help but think what my life might look like if I had chosen their path. What would my life be like if I had chosen to remain in the local church for the last three years? I willingly admit that part of me feels like I'm missing out on something huge, and today more than ever I am painfully aware that my choice to stay home with my children means that I have missed out on a different opportunity. To say that I don't have regrets would be a lie. No matter how confident I am that I made the right choice, my heart still hurts a little bit today because I realize the magnitude of the sacrifice I've made.

It would be so humbling and amazing to stand with my friends today and feel the hands of the bishop on my shoulders. Some days the feeling of my children's hands in mine make up for that feeling, but for today I will sit with the sorrow that comes with choosing one path over another. And I will rejoice with my friends who will have hands laid on them and stoles placed over their shoulders, and I will thank God for the call to ministry given to men and women who want to love the world as Jesus did.

Ten Years, Part II

Ten years ago, ten years seemed like a long time. Now it doesn't seem like any time at all.  Oh, we joke about how we no longer remember anything about our life in California, and it does seem like we were little kids playing house when we lived there, but it doesn't feel like we've trudged down ten years of marital journey.

I remember how hard it was at the beginning.  Jay had lived by himself for three years.  I had lived in community, but always found my own space if I needed to run and hide from the rest of the world.  Jay even bought a house bigger than we needed, simply because he knew we'd both need lots of space.  The funny thing was that we inevitably ended up squashed together in our upstairs loft space, reading the computer monitor over each other's shoulders or one of us sitting on the little futon we put up there so we could still be near each other if the one of us was working on the computer.  We had two, but Jay's was newer and far superior to mine.  And we didn't have television, so books and the internet (dialup, of course) were our only escapes.

But it was still hard to live in the same house with someone.  It was hard to coordinate schedules, to give each other space, to figure out how to communicate.  I remember getting so angry with Jay one day that I kicked an empty box on the floor and stomped out of the house to go on a long walk.  I think that was the first day I realized that I really did have the stereotypical redhead's temper.  Of course I don't even remember what we argued about now.

I look back now and I wonder what the heck we thought we were doing.  Why we ever thought it would be a good idea for a couple of 24-year-olds to get married and go get jobs and try to figure out what to do with our lives.  Looking back on it now we seemed ridiculously young for all of that.  But somehow we have survived, and thrived.  We have had our share of adventures and have tried our very best to be good to each other and to anyone who needs the shelter of love that we can provide.  We've managed to avoid a routine.  We just keep finding new things to do and new places to go.  We've never set some sort of ultimate goal for our collective life (other than raising happy and healthy children), instead blooming where we've been planted until we feel a call on our lives to go somewhere else.  The next few years will not disappoint in the adventure arena.  We will wait and see how Jay's health progresses, and I will have to make a decision about my future as a pastor in the United Methodist Church.  But we have ten years behind us that have made us stronger and closer.  They have shown us that we can survive just about anything, and that we are ready for whatever life tosses our way.

I often poo-poo the idea that there is only one perfect person for everyone, but after ten years it seems that Jay and I actually are the perfect people for each other.  We sometimes stress over everyday decisions, but the big ones almost never require discussion. Somehow our values and priorities are so perfectly lined up that the huge decisions are a given for us.  Were we that perfectly matched before we even met, or did we grow that way over the last ten years?  I'm not sure, but I know that there is no one else with whom I'd rather share my life.  And I'm pretty sure there's no one else with whom I could share my life. Despite the difficulties, or maybe because we always seem to survive them, it's a sweet life.  God give us ten more.

Ten Years

10 Years Ago:

Today:

You Are What You Eat

We spend a lot of money on food.  I won't say how much because it's embarrassing. 

In the spring and summer we get all of our meat and almost all of our produce from our CSA, which is more expensive than getting it at the grocery store.  But it's worth it to us to know that the majority of what we eat comes from less than 2 hours away and that we can actually go see where our food is grown anytime we like.  I never worry about foodborne illness, chemicals, additives, freshness, and I just can't put a price on that.

We also get all of our dairy products from the Farmer's Market--cheese, ice cream, and milk--plus eggs and preserves.  It adds up.

Of course we still go to the grocery store.  My list for this week includes soy sauce, applesauce, olive oil, and garlic.  And whenever possible I buy local or organic at the store.  

I've felt guilty about the amount of money I spend on food for awhile.  I've tried to get excited about clipping coupons, but I rarely see coupons for the things I buy. (Except that just this week I got an envelope from Kroger with targeted coupons that I'll actually use.  Hooray!)  And I've checked out websites that promise to help you cut down your food budget by providing meal plans, but our participation in the CSA guarantees that our meals for the week will consist of whatever shows up in two big boxes on Sunday afternoon.

Oh, the guilt.

Until the other day.  Jay and I were shopping with the kids together and I was cringing over the grocery bill.  And the light went on.  "Jay," I said, "I'm done feeling guilty about the amount of money I spend on food."  (Let me be clear here that Jay has never once criticized my food spending.)  

As I thought about it I realized that we don't waste food.  We don't throw anything away.  We hardly buy any processed food at all.  If we are what we eat, then I would much rather my kids be wholesome and fresh and natural  and vitaminy than processed and preserved and junky and sugary.  And if I have to spend a truckload of money making sure that my family gets the highest-quality food I can find then so be it.  In fact, I realized that if feeding my kids the freshest, most nutritious, most ecologically friendly food available means that I have to forgo a vacation or clothes or home improvements or whatever else, then I'm willing to make those sacrifices.  And I have.  There's a lot I'm willing to compromise on in our budget. What my kids put into thier bodies isn't one of them.

Two things come to mind as I write this.  The first is that I realize that not everyone is in a position to spend whatever it takes to feed their families this way.  And the second is that it shouldn't be that way.  When you can get three boxes of macaroni and cheese for the same price as one head of organic broccoli, and when you don't have too much to spend and a family to feed, that macaroni and cheese is going to go a heckuva lot farther than the broccoli.  

So at this point I'm stuck.  Grateful to be able to feed my family whole foods that are local and good for them...not sure what I can do within a system that leaves people less fortunate than me deciding between virtually nutrient-free food and this month's rent. 

I've Been Gone Too Long--Here's Some Filler Until the Next Post

Joshua had a tummyache of unknown origin all day long yesterday.  Close to bedtime last night he complained again that his tummy hurt.  

Mama:  "Well, would you like some Mylanta?"

Joshua:  "Um, OK, I'll take some of your lanta."

Bonus:

Clare:  "Lanta!  Lanta!  Lanta!"

Bittersweet

Today was Joshua's last official day of Playschool before summer break. When I walked in this morning I saw two Ziploc bags containing his emergency change of clothes sitting over his coathook in the hallway. That's when I realized how sad I was. Of course I'm looking forward to getting to be with him all day every day this summer, but as this school year draws to a close I remember how much we've all changed over the course of the year.

I questioned my decision to send him to playschool up until the night before, and even then I was a nervous wreck. I packed his Ziploc bag of 2T clothes and some permission slips in his backpack and sent him off with Jay, nearly sick to my stomach with worry that the whole thing would be a disaster. And he was fine. And he loved it. And he was so, so small.

(Clare wears these shoes now, and those shorts are so short as to be mildly obscene on him)

I remember that about six weeks into school one of his teachers mentioned that she wished he would participate more instead of hanging around on the periphery and watching everything. "That's just his MO," I said. "He'll get the hang of it eventually. He did the same thing in Kindermusik." And then his trip to Chicago in November changed everything. Somehow, some way, that trip turned him into a different person. My theory is that going off to a big city alone with Vati and hanging out with Vati's friends gave him an extra-large dose of self-confidence that has yet to subside. His next day at school, after returning from his trip, his teacher said, "We don't know what happened on his trip, but Joshua is a different person." I noticed it too. The transformation was remarkable. Same Joshua, just...more of him.

Jay had been in charge of dropping him off in the Fall, but when January rolled around it was my job to take him. I was surprised by his confidence. After using the potty and washing his hands he ran to the door of his room without so much as a backward glance. If I wanted a kiss, I had to ask for it before he disappeared into his world of little friends, paint, and dressup. When the weather warmed up enough for them to go outside, he began telling me that he played with the "three-year-olds," and it wasn't long before he started asking me if he could go to the three-year-old class. I told him he could ask his teacher, but to my knowledge he never did.

Now he knows the names of almost all 40-something kids that go to school with him on Tuesdays and Thursdays. His teachers love him and are incredulous when I mention that his behavior at home might sometimes be less-than-stellar. Of course they are responsible for much of his transformation. Oh that we all could spend three hours every day in an environment where such unconditional love and concern come spilling out the doors.

On Thursday we will attend his end-of-the-year program where we will hear all of the songs that Joshua's been singing for the past several weeks. Then he'll have two weeks of day-camp-ish activities at school.

But this is it. This is the end of his first year of school. There's no way to quantify the ways we've all changed since September, but today I am reminded of how quickly time passes and how precious each moment is. Part of me wants to freeze everything just like it is. But that wouldn't be fair to him, and it wouldn't be fair to us, so I'll just allow myself to get a little weepy as I remember that I swore I would never be "that kind of mom."

But how could I not be?