on the subject of sin

Earlier today, I looked around my kitchen with an unusually discerning eye and saw all kinds of crud building up in the corners near the floor; stuff I hadn't noticed before that seemed alarmingly, disgustingly plain in that moment.

It reminded me of something I'd read just a short while before -- an excerpt on sin.

The word sin can conjure so many thoughts, feelings and emotions, oftentimes of the negative variety. Who really wants to talk about sin, after all? Who really wants to read about it? Better just close out of this post right now and leave well enough alone, right? But wait a second. What if reflecting on sin turns out to be freeing instead of condemning?

I believe our Lenten outcome can be more satisfying by taking a look at sin in our lives. Lent is a time of pruning, after all. Considering the sin that holds us captive can help us prune more efficiently. It can help free us from our bondage to its effects, which are not unlike the caked-on grime in the corners of our kitchen floors. We can't truly rid ourselves of that grime until we stoop down low, take a good hard look and acknowledge its ugly existence.

Here's a bit from the pertinent section of the abovementioned book (Kathleen Norris's Acedia & Me, p. 113-4). I think you might be surprised by what Norris says on the subject:

"Religious vocabularly is demanding, and words such as sin and repentance carry so much baggage that even many Christians are reluctant to employ them. In a culture marked by theological illiteracy it is tempting to censor terms that are so often misconstrued and misused. Many people who would not dream of relying on the understanding of literature or the sciences they acquired as children are content to leave their juvenile theological convictions largely unexamined. If they resented religion when they were young, as adults they are perplexed and dismayed by its stubborn persistence in the human race. But religions endure because they concern themselves with our deepest questions about good and evil, about the suffering that life brings to each of us, and about what it means to be fully human in the face of death.

"We are right to distrust the idea of sin as it is often presented, but are foolish indeed if we throw out the living baby with the old church bathwater. The concept of sin does not exist so that people who may need therapy more than theology can be convinced that they are evil and beyond hope. It is meant to encourage people to believe that they are made in the image of God and to act accordingly. Hope is the heart of it, and the ever-present possibility of transformation. The doctrine would not have remained a living tradition for such a long time if it had not been, as the theologian Linda Mercandante describes it in her book Victims and Sinners, 'a rich, holistic way of conceptualizing the human dilemmma -- one that functioned to steady and inform thousands of generations.' Were I to deny this, and discount the wisdom of my ancestors, I would grow not wise but overconfident in my estimation of myself and in what passes for progress.'"

All this relates to the parenting journey in this way, I believe. Children primarily learn God's love for them first through experiencing parental love. We are the model for God in their earliest years. What an awesome responsibility. As such, we need to do the necessary pruning so that we might have conviction behind our words as we try to teach our little ones the best ways to live.

The good thing is, even though God is perfect, we aren't, nor must we be. But the pruning process, which is what Lent is at its essence, can help us be in the best shape possible as we counsel our children through their growing-up years.

Above all, though, we must know that, despite our imperfections, transformation is always possible; not just tomorrow, but in every moment of the day in which we are living.

kathleen norris: to merely exist

The same day I started The Shack, another book I'd ordered -- the latest of Kathleen Norris -- arrived in the mail. I am a huge fan of Norris. It was while living out on the West Coast that I stumbled upon Dakota: A Spiritual Geography. That book made me yearn for home like nothing else, not only in what it said but how it was said. Norris has a very poetic style. In fact, she's a poet, but one who writes beautiful longer works as well. It's been several years since I've read anything from her, so when I noticed her title, Acedia & Me, I was especially thirsty for her writing and couldn't help but open the cover...just to take a little peek. And so I've decided to stay with her a while. To me, this is excellent Lenten material. Norris takes the plunge in her writings. She goes deep. This is not your easy-read Danielle Steele fare. Sometimes we just need the light stuff. Other times, however, the deep stuff is what's necessary for growth. So here I am, going there with her for the duration of 286 richly written, well-considered pages. And even though it's a very Lent-like subject (acedia has been defined by such words as: sloth, spiritual torpor, apathy, a non-caring state, melancholia), I am happy to be in her company once again. (My apologizes to The Shack, but I promise, you will be next!)

Here's an excerpt I came across earlier today that I underlined for the purpose of sharing here (p. 40):

"...It is always easier for us to busy ourselves than to merely exist. Even important and useful work can distract us from remembering who we are, and what our deeper purpose might be. Monastic wisdom insists that when we are most tempted to feel bored, apathetic, and despondent over the meaninglessness of life we are on the verge of discovering our true self in relation to God. It is worth not giving up, because when we are willing to do nothing but "be," we meet the God who is the very ground of being, the great "I AM" whom Moses encountered at the burning bush."

ash-crossed foreheads

By the time I reached the grocery store parking lot this evening, my mind already had turned from the Mass I'd just attended toward my next task: a fishstick-finding mission. But it didn't take long for the reminder to hit -- right between the eyes. As soon as I walked through the doors of the store, I began seeing them on the foreheads of shoppers analyzing fruit, discerning salad choices and examining bread options: those little black marks indicating another Ash Wednesday celebration has taken place. Passing by a mirrored meat display, I couldn't help but notice the imperfect ash cross smudged across my own forehead. And though in the middle of a very ordinary moment, the significance of the smudge struck me as I saw the marking for what it is: a reminder that this life, my life, is passing away.

"You came from dust, and to dust you shall return." Those are the words said to more than a billion Christians every year as, one by one, a black Lenten cross is traced on their forehead. Do we dread these words, as some of my friends recently have admitted, or do they bring us a sense of wonder as we contemplate the fleeting nature of our lives?

We live in a culture that often wants to shirk death, to pretend it's not going to happen to us. We obsess over our living and how to lengthen our time on this earth. But should we focus on quantity or quality? It's human nature, I think, to regard our ending with some amount of dread, but I find those words largely comforting. Humbling, yes, but freeing, too. We are here for but a short time. What will we do with our time? We are not guaranteed tomorrow, so what will we do with today?

The church was standing-room only tonight, and I think I know one reason why. We desperately need these little reminders, these markings of the passing of time and another season, of our need to turn more introspectively so that we can make the best choices while they are ours to make. The most content people, I have to believe, are those who, at their end, feel they have used their finite time here in as meaningful a way as possible.

After dinner, I reluctantly did a Target run with my daughter and son to buy some needed school supplies. Again, we came upon numerous people with ashes on their foreheads. My amused daughter kept looking up at me, giggling. I can understand her amusement. It's not everyday we can identify our fellow Christians simply by looking at their faces. It was a comforting feeling seeing so many others who are walking a similar path. Some might find these Lenten markings odd, even a bit eerie, but it is not intended to be a showy, "I'm a Christian, see my black mark," kind of thing, but more of an, "I'm a Christian trying my best to live a conscientious life, doing so quite imperfectly, as you can see by this black, imperfect cross, but trying nevertheless." We need one another.

And so it has officially begun. I was the cantor at Mass this evening, and asked my 8-year-old daughter to join me. I want her to get used to singing in front of a large crowd. Starting now will help her feel less intimidated when the time comes for her to song-lead, I am hoping. I felt glad to have her with me, and it brought me back to those long-ago days when I would get crossed with ash, then run home to look at the strange mark in the mirror. It was a curiosity back then, and I'm sure my daughter had the same sense of confliction in Target I used to feel when in public with my cross: self-conscious mixed with a bit of giddy.

I feel blessed to be able to share these traditions that began in my childhood with my children. Our lives might be fleeting, but through our children, there is a sense that even after we're gone, something of us will be left behind. I want that something of myself to be life-giving. My daughter's bright, curious eyes give me the hope it could be.

ash wednesday 2009

As of this writing, we're pushing midnight; thus, we're coming upon Ash Wednesday. Lent is here and I'm ready and willing to take part. We'll see if I still feel that way a few weeks from now. But it feels good, for once, to be at this place of receptivity to whatever might come of this season of deepening awareness and pause.

Following my own self-imposed sacrifices, I will be turning off the comments function on my posts. Just a reminder: this isn't intended to be a sacrifice for you, but a way for me to turn my attention solely toward the giving aspects of this blog. However, if something I say here requires a response that can't wait until Easter, I am leaving my email address in a conspicuous place. Feel free to use that instead.

By the way, I'm not the first blogger to turn off her comments during Lent. For more reflection on this, see Jennifer's post here.

I will miss your "voices" in the coming weeks, but I truly look forward to hearing from you again on or around Easter. I very much appreciate all my readers, so hope you'll stick around during my silence! April 12 will be here sooner than we can imagine.

(Looking at clock...) Aha, it is after midnight now, so I will end with a Lent-like thought from the recently oft-quoted Redeemed by Heather King. This one seems particular appropriate given the above post, and I love what it says:

"My spiritual giant of a friend Maudie was saying one day that when we're focused on what others can give us -- adulation, approval -- and they don't (which is basically always), then it puts us in a constant state of "disappointment and longing." Whereas if we focus not on what the world can give us but what we can bring to it, things are always set right. Hers is a message I can never hear enough: that everything we really long for is always right here, right now, because it is always in our power to orient our hearts toward God, toward giving instead of getting. The whole secret of life is not minding what happens...and while we're not minding, giving. That's what creates the space in which, invisibly, imperceptibly -- while we "slumber" by attending to other people's wounds -- our own incurable wounds are healed." (pages 134-5)

fat tuesday: forum column (emotional owies)

This morning, our youngest daughter brought a bag of brightly colored, stringed beads to school. It was part of her class's "Fat Tuesday" celebration. Each child was encouraged to share something -- treats, drinks or, in our daughter's case, Mardi Gras beads straight from the actual event in New Orleans (courtesy of her cousins in Mississippi).

Some scoff at the overindulgent nature of "Fat Tuesday," and if New Orleans is our only model for such a day, then I will join them. But as with most of these things, it's important to look at the intent of the celebration. Fat Tuesday at its best is a springboard launching Christians who observe Lent into one of the most meaningful times of the year. This is truly something to get excited over.

I decided to enter into the spirit of Fat Tuesday a few hours early last night when, during my Monday night "date with myself" at a local coffee shop, I ordered up a big, fat, frosted brownie to go with my white chocolate mocha. Desserts are a downfall for me, and as such, I am including giving up desserts with my other Lenten commitments this year. I do this not to punish myself (though it might feel like that on occasion during these next forty days) but to be more mindful of the sacrifices that have been made on my behalf, as well as for those who will not intentionally commit to a sacrifice because theirs is lived daily.

One thing I will not give up this Lent is my ongoing commitment to tend to my kids' emotional woes. It's a topic I tackled briefly for my monthly Forum "Parenting Perspectives" column. I have Marie, my blogging pal, to thank for the inspiration for this one.

Feelings difficult to discern in kids
By: Roxane B. Salonen

Recently, a friend and new mother confided that she longs for the day her baby can talk so she’ll know why he’s sad.

I had the same yearning back when I was a new mother and everything about my baby seemed a mystery. It will be so much easier someday when he can just tell me what’s wrong.

Thirteen years later, my children are as verbally adept as needed for their respective ages. But ask me if I’ve come any closer to finding out what’s wrong and I’ll be honest: The mystery remains.

Granted, if any of my children has a physical ailment these days they can point to the exact spot that hurts and say, “Right there.” It does make some things easier.

But emotional aches are a different matter. And while processing my friend’s desire for easier communication with her child, the realization hit me that I’m still just as perplexed at how to “make it all better” now as I was then.

When my 3-year-old falls into the throes of a full-blown tantrum, my mind works overtime to meet him where he’s at to coax him out of his blues. I seldom succeed.

It’s sometimes easier with his 6-year-old brother. And yet, he views the world largely in black and white, and I struggle helping him see the grays.

My daughters, 8 and 11, are rarely at a loss for words in sharing details of their day. Still, over time I’ve come to see that much of their dramatic retellings are simply a disguise to keep me befuddled about what’s really going on inside. Getting to the heart of the matter can be like winding through a hay-bale maze without ever reaching the middle.

As for their older brother, 13, it’s about as easy to draw emotions out of him as liquid from an open pop can that’s been sitting in the Sahara for months.

Not to make light of my friend’s agony, because I get it. The good news is the physical part should become easier in time. She’ll feel the relief of knowing what hurts, where it hurts and what can be done about it.

As for the rest, it won’t be so easy, but she can take heart knowing her job as translator and fixer is limited by design.

I credit my father for teaching me this years before parenthood was on my horizon. I came to him over some drama of my own relating to a soured friendship, to which he responded: “Friends will come in and out of your life, but your mother and I will always be here.”

It was a rather shocking idea back when my main goal was to distance myself from my parents, but one I never forgot.

There will be days my new-mommy friend will be able to reach into her medicine cabinet, pick out a neon-colored bandage and fix the boo-boo.

Other times, listening through the sadness will be all that’s necessary, or possible, to soothe the hurt.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roxane B. Salonen works as a freelance writer and children’s author in Fargo, where she and husband, Troy, are parents to five children.

gratitude

During a particularly difficult phase in my life a while back, a wise teacher suggested I keep a daily gratitude journal to be mindful of the good things flowing into my world. Some days, all I could muster was, "Today, I am alive," and a few other seemingly tiny blessings. Back then, it seemed a lame attempt to conjure up something, anything, to write down. But in hindsight, I can see so clearly that the gift of life is the most profound of all blessings. Now, even when it's not a particularly rotten day, I often find myself feeling grateful for life first; not as a "this will have to do for now" option, but as a main focus from which all other blessings come.

It is somehow heartening to consider that even when the future seems uncertain, we can be assured we are constantly evolving and changing along with the world around us. What seems like an ending might be a beginning. What appears to be a unending cross might last only a short while. A certainty is that it will not last forever. Even the good stuff will end eventually, so why not appreciate it while it's here? I know this isn't my wisdom. It's the wisdom of others who have gone before me and figured it out first, but I'm grateful to have internalized now for myself.

Last night, my daughter began complaining of a headache. A short while after I'd gone to the grocery store to buy some children's pain-reliever, she turned white and got that funny look in her eyes that says, "This isn't what I need. I need the toilet bowl!" And so, as she "worshipped the porcelain god," I stood near, pulling back her hair, putting it into a ponytail, then helping her to find a comfortable resting place and cleaning up the mess.

Though she's feeling better now, her illness kept her home from school today, altering several of my Monday plans as well. Nevertheless, I felt so grateful as I went about my day at home, checking on her and her brother from time to time, fixing them lunch, holding back from the wild running that usually happens on Mondays. I got caught up on some phone calls and threw supper into the Crockpot hours before needed. By noon, dinner was underway! Assured of her recovery, I allowed myself to fill up with gratitude...for a quiet day at home and the comfy contentedness that can come with that; for the chance to be here for her and not have to miss anything truly monumental. Nothing nagged at me, nothing said I ought to be somewhere else. I was exactly where I was meant to be today, and that is a satisfying feeling.

And then, when I went to retrieve the school kids, I heard something on the radio that made me pause. It's one of those "pre-Lenten" messages I seem to be hearing so often these days. "God is nearer to you than you are to yourself." What an awesome truth to consider. I think of the song we used to sing in concert choir in college, "No Hiding Place." It's a prospect that shouldn't scare us or make us feel we've been exposed. Instead, we ought to feel comforted that there is One who knows us better than we know ourselves. What a relief off our shoulders to consider that we will never have to explain ourselves to at least one being in this world -- our Creator.

I'll let you chew on that a while, as I've been doing for the last hour. In the meantime, tomorrow's the day my monthly parenting column will be printed, so I'll be back then to share the latest with you. In other words, this is the last time I'll be "talking" with you pre-Lent. The next time you hear one of my regular updates, it will be on Ash Wednesday.

Before I leave, though, I have to share a small excerpt that came from a friend through email today. She'd recently met with her spiritual director, who gave her these thoughts on Lent: "Lent is a time of deepening," she'd said. The question to ask then should be, "What's my focus?" Once that's identified, the goal should be to focus on that even more; to go deeper with it.

In other words, as I said earlier, take the plunge.

Whether you partake in Lent or not, I wish for you a deepening of your senses, a plunge that will bring you to the surface a few weeks from now with an ever-expanding, ever-more-joyful heart.

revising the rules

This weekend, my friend and I were kicked out of a local coffee shop. It all stemmed from a misunderstanding. We'd agreed to meet at this certain spot but each of us had envisioned a different location during the planning stage. When she was nearly twenty minutes late, I called her cell. "You're at a different coffee shop, aren't you?" She said yes, and after we sorted out the miscommuncation, she agreed to find her way to me just several blocks away. Problem was, she'd just bought her $4 cup of brew and didn't really feel like tossing it out or buying a different one. So she brought it into the second coffee shop and joined me. As a paying customer, I felt that, though not an ideal situation, it should be okay for her to finish up her "competitor's coffee" while I drank my cup of "legitimate" coffee. After all, it had come to be as part of a misunderstanding. A while later, however, the barista came over to us and said the owner had been watching us on the security cameras from his home and if my friend didn't buy something from his store, we'd have to leave. Full from her coffee, she really didn't want anything else at the moment. I was still sipping the coffee I'd bought there so was surprised by his insistent tone. In the end, we left and finished our conversation in the car before parting ways, but not without feeling a bit conflicted over what had just occurred. We understood the owner's contention to some degree, but the way it all went down felt a little cold.

Later in the evening, I went to an event downtown Fargo with some friends, as well as to some post-show musical events that followed. A lot of those walking from post-show to post-show stopped to buy hot coffee at a local coffee shop to warm them. Not having done the "post show tour" before, I was surprised when, upon walking into one of the establishments that was hosting a musician, my coffee was swiftly removed from my hands and tossed. "I'll take that for you," said the restaurant owner before I could fully process my offense.

Twice in one day, I'd been nabbed in one way or another by the java patrol. Twice in one day, I'd indirectly and unintentionally broken the rules. Needless to say, at that moment I contemplated writing up a label bearing the words "rabble-rousing mama" and plastering it across my forehead.

This morning, I settled on tea. It's a much safer drink, I've found.

Seriously, though, we need rules in our lives. We would live in complete chaos if not for rules. But I tend to be someone who needs very much to understand why the rule exists. When I know why it's been instituted, I am happy to follow it, knowing it's likely for my own good or the good of the larger community. This weekend, however, I felt very much in sync with my children, who often ask, "But WHY, Mom?" "Because I said so." I don't like giving that answer, but every once in a while, in a weak moment, it slips out. And sometimes it comes out because, well, just because the situation calls for it. Yes, humble pie can be quite bitter.

In both of the above situations, however, I was disappointed because the insinuation each time was that either I or my friend had done something intentionally wrong. And that's the key word -- intentional. I had not set out to be a source of friction in either case.

These situations call to mind the time the sample-giving lady at Walmart slapped my hand when I reached out for a carrot. Apparently, she'd heard my daughter's voice and thought it was her hand reaching out for the carrot, not mine. Also apparently, she and her co-workers recently had been advised against giving samples to children -- probably fearing a lawsuit if a child were to choke on something. **sigh** and OUCH!

So, again, I'm not arguing against the need for rules, but I am arguing for compassion in enforcing them, especially toward the unintended offender. I only hope I model the way I'd like to be treated in such situations when the circumstances call for it.

All this leads to my heading: revising the rules. A few days back I'd mentioned my desire to reduce my blog entries to three days a week during Lent. Over the course of the last couple days, as I've continued my book reading for the 2009 book challenge, I've come across so many good passages I want to share that I've decided that on the "in between days," I might allow myself short postings containing some of the meatier quotes...and that's all. In other words, my Lenten commitment to spend a little less time on the computer, and, thus, blogging, will remain, but with the slightly revised, self-imposed rule that "off" days might bring some posted words, but not my own.

With that explained, I'll end with a slice of one of those passages from the aforementioned book, Redeemed, by Heather King:

"I'm not on a spiritual path because I'm so spiritual. I'm on a spiritual path because I'm so not spiritual." (p.4)

Well, I happen believe we are all spiritual, but I understand this line to mean that I am on the spiritual journey because my spirit is in constant need of attention and refinement and, yes, revision, too.

friday foray (winter roses)

Winter Roses

Most would argue that roses can’t be grown in wintertime.
Not here, anyway, where ice and frigidity prevail,
With temps “below the donut,” as the weather guy declares.
But you, at age three, have proven them wrong.

I smelled their pungent beauty just this morning, after all,
Even as I tried to hurry about, as I am wont to do.
I pushed and you pulled, studying snowflakes and your feet
As they zig-zagged through the YMCA parking lot.

Standing by the door near the smiling lady who held it open,
Pausing while you meandered through, unaware
Of the rushing, speeding, time-focused world beyond yours,
I willed myself to let go, to join you in your bliss.

Later, we slogged through white streets in the van on a mission.
Again, I pushed, but you resisted, asking me how
Snow could find its way into that hiding spot at the store entrance.
I had no easy answers, so we wondered together.

By then, I’d caught on to the game and I, too, began to slow.
We rode the indoor ferris wheel, giggling and spying
On the tiny people below who needed to get somewhere fast.
We glided lightly through the air, rose petals everywhere.

After perusing winter gear, leafing through gloves on clearance,
We passed the escalator entrance, froze, retraced our steps,
And, together, hopped onto the moving stairs to higher ground,
Where we enjoyed the bird’s-eye view before our descent.

But my favorite of all moments was our time in the café, where
I watched you nibble pizza, eat pop with a spoon, then lick
And slurp swirled banana ice cream, declaring it finished at the cone.
As the clock behind you sneered, you played with your straw.

And as we slothfully made our way to the front doors, I watched
As others watched you, their pace changing in accord.
While you traced letters in the granite floor with your snow boots,
I waited patiently, inhaling the scent of roses in wintertime.

three small successes

Here's something I found on Faith and Family Live; thought I'd participate since it's still Thursday. Participants are to post three recent, small successes in their lives as mothers. So I'll give it a whirl:

1) I carved out some important one-on-one time with my oldest by taking him out to eat and then to his first concert -- Jeremy Camp and Bebo Norman.

2) This afternoon, I found a way to be in three places at once by asking for "a little help from my friends."

3) I tried to really listen to my kids this week when they seemed emotionally needy, instead of doing the "uh-huh" and "really..." zombie response.

That's it! Go to the Faith and Family link to read more...or add your own!

stalled on paragraph one

It's a fairly safe bet a book is going to be good when you read the first paragraph and find yourself stalled; not because it's too awful to move ahead from there but because it's so thought-provoking.

A friend from my writers' list sent a note about this newly released memoir, Redeemed, by Heather King, a few weeks back. After reading a description, I ordered a copy and it arrived yesterday. This put me in a bit of a quandary, though, because yesterday is also the day I acquired a copy of The Shack, a book my moms' group will be discussing soon. Both have been on my "to read" list, and I've been eager to get at them. I'm afraid this might be one of those times I will be reading two books at once because each has been equally compelling to me based on initial descriptions. For some reason, though, Redeemed is speaking the most loudly to me right now. Perhaps it's because of my pre-Lent mindset (see yesterday's post). So, I'll probably finish it first.

Here's the opening paragraph from the Introduction:

"The Christian religion is only for one who needs infinite help. That is, only for one who feels infinite anguish. The whole earth can suffer no greater torment than a single soul. The Christian faith -- as I see it -- is one's refuge in this ultimate torment. Anyone to whom it is given in this anguish to open his heart, instead of contracting it, accepts the means of salvation in his heart."-- Ludwig Wittgenstein

To open his heart, instead of contracting it... What a powerful image. And yes, I would say that I need infinite help, to be certain! Left to my own devices, I would (and have) failed every time. So, bring it on, King. I'm ready and open to what you have to share.

If this is any indication how the rest of the book is going to play out, the cover quote by The Boston Globe says: "This memoir deserves to be as popular as Elizabeth Gilbert's...Eat, Pray, Love."

ready to take the lenten plunge

When writing the heading to this post, I couldn't help but think of those Nestea plunge commercials of my childhood. So, before I go deeper, for those of you who remember, here's a little blast from the past.

On to the more serious stuff now.

In a week, Lent will begin, and I've been doing a lot of thinking on how I might meld Lent into this blog, which focuses largely on parenting. When I first contemplated blogging and what might be the best lean for a blog I would author, three subjects arose that seemed fitting: parenting, faith and writing. In an ideal world, I'd keep three blogs -- one on each of those subjects. In the absence of an ideal world, I had to choose one, and I don't regret my decision. However, the fact that I focus mainly on the parenting journey here doesn't mean those other aspects don't enter in. They, too, are an inseparable part of my every day. As such, they have found their way into my writing, even if subtly. The last thing I 'd want to do is deny them and the part they play in my life as a mother.

That said, with Lent nearly upon us, I am feeling called to zero in on my thoughts and experiences relating to my faith in these 40 days of "desert." As before, the other two elements will still be there as well, but the focus, temporarily, will be on the Lenten journey. I am excited for this new change and believe it has the potential to breathe new life into my posts. I hope you will stay near as I delve into this "new" area for a while.

No two Lents are alike. Some years, I have experienced dry, lifeless Lents that seem to lack the meaning I so desire. Other years, my personal suffering has been so great during this time that giving up something as trivial as chocolate has seemed quite unnecessary. That's one of the beautiful things about Lent, though. You never know exactly what you're going to get. But you can be assured that something will happen during it, even if that something appears to be nothing at all. Give it time and the meaning will be obvious, even if you don't see it until a few years later.

Many things have come together this year for me to feel very hopeful that Lent 2009 will, for me, fall into the "meaningful" category. One of the reasons that feeling is so strong is that, unlike some other years, I am ready and eager for Lent. This year, I started pondering Lent weeks ago. I am ready for a transformation and plan to do my part to help bring it about. And I feel privileged to have the chance to bring you along as I discover what that might entail.

Before we begin moving in that direction, though, it might be important to consider why we have Lent in the first place. Some question it as I once did. Some feel Catholics in particular focus too much on the suffering Christ and not enough on the glorified, ascended Christ. But as those of us who have experienced a truly gratifying Lent know, without paying attention to the suffering aspects in our life, without taking the Lenten plunge as deeply as we can, we will never experience Easter in all its intended glory. I've written here a lot about the seasons, and have commented on how spring without a harsh winter beforehand lacks vibrancy. If we can get into that mindset, to understand a deep freeze is a necessary part of a glorious thaw, our whole Lenten experience should take on new meaning.

Here's another way to think about it. So often these days, we hear the word "intentional." Living intentionally is a very popular concept, but it is certainly not new. To me, the Lenten journey is one very definite way we enter into intentional living. The sacrifices we make during this time, as well as the additional giving we do, all speak to this. Instead of heading to the steakhouse on Friday night, we stay at home and eat a simple tuna casserole. This might seem meaningless to some, but it's the intention behind the sacrifice that counts. It's that pause to consider our blessings, and what we might do without, and how we might unite ourselves with the suffering of others, that directs our Lenten experience. These things that seem little and meaningless can take on great meaning when we do them for the right reasons; when we are intentional about them.

A fellow blogging mother-writer, Karen, has written two posts recently on The Meaningful Lent. I highly recommend reading these if you're looking for a way to enrich your Lenten experience, for yourself and your entire family. To read more about what to give up for Lent and why give up anything at all, go here and here. As a sidenote, Karen is a former atheist.

Finally, I wanted to call your attention to a couple other changes this blog will undergo, some of which already have begun to take effect:

1) Instead of posting daily, I am going to be posting three days a week, typically Monday, Wednesday and Friday. My blogging time is a great joy for me, but in keeping with my desire to continually readjust my life for balance, I am going to try this, starting now and throughout Lent, and perhaps beyond if it feels right. This might mean longer posts on my blogging days, because I can't completely turn off the flow of thoughts that come, nor my desire to share them. But I am going to try to reorder my days a bit to make more time for, well, things like keeping my house somewhat clean (not my forte and something I must force). I also want to model reasonable computer use to my children. That said, I am going to allow myself a pass if, on a certain day that doesn't fall on M, W or F, I happen to have something really inspirational to share. But in keeping with my new goal, I will either keep it light or not post at all the next day. I also will try to stay away from weekends, in general, especially Sunday.

2) I've seen posts of other bloggers that discuss comments and the need, at times, to turn off the comment function in order to focus more on the giving and less on the receiving aspects of blogging. During Lent, I intend to do that; however, please don't see this as me avoiding you or not wanting to hear from you. If you have a thought that you want to share or discuss, I would welcome an email (I will make sure it is easy to access during this time of no comments). I just want to try this temporarily and see what fruits it might bring to be less focused on any return.

3) You might already have noticed this small change, but I've begun keeping each word of my post headings lowercase. This is simply to simplify and keep this blog and my mirror blogs more uniform. It's something my blogging pal Emilie employed and seems an effective way to get on quickly with the business of writing the post. Knowing what a thinker Emilie was, I am sure this was an intentional move on her part.

Speaking of getting on with the business of...it's nearly time to pick up the school kids, so off I go on my daily afternoon van run.

Wishing all of you peace in these pre-Lent days, and again, looking forward to sharing the Lenten journey with you...

you won't find this in california

It's remotely possible, perhaps, if you hike to higher terrain. But in sunny L.A., Sacramento or San Diego, or any other sun-drenched, high-temp place in the world, you're not going to come out to your driveway to run some errands one afternoon and find your front yard transformed into an ice abode:

Leave it to my daughters to figure out a way to make ice furniture. My 8-year-old came inside about an hour before I saw this to tell me she'd made a couch out of snowdrifts, and that she'd been sitting there relaxing (on ice?) when, inside the garage, she heard a "pop!" that startled her from her serenity (on ice?). It was another can of my Coke Zero exploding, but it sounded like someone was shooting at her, from what she could tell. Guess it's time to bring the Coke Zero inside, but, I have to admit, the garage does make a nice fridge at times, and it's quite energy-efficient, too.

While in the van today, Nick, 3, asked how many more weeks until his birthday. "Nine," I said. He brought out his fingers, held them out in front of his face, and began counting: "One, two, three four five..." He reached nine. "Oh, that's not so much," he said. I realized then he was probably thinking along the lines of nine days instead of weeks, so I clarified. "It's still a ways off, but getting closer. But here's how you'll know. By the time it's your birthday, all the snow should be melted." He liked that idea, along with the fact that he probably won't have to wear a coat to his birthday party. "You might even be able to wear shorts," I said. "Cool!" he answered, staring out the window into the white abyss, imagining that far-off day when he, sporting his spring attire, will turn the ripe-old age of 4.

Quite a few years back, when my oldest son was about the same age, he wondered when his birthday would be. It was early November, and I wasn't sure how to explain "one month" to him, so I said, "When it starts snowing, you'll know it's your birthday." I knew I was taking a chance. Sometimes it snows here on or before Halloween. But that year, the first real snow came late -- mid-December. The morning of his birthday, just as I'd ordered it, the snow began to fall heavily. Dodged that bullet. Now, if the snow melts around April 16 this year, my record will be pretty good. We'll see.

By now, the blankets that made up the ice furniture are inside and drying, but the baby dolls that had been brought out along with them remain, sadly, in the drifts atop a doll blanket. I'd better go rescue them!

Happy President's Day...

 

 

 

column on love points to peace garden mama

Forgive the piecemeal post, but the column I'd been hoping to share today is not yet online. Therefore, "plan b," the scanned and cropped version, will have to do. The column fittingly speaks of love and Valentine's Day. It also references this blog, Peace Garden Mama. 

The columnist, Shirley Vogler Meister, hails from Indiana, where she's one of several columnists who writes for "Faithful Lines," a section of The Criterion newspaper serving the archdiocese of Indianapolis. I "met" Shirley quite a few years ago when I joined a writers' listserv, and have been privileged to call her one of my faraway, online writer friends ever since. I really think of her as one of my many "other-mothers," a fellow faith sister, mom and writer who serves as a sort of life mentor, and whose little notes of encouragement always seem to arrive at my email inbox precisely when I most need them (even when I didn't know it beforehand). Aside from her column writing, she's a published poet and all-around sweet lady. I hope you'll enjoy Shirley's words on love.

I'll end with the other valentines that rounded out the collection bestowed on me by my children this weekend.

May love rule your today and tomorrow!

 

our night at sarello's

Appetizer: scallops in creamy red pepper sauce

Main dishes: lobster ravioli (Troy), sea bass with capers, olives and roasted peppers with gnocchi and peapods on the side (Roxane)

is it too late to say sorry?

Dear Valentine's Day,

I owe you an apology. When I spoke of you in yesterday's post, I was not very cordial. I focused on commercialism and other aspects of you that rub me the wrong way. I talked in disparaging tones. I failed to give you the benefit of the doubt. 

I take it all back now, Valentine's Day, and I hope it's not too late to ask for forgiveness. This afternoon, when my 8-year-old daughter looked at me with her chocolate-brown eyes and softly handed me the valentine she'd made with me in mind, I melted. It was all so sweet and unexpected; the way she taped a piece of dark chocolate to the top, the colored pencils she used to make it more vibrant, the near-perfect heart she cut on her own accord, but most of all, those beautiful words across the front: "I love you."

I get you now, Valentine's Day, and I know now that even though you've been trying to tell me otherwise, I've been misunderstanding you all these years. You're really well-intending after all, and you have a tremendous heart. All you've ever wanted was to bring us together, to remind us of what's important. Somewhere along the way, I became sidetracked, thinking it was about something else. But it really was all about love, after all. 

Thanks, with my daughter's help, for the clarification.

With much love and great humility,

Peace Garden Mama

in anticipation of valentine's day

Typically, Valentine's Day doesn't do much for me. It's always seemed a day of forced love; a day when those without a significant other feel their loneliness threefold, and those who have one are made to believe their love must be optimal this day or they've failed somehow. It brings out the stubborn little girl in me. I don't want to HAVE to turn on the love faucet on a designated day. Love is something that should flow naturally, even if in uneven, uncertain increments, throughout the year. And yet, I don't want to be a Valentine's Day Grinch, either, a downer of a person murmuring heart-shaped "Hum-bugs" throughout the day. If it feels right, I am happy to celebrate a day that is truly well-intended by some, even if exploited by the candy, cards and flower industries. I can take the good of it, like the guilt-free chocolate indulging it allows, or the reminder of the blessing of loving and being loved.

Perhaps my Valentine's Day dread comes in part from a memory I have of my husband's and my early years together. Intent on joining the throngs who dine out on this day, and living in a city where dinner reservations are rarely accepted, we went in search of an eating establishment one fine Valentine's Day evening. Five stops and at least an hour later (and with ravaging stomachs to boot), we begrudgingly settled on a local burger joint, an experience that was a far cry from the romantic dinner I'd envisioned. Ever since then, we've tended to downplay Valentine's Day.

This year, however, we're jumping back on the Valentine's Day bandwagon for just a few hours. You see, as part of our kids' school raffle, we happily won a $100 gift certificate to a wonderful restaurant here in town -- Sarello's -- and will be eating there tomorrow evening. We're really just using Valentine's "weekend" as an excuse to redeem our gift certificate, but whatever it takes to escape the kids for a few hours, right? And without the guilt of overspending -- what could be better?

The real reason I was eager to do this post, though, was to share this photo, borrowed from my summer files.  It was taken in the yard of our dear Grandpa John, who left us this past October. A neighbor had brought over a yellow lab puppy, which reminded me so much of our own yellow lab who died of cancer quite a few years ago, before our three youngest were born or aware. Watching the kids stop dead in their tracks from wild play to congregate around the puppy, seeing their gentle touches and excited eyes, realizing his calming effect on them -- it all brought on a sudden feeling of deep serenity to me.

To me, this visual exemplifies the true intent behind Valentine's Day -- the gentle, innocent acts of love that come to us in the most unexpected and often unplanned moments. It's an image I'd like to hang on to for a while, and one I'm happy to share with you as well.

Wishing you the kind of love that springs up seemingly out of nowhere, squirming like a new puppy and catching you blissfully unaware...

hung up on harper lee

I feel weepy tonight. After a very brief but intense relationship, a friend has turned her back on me. "That's it -- it's over," I'm almost sure I heard her whisper (probably so the kids couldn't hear). And then, just like that, I was shut out. Poof! She just drew in and closed up, as if I'd never even existed.

Maybe you won't feel so sorry for me when you find out my friend was...well, a book. Yeah, I know. Sorry. But I DO feel weepy. And, it IS almost like losing a friend when you finish a good book. Like any relationship, you start a book by opening the cover and taking a peek. If it seems you two have enough in common, if there's enough there to capture your interest, you start probing to find out a little more...and a little more. At some point, you know whether it's a match, and if it is, you know there's no turning back: you're properly hooked.

And so you find yourself entrenched in the latest read despite your hectic life. In fact, many people in your position say they've no time at all to read. But you must. You are hungry to engage with the world, and since you can't be "out there" as much as you'd like, the world must come to you, and one of your favorite ways to bring it to your doorstep and into your home is through a good book.

As such, you find yourself rearranging your life slightly to make room for a few minutes more with your special, new "friend." Normally, a wait in the dentist's office with your child is drudgery, but with a good book in hand, it turns into an opportunity. You bring your new friend with you everywhere you might have to pause, in fact. You tote it along with your hairspray and change of clothes in your gym bag and read while you're on the treadmill. You keep it on the floor of your van for those times you find yourself waiting on a friend who is late for a lunch date. You bring it inside your house later and make sure to keep it near the bathroom, just in case (why not?). Your life might be busy, but where there's a will there's a way, and you'll find a way to make room for this new gem, which is really more like a compact, tote-able adventure.

The latest book that "caught me" in its delightful snare was Mockingbird: A Portrait of Harper Lee. The work that spawned this one, To Kill a Mockingbird, has been heralded as one of the greatest novels of the 20th century. For years, it's been the favorite of my father, a former English teacher and avid reader.



I was introduced to the work of Nelle "Harper" Lee in tenth grade through my English teacher, Miss Elliott. Of all the works we read that year, this one has left the most lasting impression. I'm but a tiny speck of sand in the ocean shores of people who have been similarly affected by this title, I know. Nevertheless, it had been a while since I'd thought of Atticus, Scout, Dill, Jem, "Boo" and the others. When my Mom said Dad had gotten this as a Christmas gift and wondered whether I'd like to read it, too, I was all over it. "Send it -- absolutely!" What might have taken me weeks to get through took only days. Reading about the famed Southern writer, Ms. Lee, who has been something of a recluse in the years following her book's success, had me completely captivated.

Tonight, I finished the last chapter after feeding the kids a simple frozen-pizza meal. Right there at the kitchen table with the five of them swirling around me...I read the last words of the book, smiled, then closed it up. At that moment, I was still vacillating between three worlds: NYC, where Lee penned much of the book; Monroeville, Alabama, where she grew up and wrote another portion of it; and Fargo, ND, the setting of my current life.

I suspect it's going to take me another day or so to fully emerge from the "Mockingbird" fog, but I know I will in time. Real life will demand it, and I will acquiesce with only minimal resistance. But I will not step out the same person as the one who opened the cover to that first page a few days back. A good read settles itself into a small corner of your soul and takes up permanent residence, changing you in some small or large way forever.

I'll admit it. I probably could have waited another day to take my son to the doctor yesterday, but the thought that I might have time to get through a chapter while in the waiting room proved too tempting (plus, he really did need to be seen).

What are the lengths you've gone to to finish an absorbing book? I'd love to hear your book-reading "confessions"!

In the meantime, I guess it's on to the next book on my reading list. Before I crack open another story, however, I think I'll let this one linger for a day or so more. I'm not quite ready to let go.

with flying colors

This morning, I took my fifthborn to his first dentist appointment. I still remember when, at the same tender age of 3, I was whisked away by my father from preschool and on to the dentist some 70 miles from our town, where I would have my first cavity filled. I've also retained the memory of kissing my father in the parking lot of the Red Owl grocery store afterwards, in gratitude for the ice-cream bar he'd bought me for my bravery, and asking him, "Doesn't that feel funny, Daddy?" I thought certain that when he kissed me, he, too, could feel the funny sensation from my numbed, novacaine-injected mouth. He told this story many times afterwards, always with a smile, which explains why the memory has stayed strong all these years.

Unfortunately, Nick has a few small cavities in a hard-to-reach spot (back, upper part of his mouth), and we'll be dealing with those on another day, but from all accounts, he came out of his appointment today with flying colors. I think back to the days of introducing the world to my firstborn; how eager I was, and in contrast, how tenative he was to experience all the "firsts," including the first dentist visit. Times have changed. When you're number five and have experienced the dentist vicariously numerous times through your siblings, it's a walk in the park. As for me, no longer a hovering mother, I sat peacefully in the waiting room this morning while my "baby" took his place in the dentist chair. Twenty minutes later, he emerged, having been examined and duly "flouridated" without incident.

While I chalk up some of this morning's success to sibling influence, something else was at play, too: good old-fashioned bribery. Nick knew that if he did well, the coveted toy box awaited him, and he would leave with something cool. It took him all of about two seconds to pick out his prize -- a blue toy airplane that looks just like the green one his brother earned a few weeks back. There are times I take issue with how our society indulges children with prizes. It's hard to go anywhere without some lure of a toy or gadget for kids, and this, I believe, sets up our children to feel entitled to material "stuff" at every turn. At the same time, I've learned to pick my battles, and on this day bribery meant serenity, so I'm counting it as a win-win, for better or worse.

highlights, lowlights

The day definitely started out on with a "lowlight" when the predicted ice storm arrived in our area. We awoke to results of the merging of winter rain and cool temperatures, which turned our streets and sidewalks into a vast, city-wide ice-skating rink. Needless to say, when I dropped off the three younger kids at their elementary school, I brought them closer to the school doors than usual and sent them out with a "please be careful or you'll slip" admonition. Usually, my daughters tend to their little brother just fine, and I thought it was safe to drive away, though I crept out of the parking lot slowly -- partly through necessity, partly because I wanted to make sure they didn't meet the same fate as others who were slip-sliding toward the school doors. They were still in view as I entered the side road east of the school to take my oldest to his destination, and I watched helplessly as my youngest bit the ice. His sisters, trying to help, soon lost their footing as well. Thankfully, the teen daughter of a friend was nearby and began helping them and others who were quickly following suit as they attempted to balance their backpacks while resisting the jeering ice sheets below. By then I'd parked and was trying to make my way to the kids in time to see them to their feet, but I couldn't move quickly enough myself. By the time I drew near enough for them to see me, they were shuffling carefully toward the doors. "Are you okay?" I hollered, feeling completely inept against the elements. But they were too intent on their mission to even bother turning their heads, and I scuttled slowly away, feeling not unlike Bambie trying to stand for the first time, and with a sad feeling that they'd started their day like this, having to focus so much energy on simply getting to class in one piece.

From what I heard, Fargo schools were the only ones in the area to not have a late start today. Though I'm not usually too bent out of shape about such decisions, after watching children one by one dropping to the ice this morning, I couldn't help but think that this time, perhaps it would have been better to lose a few hours of instruction rather than chance someone breaking a leg or worse. At this writing, thankfully, my chicklets are safe and sound.

Though I canceled my Y slot this morning to avoid another ice-slip, the day did improve by afternoon. I had a wonderful time serving as guest speaker at a local Philanthropic Educational Association (PEO) meeting. The gathering began with a lovely meal of brunch enchiladas (delicious...I will post the recipe soon if I can get my hands on it) and that awesome dessert made of jello, whipped cream and a pretzel crust. I've had it with strawberries; this time it was made with raspberries and matched the Valentine theme of the host's home quite well. I then set up my Powerpoint presentation, and after everyone had gathered round, shared the story of my writing journey to a very receptive, gracious audience.

Next, I zipped over to Target to pick up valentines and candy for this week's school parties (I might have forgotten if friend and fellow blogger Betty hadn't reminded me through yesterday's post!).

Finally, it was time to swing by the neighbor's to retrieve my little guy, but not before stopping at the mailbox. "Just bills and junk," I moaned to myself. But as I dropped them one by one into the trash, another piece of mail that seemed interesting rose from the debris. The return address: North Dakota Art Gallery Association. Something seemed oddly familiar about the organization's name, and soon enough, I knew why.

Here's what the letter inside said:

Dear Roxane,

Thank you for your patience with this process. We apologize for our slow resolution. There have been several setbacks in the stages of judging and contacting artists. We may have tried to reach you already. If you have not been contacted, your work, "Sun-Kissed," has been accepted.

We apologize for the short notice, however please know that the written portion has been printed out, enlarged to poster size, framed and is on Exhibition. We request that you respond to this email so we can verify you received the great news. Thank you and congratulations!

Linda Olson, Executive Director

Mary Wagner, Administrative Director/Art Curare

North Dakota Art Gallery Association

My mind now flashed back to a submission I'd made to a traveling art exhibit quite a few months ago at the urging of a fellow writer friend. Though I'd passed off the "no news" as high probability I hadn't made it in, it certainly was nice to find out otherwise. The friend who told me about the call for submissions has seen the exhibit and said it looks quite nice. The short writing excerpt of mine that made it in is part of a larger work that I hope will be more visible in time.

These moments of measured success do not come every day, so with humility and a smile of gratitude, I count this among the highlights of my day.

Incidentally, this traveling exhibit will be making its way through North Dakota. When I find out where it will be and when, I will mention the schedule here. Until then, here's the excerpt for those with a curious mind. The guidelines permitted excerpts 250 words or less.

Sun-kissed(248 words)

I was about three the first time the sun kissed me.

Not long after that day, my father would call my freckles angel kisses, and I would believe him that they were. But that first batch came from the sun, or sun angels perhaps, or maybe God himself.

What I don't remember is where I was exactly. In a yard, I know, but I don't think it was our yard. I was alone, enjoying the warmth of the new spring.Clusters of the fallen cotton from cottonwood trees had formed in sporadic clumps against the fence, and more had collected in a puddle in the alley nearby, turning it into a small, white pond. I remember the fluff coming down like snow and me catching the seed puffs in my shirt, looking up occasionally to see where the breeze would take the flyers next and trying my best to follow.

Eventually, feeling too warm, I ran inside and into the hallway of that undefined home. It was in passing a full-length mirror that I saw them. At first I mistook them as dirt, but when I touched them I realized they weren't dirt at all but little brown speckles dotting my face, mostly around my nose.

As a very young girl I thought I must be very fortunate to have these special markings, since so few other people I knew did. Eventually they began to set me apart, even from many of the other white kids I knew...

Like I said, someday I hope to share more. For now, this little glimpse will have to do.

By the way, if you live in North Dakota or the anywhere in the vicinity and happen to see this traveling exhibit up close, please let me know where it was located and what you thought of it. Perhaps in time I can post a photo or two.

where'd all the blankets go?

firstborn

"CJ" and I standing in front of the rhododendron bush near our home in Shelton, WA, in June 1996.

Growing up the second of two children, it seemed to me that living the life of the firstborn must be like living in the lap of luxury. My big sis was privileged to do all the "firsts." A neighbor girl taught her to ride bike; I was on my own. My grandmother came for a visit and brought along a board with a clock with hands that moved. She taught my sister to tell time; I was on my own. And every time we learned something together, because of her age, Camille was just plain better than me. In billiards, her hand was steadier. When we learned to play double solitaire, she often was faster and more efficient. Same with cribbage. In our later years, my sister did nothing to help lay an easy track for me. In some families, the older kids are the "social experiments." By the time the younger ones reach their teen years, the parents loosen up. Since my sister wasn't a social explorer and rarely pushed any boundaries, I was, again, on my own and eyed very carefully as the more rebellious of the two.

Back then, it was all about me and the injustices. Now, of course, as an adult and mother of five, I see things a little differenly. I see how a younger sibling has the honor of observing what goes on before. I remember watching out the front living room window the day my sister went to the prom for the first time. I teased her by shouting, "He's here!" when he really wasn't. What a stinker. She was experiencing a huge case of butterflies-in-the-stomach, and I was along for the observation ride. She was given more responsibility around the house; I was more of a slacker. She read and learned the rules of a new game; I played along. It's a tremendous responsibility being the firstborn, and now, I have a lot more compassion for the injustices of that role.

As for my own firstborn, I can't imagine what a jolt it's been for him to go from being our only little buddy to being "de-throned," not once but four times. Thankfully, he can't have too many strong memories of life before his siblings began arriving, since he was younger than 2 at the time. But in earlier years of parenting, I was able to spend a little more one-on-one time with him. I'm afraid, however, that recently, he's really gotten the short end of the stick. In fact, I can't remember the last time we spent quality time together, just the two of us.

So tonight's the night. We're going to meet a friend and her teen son at a local restaurant, then take in the Jeremy Camp and Bebo Norman concert. I can't wait!

My oldest and I have a rather complicated relationship, and sometimes the world as it is needs to stop so we can jump off for a bit and reconnect with the best part of ourselves. I need to back off from my too-often role of nagging mother and he needs a break from his as the contrary teen. Truth be told, as hard as life is with him sometimes, I enjoy his spirit. The times when he's away, I feel a momentary relief, but soon enough I begin missing his comedic ways, and the quiet moments when his siblings aren't around when his better side eeks out -- when I catch of glimpse of the soft soul within that is oftentimes covered by a toughened, "cool guy" exterior.

I know the music is going to be awesome. I've been listening to JC in my van for the last couple weeks, nonstop. We will come away filled up. But in the end, the music, no matter how good, is just an excuse to hang out with my oldest -- that child of mine who first put the spark of parenting in my heart, and showed me how amazing it is to be part of the process of helping create another human being, of welcoming another soul into the world.

I'm going to end with a "tag" I received on Facebook regarding firstborns. Play along if you'd like!

1. WAS YOUR FIRST PREGNANCY PLANNED? Amazingly, yes!

2. WERE YOU MARRIED AT THE TIME? Yes.

3. WHAT WERE YOUR REACTIONS? Excited but shocked. The earth instantly shifted. I knew everything had just changed with this news. Welcomed as it was, I was terrified!

4. WAS ABORTION AN OPTION FOR YOU? No.

5. HOW OLD WERE YOU? 27

6. HOW DID YOU FIND OUT YOU WERE PREGNANT? I started feeling "thick" around the middle and a friend told me that's how she found out she was pregnant. I also started feeling slightly sick.

7. WHO DID YOU TELL FIRST? Daddy Troy, of course!

8. DID YOU WANT TO FIND OUT THE SEX? We weren't sure at first but eventually we wanted to narrow down the names. We figured knowing would eliminate half the options and we were having a hard time deciding, so we did end up finding out and that helped our anxiety, though a lot of people had strong feelings about this, and perfect strangers told me, with disdain, that I was "cheating." I disagreed. Everything about my baby was a surprise, really. Knowing the gender doesn't "ruin" much of anything in my eyes.

9. DUE DATE? December 16 (day he was born!).

10. DID YOU HAVE MORNING SICKNESS? Yes...ugh. I was a newspaper reporter and I had to drive out of town to interview a lady who had written an entire cookbook made up of sauerkraut recipes. I typically like sauerkraut but talking about it nonstop like that made me ill and I was so relieved to go home that day.

11. WHAT DID YOU CRAVE? I really did crave pickles, but not with ice cream. I also craved chicken soup and mashed potatoes with gravy (not necessarily together). I couldn't stand certain smells that normally wouldn't have bothered me. The smell of bread baking in our bread machine. The smell of our yellow Lab. Certain perfumes and lotions.

12. WHO/WHAT IRRITATED YOU THE MOST? It was hard to work, and I did up until the beginning of my maternity leave, which is the day I went into labor.

13. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CHILD'S SEX? Boy.

14. DID YOU WISH YOU HAD THE OPPOSITE SEX OF WHAT YOU WERE GETTING? No. I hadn't had any brothers, my mom grew up in a family of girls, my sister had daughters only at that point. I was shocked to think I was going to be bearing a son, but also delighted. I'd always wanted a brother. He was the first grandson in our family, too, which was fun.

15. HOW MANY POUNDS DID YOU GAIN THROUGHOUT THE PREGNANCY? Too many, 45, but he was nine pounds, and the rest melted right off through breasfeeding. What came off my hips went right to his -- perfect!

16. DID YOU HAVE A BABY SHOWER? Yes. The gals from the county where I came weekly to report on the county commission meeting had a surprise one for me after one of the meetings, and the gals from my work at The Shelton Journal also threw a joint shower for me and another co-worker who was due a month before me. So did a group from church. We were living far from family so this meant a lot to me.

17. WAS IT A SURPRISE OR DID YOU KNOW? Both.

18. DID YOU HAVE ANY COMPLICATIONS DURING YOUR PREGNANCY? I had placenta previa (low-lying placent), which corrected itself during the pregnancy, and with this and all other pregnancies, I had sciatica (pinched nerves).

19. WHERE DID YOU GIVE BIRTH? Shelton, Washington.

20. HOW MANY HOURS WERE YOU IN LABOR? About twelve hours...from the time my water broke at 1 a.m., to the time I gave birth, around 2 p.m.

21. WHO DROVE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL? Troy, and we almost got hit by a logging train. We lived in a logging community and the train tracks were near our home. We were in the early-morning fog (I think there really was fog, but fog on our brains too) and as Troy drove over the tracks we looked over and the train was coming toward us but we made it over with time to spare. There was no whistle. Scary!

22. WHO WATCHED YOU GIVE BIRTH? Troy, the doc and nurses (who were awesome...I LOVE labor and delivery nurses!).

23. WAS IT NATURAL OR C-SECTION? Natural, but with an intrathecal (similar to epidural).

24. DID YOU TAKE MEDICINE TO EASE THE PAIN? (See previous...)

25. HOW MUCH DID YOUR CHILD WEIGH? 9 lbs. even.

26. WHEN WAS YOUR CHILD ACTUALLY BORN? On his due date in 1995 a little after 2 p.m. -- Beethoven's birthday, as my husband likes to point out.

27. WHAT DID YOU NAME HIM/HER? Christian Joseph Salonen.

28. HOW OLD IS YOUR FIRST BORN TODAY? 13 -- our first teen!

my date with mario

Today after the Y, I caved. Instead of going home and eating a healthy meal, I brought my little guy to Burger King. It wasn't about the food. I had several great leftovers at home that would have made a wonderful lunch. I just felt like getting out with him, letting him run around on the play equipment for a while, hanging out. Soon, the weekend will be here. The other four will descend upon us and change the dynamics for two days. The activity level in our home will be amped up fourfold. Selfishly, I wanted a little time with Nick alone. Just as selfishly, perhaps, I knew that once we'd munched a bit on our meals, he'd be off on the play equipment, and I might be able to finish a chapter in my book.

And so it was that I found myself at BK today, indulging my child's hankering for some mac and cheese and fries, and reading my book, always with an eye on him and his "temporary" Playland buddies.

It's so interesting watching him. He's the fifth, so it makes a difference in how he adjusts to others. Basically, there is little adjustment. When he was born, the world was already in motion, and it continues to be so. Early on in the parenting game, my firstborn was run into by some "big boys" at a Playland. It took him another year to try it again. And whenever there were some "older than average" kids there, he stayed back, letting them rule the roost while he watched from afar. Not so for little Nick. There is no furtiveness, no pulling at my pant legs for this guy. In fact, quite a few of the playmates today were slightly older kids. Normally, I don't think they would have paid any attention to a "little kid" like my son, but Nick's different. He's used to running with the big guys, and he soon weasled his way into their hearts. It's true. By the end of our session at BK, the biggest of the big guys was hugging him.

Only his name wasn't Nick today. I heard the whole thing going down:

"So what's your name, little boy?" the biggest boy asked.

"Mario," said Nick.

"Oh, cool. Come on, Mario. Let's go play."

Mario? Did I hear that right? Did Nick just tell those kids his name is Mario?

Obviously he's been playing too much Nintendo DS. He was dead serious. He wasn't Nick, he was Mario -- swimming through treacherous water, jumping from cliff to cliff, scaling the rockiest of slopes, always on the lookout for danger.

But at one point, "Mario" was injured. That's when the hug came. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mario," the boy said, embracing him. "Are you okay?"

I was so tempted to say, "His name isn't Mario. It's Nick." But something stopped me. My little guy had found his way into the circle of strangers and was having a ball pretending to be an adventurer. He was using his imagination to make his way through this sometimes mystifying, somewhat scary world. I wasn't about to squelch his fun, to remove his sense of power.

"Alright, Mario," I said, bending down to zip his coat and give him a hug of my own. "It's time to go."

And off we went, just me and my Mario.

...'but he was STILL hungry!'

I was invited this morning to read to a group of preschool children and their mothers at a weekly play group that initiated as a way for military moms to make connections. Last year, I brought my two littlest boys to the play group, and they loved running off steam those mornings in the kids' gym. I used to work for Pam, who leads these sessions and always has such fun activities for the kids. We'd agreed earlier that I would read one of my personal favorites, "The Very Hungry Caterpillar," by Eric Carle. I once won a "first line" challenge through a children's writers' group. "In the light of the moon, a little egg lay on a leaf." From reading this so often through my years of early motherhood in particular, these words became emblazoned into my brain, and I was able to correctly identify the title of the book based on that first line. Its simplicity, beauty and profundity never cease to affect me in a positive way. One of the activities Pam organized to tie in with the caterpillar theme included making caterpillars out of a pipe cleaners, fuzzy balls and googly eyes. She also had a sensory tub full of squirmy bugs for the kids to enjoy, and a snack project -- butterfly toast. The kids "painted" the toast with different colors (food coloring) after it was cut it half and the halves arranged to look like butterfly wings. Then, the "butterflies" were toasted and gobbled up. There were a few other projects, too, but my Nick was too busy reacquainting himself with the gym, zooming around on a red trike and playing basketball, to sit still for a project, so I missed those. We ended with the reading.

Here I am reading the page that is a prelude to the feast, that moment when the caterpillar becomes crazy-hungry and begins gorging on everything from a slice of cherry pie to a slice of Swiss cheese to a lollipop. In the end, a juicy green leaf is the ticket to ridding him of his resulting indigestion:

It was great to see all the mothers and their littles ones, and to be reminded, with the help of Eric Carle, that spring and rebirth are on their way. We may be cocoons now, but even this time of being wrapped in a drab, brown covering has a purpose. A few months down the line, around Easter, we will emerge, fluttering our new, delicate wings.

miracle of the mother heart

"In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love." - Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta

They say that in the modern day, miracles no longer happen. Don't believe it.

Here's the story of one mother's heart, and how it widened and stretched until the world was turned upside-down (in a good way) for another local mother and her sweet baby within days. I'll call them "D" and "Baby D."

D, 19, came to our area in October looking for a better life for herself and Baby D. She was able to secure an apartment, but some furniture she thought would follow through a local assistance program was given to someone else. She had a place to live but little to put in it. Eventually, she found a job and daycare for Baby D and began taking steps to earn her GED.

Enter "Mommy G," a local mother of five and daycare provider who happily welcomed Baby D into her life and quickly let him settle into her heart as well. "One day I was watching my little ones play downstairs in my daycare," said Mommy G. "I thought of how all of these children had a nice home to go home to... except (Baby D). It killed me to think that he had no crib, few toys, no furniture, etc."

So she got to work, doing what she does best: making connections. From her home office, she created an email message and sent it out to about 75 families and a few women's church groups. About 65 responded and participated in one way or another. The goal: to solicit items to help provide for this young family. "We didn't want people to give money - she can't actually receive it without affecting her state assistance," Mommy G explained. "But personal property is ok, so we asked people to look into their donation piles and see if they could find things for an apartment. I did expect to find some basic items she could use. I didn't expect the results we got."

Some donated items, some donated time, some helped clean the apartment, a few gave gift cards for local stores to fill in the gaps and buy groceries. Within a short span of nine days, the entire apartment was furnished and decorated. "We covered all the basics - bedroom furniture, family room furniture (including table and chairs), crib, highchair, baby items and diapers, kitchen supplies and dishes, shelves, decorating items, etc. Too many items to list," Mommy G said.

Here are some of the before and after shots:

Of the kitchen:

Of the family room:

Of the bedroom:

Mommy G says three major things will always remain fixed in her head and heart from that week:

1) Nine days to change a life. "Everyone who responded seemed to have a piece of the apartment puzzle that fit perfectly. I've always known that God provides, but in this case he seemed to provide and color coordinate at the same time. Odd things like a donated burgundy and gold satin lamp with tassels that coordinated perfectly to the burgundy and gold satin comforter...Everyone's odds and ends in the donation piles of our homes found a perfect place in the home they were always meant to be in."

2) The mother-heart and friendship effect. "Now, everyone can imagine the shock and happiness that D went through when we surprised her, but I don't think people imagine the powerful impact of something like this on ourselves. Giving is an easy, natural thing to do - something that feels good in our hearts and honors the God that created us. But we all are guilty of getting so busy with our lives that we don't exercise our giving spirits enough. So when someone does present an opportunity to give...it's no surprise that people want to be involved," Mommy G said. She's amazed, too, by the "friends of friends" who took part, and thankful for having crossed paths with so many of them, even if just through a quick handshake and "Hi" while receiving items. "It was an emotional feeling that I can't quite describe. It gave form to the old saying, 'Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.' "

3) Basic needs met = full steam ahead. "Now that the basic needs of her life were taken care of, (D) immediately started the steps to complete her GED. When her GED is behind her, she plans to go on to college," said Mommy G. "How fast would she have done these things without being able to get on her feet? Who knows? I'm sure many have done it with much less and juggling much more. All I know is that my sweet Baby D now has a beautiful place to call home and that his mom is on the right track to create amazing possibilities for their life. And somehow me and all of my friends were a part of that in some small way, and that feels good."

Mommy G wants to give a heartfelt thanks to all those who took part, and to tell people who are thinking about helping someone in need to "quit thinking about it and just do it. No matter how small the effort is (a card to cheer someone up, a visit to someone in the hospital, donating food to a shelter, going over and cleaning your overwhelmed best friend's kitchen floor) or how big the effort becomes (building a house with Habitat for Humanity, granting a life-changing Christmas wish to a family in need...) just START it. Coming from the heart and with God orchestrating your efforts, it will always be successful and wrap your recipient in the loving embrace of friendship."

If you're still skeptical about the possibility of modern-day miracles, perhaps the faces of D and Baby D upon seeing their "new" home for the first time will convince you:

Thanks, Mommy G, for initiating this explosion of love, and thanks for letting us be a part of it!

"Good works are links that form a chain of love." - Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta

quirks II

I've been "tagged" to write six quirks about myself. Since I participated in this same tag a couple months back, I am going to do a re-post (think "Seifeld" and "re-gifting"). If you weren't reading me back in November when I first shared this, it will be new. If you were, you can skip today's sharing and I promise to not be offended.

I am breaking the rules and won't be tagging anyone else this time, but would love to hear your six quirks in the comments if you feel compelled. Or, if you decide to do a list on your blog, let me know where to find it.

My six quirks:

1. The passenger seat of my van serves as a pseudo "office" for various papers, books and other items that pile up throughout the course of a day that I'd rather not bring inside and add to other clutter. So when my teen son jumps into the front seat instead of heading into the back, he disrupts my organized-to-me mess (argh!).

2. I stay away from the upperstairs level, north hall, of our home as much as possible. Upon entering said hall, I began to feel the sensation of an onset of hives. After all, if I travel down that hall with eyes open, I don't know what I might find. (The three doors throughout the hall are entryways to my kids' bedrooms. It's not a pretty sight.)

3. I can't help myself. When I do get around to baking, I still like the batter and have yet to die of salmonella or another such disease. (Knocking on wood now.)

4. I have been known to drink pickle juice after all the pickles are gone -- little sips of course! (My youngest daughter just admitted she likes it, too. What a role model I am!)

5. Like Sarah Palin, I like my lipstick and tend not to leave home without it, even if I'm just going ten steps out my door to get the mail. (Okay, maybe I'm not that compulsive about it.)

6. I've been known to steal candy from my kids' trick-or-treating bags. (Who's going to miss just one little Bit o' Honey? I mean, really now. Besides, if it weren't for me taking them around the neighborhood they wouldn't have one speck of candy. And if I hadn't birthed them, they wouldn't be here to eat the candy. And if...)

Boy, those quirks are pretty revealing. I'd better go and hide now! (But not before I've grabbed the pickle-less pickle jar from the fridge. You never know when you're going to need a swig of that stuff.)

silly superbowl sight

Nick with his Nintendo DS as he awaits the appearance of 3-D commercials on Superbowl Sunday, remnants of the recently-consumed, football-shaped brownies circling his mouth. It's a tough old world at age 3!

book challenge 2009

I'm borrowing this from Liz, but I think it's an awesome idea: I challenge any of you who are interested (along with myself) to read fifty books this year. If you have a blog, feel free to report either: 1) your progress or 2) your final list at the end of 2009.

Here's my "starter" list. I'll add to it as I go along, as well as include a link to this page on my blog for easy access to the ongoing results. Happy reading!