1000 Beautiful Things: Same Love

I was raised in a fundamentalist Christian home that taught homosexuality was a sin. People with same-sex interests were in need of salvation. Repenting and believing correctly would change their orientation. I thought it was just that simple.

Complexity gives the illusion of simplicity.

I don’t have anything profound to add to the debates about homosexuality in the church or country.  I’ve heard the religious platitudes, “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” There’s just a problem with beliefs like this. You are still hating. And that hate is reflected in behavior and attitude.

Last week I sat watching Louis’ baseball game. Parents and friends scattered on blankets and stadium chairs as we watched our 8-year-old boys engaged in America’s pastime. From the parental chatter a father’s voice laughed above the rest, “Well they might as well let in little girls into the Boy Scouts now since they let in the faggots.”

My heart dropped fast and I wanted to vomit. Deep hate shared as a joke.

It is not a joke. People I love are called “faggots” and “dykes.” People I love are called “retards.” People I love are called many other demeaning labels. Name-calling does nothing but deride others, insinuating that they are less than we are. And “they” most certainly are not less than. “They” are not disgusting. “They” do not need to be feared.  “They” are not broken in need of fixing.

The words of this father say more about him than they do about the people he chooses to minimize and his words aren’t harmless. Hate-filled speech explodes sending shrapnel into the hearts and minds of those listening. Some are wounded deeply. Some absorb the hate and let it fester and grow within themselves.

Yesterday I was still grappling with the comment from the little league game. I have a weakness for pop-radio and Macklemore’s newest song Same Love came on. I was expecting lyrics similar to Thrift Shop and Can’t Hold Us. This was so different.

When kids are walking ’round the hallway plagued by pain in their heart
A world so hateful some would rather die than be who they are
And a certificate on paper isn’t gonna solve it all
But it’s a damn good place to start
No law is gonna change us
We have to change us
Whatever God you believe in
We come from the same one
Strip away the fear
Underneath it’s all the same love
About time that we raised up

Words that heal, not harm. These are on the list of my 1000 Beautiful Things.

Raising boys in the era of marathon bombings

Wait…didn’t I have a post with a nearly identical title? Why, yes I did. And this was yet another opportunity to talk and guide our boys through the tragedy in Boston. Unlike Sandy Hook, my heart went in a somewhat different direction. I thought of my two little boys, brothers. Who they will become as adults?

How do we raise brothers who are loving, kind, and… don’t kill people with bombs they made by hand?

When looking at the events from the outside it is very easy to make hasty assumptions and generalizations. This is done in order to insulate ourselves from the pain and sheer shock of an event like the Boston Marathon bombing. We turn the offenders into characters as we try to regain our footing – they were radicals, they were unhappy, they were foreign, they were connected to some militant group. Ultimately – they were very different from us. And that seems to give us some surface-level satisfaction. In reality this perspective offers false comfort.

Once the astonishment of the event wears away we’re left with darker realizations. We are more like the Tsarnaev brothers than we care to admit. There isn’t a gulf between us – it is really a trickling stream. Perhaps I’ve been reading a little too much Flannery O’Connor lately, but what I’ve drawn from her work is a very honest understanding of people.

 If we personalize “them” it becomes too real for us. Despite our desire to separate ourselves, our humanity intricately connects us.

What are we to do? The questions that initially pop up in our minds are centered on fears – fear of the unknown, fear this will happen to us, fear it could one day be our sons.

Boys gone bad.

What is a mother to do? It’s important to settle these questions and see them for what they are – fears. Fear should not motivate us. Instead we should look to hope, faith, and love. How do we teach our children to respond with resilience during times of crisis?

Resilient. It’s nice little psychological buzzword. When attributed to character it literally means, “Capable of handling shock without permanent damage,” or, “Adjusting easily to change.” 

I know very few children that like change. I know even fewer adults. We say we like change, but we really don’t. So how do we help our children move through significant events like those in Boston without permanent damage? I’ve listed 5 ideas for teaching resilience in everyday life:

1. Encourage friendships: Having a sister with Down syndrome, I am keenly aware of the positive effect of friendship. In contrast, lack of friendship may be emotionally isolating. Friendships offer children a way to negotiate relationships, learn about trust, and build a network of support.
2. Structure failures: This means letting your child experience disappointment in controlled ways. Not keeping score at a game may sound great, but letting one team lose is an opportunity to experience small-scale failure and learn through it.
3. Teach problem-solving: If your child asks a lot of “what if” questions you don’t always have to answer him. Encourage him to talk through scenarios. Once he thinks of one outcome, have him think of another. Ask him to identify what he feels is the best option for the situation. If he happens to fail in a real situation, talk about what went wrong and how to adjust next time. Critical thinking is a skill that benefits your child in every area of life, for the rest of life.
4. Encourage community: In a community there are leaders, followers, and helpers. Each of us fills these rolls at some time or another. It is important to directly instruct your children about the importance of each. We often think of teaching independence or leadership, but it is just as important to teach following. Following doesn’t mean blinding doing what someone else says to do. Following means knowing when you need help and how to seek assistance from someone else. When a problem is too big for you to take on your own, you need someone to help guide you. That person may be a leader or a helper. A helper is someone you trust. This can be a friend, a teacher, or a coach.
   Talk now, before a crisis arises, about the helpers are in your own community. Ask your children, “What makes someone a good helper?” Identify when you see these traits in them. Model “follower” and “helper”by admitting when you need assistance. Point out the helpers in your own life.
5. Comfort: It is absolutely okay for a child to be comforted during disappointment and heart-ache. Comfort is not codling. We all need emotional support during loss. As they make friends fights, break-ups, and misunderstandings will arise. Don’t be too quick to rescue, but always be there. Know that listening – really listening – is more important than having the right answer.

More information on resilience and how to guide children through problems big and small is available from:

Resilience in Children

Pinterest Board on Resilience (Oh yes there is!)

Teaching Problem Solving

National Center for School Crisis and Bereavement

Songs of Resilience 

1000 Beautiful Things: A run with my son

Louis asked me no less than 20 times if I really meant “jog” when I said “run.” “Yes buddy. We will keep the same pace we did during training.” The day was finally here – Our first 5K (3.2 miles) race. “We’re not really “racing” are we?” “What if my shoe comes untied?” “What if I get a cramp?” “Will people think I’m fat with all these layers?”

He has really matured this past year, but sometimes anxiety creeps back in. Reassurance. This is what we provide. Frankly, many of us have the same thoughts only we know how to process through the worries. I work on taming the questions by addressing the concerns, calmly, head-on. “We’ll tie your shoe.” “We’ll stop and walk if you need to.” “No one will think you are fat. Just wait.” Preparation helps calm him. Knowing what to expect increases his success.

We arrive at the park 45 minutes before start time, get our timing chips and swag. “What if my timing chip falls off?” Me, “We’ll tie it back on. Look at that lady over there – see all her layers? She looks warm.” We wait in the car until friends arrive to run with us. “Will they shoot a gun at the start?” I didn’t think so. He stretches with Adam, burning off nervous energy.

A LOUD gun signals the start. We start out at a nice easy pace. The air is a frigid 33 degrees without the wind chill. Rain/sleet/snow mix is predicted for the morning. Thankfully, it hasn’t started yet. “Are we going to finish the race?” Yes. “Mom, if ninja’s jump off that bridge and try and stop us, I will use Tae Kwon Do moves to defeat them.” I tell him I’m glad we sent him to Tae Kwon Do camp last summer because those moves will be really useful. Heh, heh.

After half a mile Louis has a side-stitch. I tell him to breathe through it. He asks if he can hold my hand. This is unexpected. Louis isn’t affectionate in public (like his dad). I grab his little gloved hand and we keep running. We run up the hill.

He asks if we can walk on the hill. I tell him, “We are going to kick this hill’s butt. We’ve kicked hills WAY bigger than this.” We crest the hill. He lets my hand go and says, “We kicked that hills ass.” I tell him he’s grounded and pretend to be outraged. (I laugh) “I mean, we kicked its donkey.” He recently looked up the word ‘donkey’ in his student dictionary and told us the definition was a “cuss word.” I’d like to be honest and say I don’t say “kick ass” or “damn dog” on occasion, but then I’d be lying and that’s just ugly.

A man racing with a bull-dog passes us for the third time. He’s the kind that runs and walks and runs and walks. “That guy looks like a ninja.” He’s right. He has on a black ski mask. We catch up and hear the man say “Come on Roxy,” and he’s off again. “Louis, we are going to beat Roxy. That’s our goal. She is not going to finish before us.” He agrees to the challenge.

Little pieces of ice prick our faces.

We are two-thirds of the way through. Louis says he has a cramp – a bad one. I start chanting “You can do it! You can do it!” He tells me I sound like a hoarse hobo. His face is red from the cold. His breathing changes and he starts wheezing. I go into pro-mode. Inspiratory stridor. He needs to gain control.  He’s panicking. This is his first race and I don’t want it to be his last. We walk. Roxy passes us.

We imagine blowing bubbles and calm his breathing. It takes only a minute or so and we start again. We pass Roxy and round the bend before the bridge. There on the bridge is an old woman bundled up, shuffling behind her walker, while walking her dog. She’s not in the race. A group of volunteers cheer us on. “Louis, you have to beat that old lady. Do you hear me? Smoke her.” We laugh.

As we approach the final bridge Louis says his walking gave him energy. “Can I show-off a little, Mom?” Sure. He kicks it into gear earlier than we had agreed upon. He is sprinting turning his head to see where I am. I am a pace behind and really pushing to keep up. I finally pass him. Our friends are at the finish line cheering him onward. “Don’t let your mom beat you Louis!” So I let him cross first. (Really, I was first)

What a cheering section! High fives are passed all around from the runners who finished before us. Louis bends over to catch his breath. We did it. Our first 5k together. We smoked the old lady and beat Roxy. Success!

We grab orange juice, chat with friends, and head to the car. The ice is now mixed with snow and we are officially frozen.

“When I raced toward the finish it felt like I was flying Mom! I didn’t even feel my feet hit the ground.” I know the feeling. I had the same feeling the whole time we ran together. My Louis makes my heart soar. A soaring heart is a beautiful thing.

3/1000

It’s a mystery!

“It’s a mystery!” Red calls out with sing-song words. This is one of his favorite phrases. It answers every “why” question I pose without having to provide an excuse or lengthy explanation.

I used to hate mysteries. And surprises. I just don’t like questions I can’t answer. But slowly over the years I’ve become accustomed to the unknown. People ask me where we will move when Peter is finished with his PhD in June. I can honestly say, “I have no idea,” although I prefer Red’s “It’s a mystery!” I’ve learned (but not mastered) what it is like to rest in the unknown, to be comfortable in this time and this place. That is, at least when it comes to our living situation. I continue to struggle with other life mysteries – faith, church, and love.

Barbara Brown Taylor writes in her book An Altar in the World,

“Wisdom is not gained by knowing what is right. Wisdom is gained by practicing what is right, and noticing what happens when the practice succeeds and when it fails.”

Raising children requires wisdom – lots of it! On Sundays we take time as a family to quiet ourselves and worship. It is something that is important to us. However, anyone who has tried to sit through a service with a 4-year-old knows how difficult it can be to find that place of peace.

Fascinated by the balcony at church I told Red (4) we would sit there as a treat for “having a calm body and listening ears” during the service. This was motivation enough, so this morning we headed up, up, up to the balcony. Unlike the filled sanctuary, the balcony was peppered with only a dozen people – older women sitting alone, a single mother and her toddler, a young family with a new infant… so we slid into a pew close to the railing.

As the organ started and the choir began to sing, Red looked down on the sanctuary with eyes wide and sparkling. He looked at me and said, “Mom, I missed those blue guys!” He was talking about the choir in their robes! I missed those blue guys too – with illness and travel this winter it felt like a long time since we’d listened to the choir sing. Red peered down as we listened to the words rise up through the air – Rejoice the Lord is King!

Ordinarily I would have made Red sit down, but given the sparse balcony attendance I was able to focus on the service. And then he began to dance. Not wild dancing, more like a girl strung out on marijuana at a Dave Matthews concert with his arms gently rolling side to side, like he could feel an invisible wind. Given the fact that we attend a traditional, liturgical service, Red’s dancing is not a common worship practice. But today, it was beautiful. I didn’t need to correct him. He listened quietly and moved sweetly to the sound of the choir. And that little place in my heart – the one that is so hard to find, especially on Sundays it seems, was filled – filled with quiet content.

At the end of the anthem he whispered that it was time for his class. Red never wants to go to class during the service. Today, without my nagging to sit still or be quiet, he was ready to go and learn. After taking him to class I resumed my spot in the balcony with Louis and Peter. I listened to the words of the sermon – words of love, life, and healing taken from John 5:2-18.

I thought about the mystery of Christ healing the man who had been sick for 38 years. We don’t know what he had struggled with, but what mental anguish he must have endured along with physical illness and paralysis. Then the words of The Messiah’s Comfort Ye My People and Every Valley Shall Be Exalted filled my mind:

Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned. The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.

Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low; the crooked straight, and the rough places plain.  – G. F. Handel, From Isaiah 40: 1-4

Comfort, solace, consolation in a time of distress. A source of relief and support. And this is God? We see this concept of comfort acted out by Christ as he heals the man suffering from chronic illness. His physical, mental, and spiritual needs relieved. How did it happen? “It’s a mystery!” Christ’s real comfort given to the man in John 5 is a beautiful illustration of the mystery that is the character of God.

I suppose we’ll be in the balcony from now on!

 

 

 

 

Raising sons in the era of Sandy Hook

Gun rights have been all over the news and my Facebook feed lately – even in the staff room over lunch. When the horrific tragedy in Connecticut occurred Louis (8) was in the car driving to Michigan, innocently unaware. Knowing that there would be talk of the situation at school Peter informed him that a man shot and killed some students and a teacher, far away from where we live. As an adult I know that Connecticut is far from Ohio, but my children do not. It could be down the street. So we are very careful to guard what is on the TV and radio. However, in the world of non-stop news gun ownership and appreciation rallies are so prominent that we’d have to stick the boys in a bubble to avoid awareness of the nation’s dialogue.

Last week I was watching the local NBC affiliate at about 5:30 in the morning when Louis stumbled sleepily downstairs onto the couch with me. I changed the channel but not before he heard “gun rights following the Sandy Hook Elementary tragedy.” He asked me if they were talking about the children in Connecticut. I explained Yes. Some people think teachers should carry guns in school. He snorted that’s a terrible idea. I asked him why he thought so. Well, what if a really wild kid tries to get the gun and shoots it? You know, not a bad kid, just a wild one. He then asked my why the bad guy shot the children and teachers in Connecticut and had me confirm that Connecticut was far away. I explained it like this:

You when you get a paper cut? That’s a little cut that hurts. When you fall down and bust your knee open, that’s a bigger wound.

You know how Mommy has depression? Mine is the paper cut kind. Depression is like a cut in your head and your heart. To help me heal I take my medicine. I go to my talking doctor. I exercise.

The man who killed those people had a big wound in his head and heart. He thought he was a good guy. He didn’t get help to heal him. Lots of people don’t understand when people have hurt on the inside.

He asked why didn’t people understand how big his hurt was on the inside? I told him I didn’t know because I didn’t know the man or his family and friends. It’s our responsibility to be there for students & teachers at our own schools. We need to understand one another before the hurts get too big.

Guns don’t protect us. They are a last resort when life is being threatened. One image that my friend Jen and I have called to mind over the years is one of a mother bear. A mother bear becomes ferocious when her cub is threatened. Unlike a bear, we have the ability to discern life and death situations. We have been given the ability to respond to ignorance with love. To help those who really don’t understand our view with dialogue (preferably over coffee). Part of our job as “mother bear” is to guard and protect our children while they’re young. Isolate no. Protect yes.

What protection can we provide our children? How do we guard their hearts and lives? So many people are advocating for personal protection (AKA guns) in schools. Is this the answer?

Recently asked my friend Johanna if she would feel safer knowing another parent had a gun in their glove box when carpooling? Then we laughed. No! I wouldn’t feel safer. There are more risks for accidental shooting than there are for a life and death situation. She said, I have enough things to worry about – like furniture with corners! Do you know how easy it is to get hurt on corners? We laughed again looking at her round Ikea coffee table and thinking about every time one of our kids has bumped into a corner. If you have a kid, it has happened. Facing a death situation? Thankfully rare to non-existent.

What can we do? How do we prevent things like Sandy Hook from occurring?

• Teach them, really teach them. Not how to ace standardized tests. You know, life lessons.
• Focus on character – we want our children filled with qualities like love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control
• Model these qualities. If we’re not patient, how can we expect our children to wait? If we lose control of ourselves, then our children will too.
• Talk about things. Protect, guard, guide. Don’t insulate. You don’t have to go into details – just talk on their level. We don’t talk with Red about gun violence because at 4 he is unaware. We will when he’s ready.
• If your child asks a question, don’t blow them off! So many parents I’ve talked to feel ill-equipped to answer their child’s questions. If you feel inadequate look for help. The fact that your child is coming to you is huge! All of their questions are a big deal, even the little ones.
• Mental illness isn’t a dirty word even though it sometimes feels like one. I know. Every doctor’s visit I go to and have to check “psychiatric disorder” or “mental illness” related to my depression and anxiety I feel so vulnerable – Will this doctor, nurse, etc. understand I’m not crazy? If you have depression, then be open with your children. Let mine be the last generation to feel humiliation related to the label “mentally ill.”

The lessons we can teach our children don’t have to be overshadowed by media frenzy. Let their questions lead you in real conversation … even if it’s hard.