Tradition!

If you have ever seen "Fiddler on the Roof", you are already singing the song just based on my title. In the musical, the Papa is explaining why things "are the way they are". No matter the question, the answer is simple: "tradition". I remember the first time I heard the song. I was a college student, and I was lucky enough to get a role in the ACU production. As a budding adult, barely 20, the Papa in the play struck me as stuck in his ways, old fashioned. "Tradition" had a negative taste to it. Back in those days, "liturgy" was an undesirable word to me as well. Where was the fun in that? Fun means "different" and "spontaneous". Right?

This morning was our annual Scripture and Song service at Bering Drive Church of Christ. The auditorium that recently has been "home" to 160 people, was filled with 210 people. There were founding members, out of town friends and family, new friends from across the street. They didn't come this morning because we were doing something different and spontaneous. They came for one reason: tradition! We shared an hour together hearing the story of the birth of Jesus. We shared bread and wine. The story was not "jazzed up" or changed in any way. It was completely scripted from the Bible. It was nearly 100% predictable. It was absolutely beautiful.

Part of the beauty of this service to me is that my mother is one of the readers. As I heard my mother reading the words she has read for many, many years, "May it be to me as you have said", I had to choke back the urge to cry. Life is so full of change. By very nature, it is unpredictable. But, for a brief moment, it was exactly the way it should be. I caught myself scanning the left side, fifth row back, almost expecting to see my Little Granny sitting there smiling. She was always a big fan of this Sunday too. After church we would always speak to her, tell her how pretty she looked, and then we would exchange compliments for mom. "Didn't she do a good job?" "Yes, she always does," she would answer. She would have been proud today.

Tradition makes you miss people too.

Now that I am approaching 40 and other changes on the horizon, I think this morning meant even more to me than usual. This church means a lot to me. It's family to me. Like any family, we have some unique characteristics. We do things differently. We sing without instruments. Sometimes, we do hokey things. (Like today at our luncheon, acting out the "Twelve Days of Christmas") These are things that people peeking in the windows might not understand. But, this is what families do! This is home to me. It was in this church that I was baptized. It was in this church that I was married. It was in this church that our children were dedicated as babies. It was in this church that we said goodbye to my Little Granny. This church has supported us as we raised our babies to school-age children. Our kids feel safe there. That is priceless.

There are certainly "glitzier" churches. But, I think my heart will always be here with this one. Although I never thought I would say it, I really love my tradition. And on mornings like this one, Papa and I find ourselves in complete agreement.

Orthodontic Faith

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we have not seen." This scripture from Hebrews pertains to many occasions in life. It certainly applies to braces. This will all be worth it in the end. Right?

As I write this, I have just finished my fourth meal with my brand new braces. I am not counting the meals because they are so memorable. I am counting them because they are terrible. My first meal was ice cream. My second was yogurt. My third was a chicken salad sandwich. And tonight, I had about a cup of mashed potatoes. Yum. I knew there would be discomfort. Everyone told me that. But, they did not tell me I would be STARVING. Seriously, obese people should just skip the gastric bypass surgery and get braces. I think it might be cheaper.

It is strange getting braces as an adult. My problem is two-fold: first of all, I have the normal issues with the braces - they hurt, my lips seem to be constantly needing moisture and I am unable to eat. I know that the soreness will wear off, but eating is just not fun anymore. I have learned a few things over the past four meals. You have a choice - things that are hard to chew, like a turkey sandwich, but keep your teeth relatively clean. Or, you can eat things that are easy to chew, like a chicken salad sandwich, and be rinsing off chicken salad for two hours after eating. Seriously. Yuck. Cleaning them almost qualifies as a part-time job. I am going to need stock in Colgate by the end of this next 15 months. Oh my goodness, that sounds long.

The second problem is that I am paving the way for my two, bound-for-orthodontic-work children. They are constantly asking me, "how are your braces?" and I have to answer them with a seriously optimistic slant. "They are a little sore, but it's not so bad." I cannot tell them the truth. They will have to discover it on their own. It's kind of like the flu shot. I remember the day in October very vividly. I went first. They both studied my face for expressions of pain or fear or something bad. I smiled through the whole thing. Then, their turns weren't so bad. In addition to that, Michael has banned me from complaining. That was one of the conditions for plunking down this much money. He would have rather gotten a new recliner.

Today, one of my piano students gave me a giant tower of treats as a Christmas present. It is filled with peppermint taffy (nope), peanut brittle (nope) and truffles (nope). I thought for a minute I might cry, but it passed. I have never lost weight during Christmas, but I think this might be the year.

So, while other adults are longing for jewelry or new cars this season, I am dreaming about gum. I will keep reminding myself that I wanted this. And that one day, as I gaze into the mirror, my faith will become a reality.

Generation Gap

I am getting old. Not walker-old. Not diaper-old. But, middle-aged old. Recently I had an experience which proved this to be true, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I went to see "Twilight: New Moon". I went on opening weekend. I knew I was in trouble in the concession line. The giggling girl behind the counter asked the girls in line in front of me, "Are you on Team Edward?" "Yes!" they giggled back. "Then you are going to LOVE the movie," she said. She didn't ask me. She knew better. Or maybe she assumed I was seeing a movie for grown-ups. Not sure.

The theatre was filled with tweens and teens, all checking their phones for incoming texts before the movie started. "Surely they will stop that when the movie begins", I grumbled to myself as the annoying little lights flashed to the left and the right of me. The only preview that appealed to me at all was for a movie starring Alec Baldwin and Meryl Streep. Another sign of my age. There were a couple of other previews, focused on some guy named Zac and another with the star of "Twilight". These did not appeal to me at all, although the crowd around me seemed quite jazzed by them.

During the first scene of "New Moon", Edward (the main character, who is a vampire) made his appearance. An ear-piercing squeal rose throughout the room. Girls around me were literally going crazy. Personally, I do not think that Edward is even cute. I was rooting for the competition. I lost.

The acting was horrible. Beyond horrible. The angst was so thick, you could barely cut through it with the annoying cell phone lights. There were half a dozen "almost" kisses during the course of the movie. Each time, we were treated to a loud squeal of frustration from the girls in the theatre. Good grief.

The movie ended on a bit of a cliff-hanger. Personally, I am not hanging on the cliff. BECAUSE I DON'T CARE. As the ending credits rolled, the tweens and teens in the room clapped. They applauded. Ridiculous silliness. We filed out to a line full of fresh-faced kids waiting anxiously for the next showing. The girl behind me said perkily to the waiting mob, "You are going to LOVE IT!" I wanted to warn them, but I don't think they would believe me anyway. Kids hardly ever listen to old people. They would probably just roll their eyes.

So, I will not be attending the next "Twilight" movie. I have decided I can live without knowing what happens to Edward and Bella. God bless them on their life together. Mine is probably half over. And I'm OK with that. (smile)

Julia

Time flies when you're having fun. That's what they say, right? Truth is, it flies no matter what. Even when you are not having fun. Time flies. This is an even more poignant truth when you have children.

My first born, Julia, is seven. (She would add "and a HALF".) At this exact moment, I am overhearing her directing Zeke in a play they are working on in her room. At this exact moment, she is being very patient with him and is enjoying his company. This could change, however, in an instant, much to Zeke's chagrin. Julia is crazy about her little brother. Julia is driven crazy by her little brother. This is how each day goes.

This year, she wants to be a veterinarian. She loves animals. On a recent field trip to the Outdoor Learning Center, her convictions were seen in full force. As the other children were handling and studying the pelts of different animals (squirrel, fox, sheep, skunk), Julia was having her own "sit-in" against the wall. While others were labeling, Julia was praying - for all the animals who "lost their lives". Oh, the drama. That's Julia.

Sometimes, she blows my mind. She was always precocious. That has not changed. For a while, I thought she was going to be a tomboy. That has definately changed. She can often be found rummaging through my drawers, looking for jewelry she can borrow, or nail polish she can use. Since she is not allowed to have her ears pierced yet, she has started using glitter stickers on her ears. As she told me this week, "I really like fashion." And she does. She puts clothes together that I would never put together. And, occasionally, it works!

I saw in her notebook the other day, "Samuel is so cute!" I am not eager for this stage to begin, and yet, I remember having mad crushes on boys when I was just a little older than she is now. Relationships with other children are getting more complicated these days. Some days on the way home from school, she will cry about a friend who "doesn't want to be friends anymore." One girlfriend recently told her she "wasn't pretty enough" to be in their cheer club. Girls can be so mean to each other. I suppose that will never change. Too bad. I wanted to scream, "You don't need their stupid cheer club!" But, I knew if I did, she would remind me that "we don't say 'stupid'". So instead, I tried to change the subject to something different. She brought it back up. I gave my best advice: "You are beautiful inside and out. Be yourself. There are plenty of other girls to be friends with." Her reply said what she was feeling: "But, mom, I really want to be in their cheer club." Oh good grief. I yearn sometimes for the early days when problems were solved with ice cream.

Time flies when you're having fun. And when you aren't.

I still check on her at night, before I go to bed. Her bed is usually surrounded with stacks of books. She can read anyone under the table. Funny thing is, I can barely remember her as a baby now. She is multi-faceted now. Like a beautiful diamond. The bittersweet truth is - as much as I yearn to protect her from the world, from the mean girls, from the "Samuels" who will not return her affections, or the ones who will (Lord help us!) - those things will make her the woman she will ultimately become. She'd never believe me anyway, if I tried to warn her. She will have to live her life, make her own mistakes, learn her own lessons.

But, for now, she is seven. Seven and a half. She breaks my heart sometimes. She heals my heart sometimes. She's just like me. She's nothing like me. She's my Julia.

And oh, how I love that little girl.

A Halloween Story

I like spooky movies. From time to time, I get in the mood to be spooked. I have watched movies on a variety of scary topics. But, not movies about Satan, demons or demon-possession. Why? Because I believe that stuff is real. And that makes it just a little too scary for me.

Growing up with a Bible teacher mother and a Bible theologian father, I knew the difference between right and wrong. I also was taught that dealing with Satan is dangerous, and tinkering with things "of Satan" was prohibited in our house and warned against. We were not allowed to participate in slumber party "seances" or play with Ouiji boards. That was a door to trouble. And I accepted that warning from my parents. And I obeyed.

Except once. And that one time, I have never forgotten.

I was in fifth grade. My best friend, Amy, and I decided we wanted to try to "contact" her dead uncle, who was killed in the Vietnam War. We set up candles in her family's living room. We had a tape recorder set on "record", just in case we could hear the spirit voices on the tape, even if they were not audible in person.

We turned out all the lights. Since it was a cloudy and overcast day, the mood was set.

And we began to call him.

"We want to speak to Uncle Tim."
"Uncle Tim, speak to us so we know you are there."
"Give us a sign!"
"Give us a sign!"
"GIVE US A SIGN!"

CRASH! BOOM! Then a loud, piercing siren.

Lightning had struck her house. When it hit the roof, that set off their fire alarm. I am not even kidding. Well, it was a sign all right - a sign that we needed to get the heck out of that house. We ran across the street as fast as our legs would go to a neighbor's house. We explained to our neighbor what had happened. She said something like, "what are the odds?"

What exactly happened that day? Was it Amy's uncle trying to communicate from the "other side"? A sharp correction from God? Just a very strange coincidence? I don't know. We never will. But, we never did that again.

And that, is a true story.

Happy Halloween.

Behold the Power of Guilt

Nobody does "guilt" like a mother.

I am not talking about a mother causing her children to feel guilty. Nor am I talking about constructive guilt, which leads us to a deeper level of self-awareness. I am not referring to the conviction that rushes over you when you respond to a construction worker's whistle with a smile, when you should have given back a look of shock and repulsion. (Sorry, Gloria Steinem, but I have been guilty of this in this past.)

I am talking about the completely unconstructive guilt that only a mother would subconsciously agree to take upon herself. The kind that causes her to relinquish control of her purse to her gum-starved four year old...just to avoid a scene at the store. Even when said child is naughtily chewing a piece for 5 seconds, spitting it out and then getting a new piece. The kind which leads that mom to present a 10 minute sermon on "Good Choices / Bad Choices" at a higher volume than is necessary...not for the sake of the child, but for the sake of the adults who are giving dirty looks to the gum abuser...just so THEY will know that the mother KNOWS the right thing to do. As if to say, "I AM a good parent...just not right this minute.

The sad thing is, the more strangers look, the more desperate you get. The Mom-O-Meter inside your head is frantically ringing out the message - YOU STINK! Even though, you know deep inside that there has been worse behavior within those same walls, many times before.

Recently, while waiting at Wal-Mart's Vision Center, my children lost their minds. This was Columbus Day, and so, as I do on most school holidays, I had a pre-conceived agenda for the day. This did NOT include my children losing their minds.

We entered the Vision Center as a respectable family. Sweet even. We found an empty table and took our places in the chairs. A pleasant woman with a lazy eye (seriously, working in the Vision Center?) sat down to assist us. Poor woman. And I am not talking about the eye thing. I explained that we were there to get new lenses for Zeke's glasses. We handed over the prescription and got the process started.

Well, she had to call our vision insurance to verify the coverage. Apparently, that takes about 15 minutes. This is not a long period of time when you are driving around in Houston. But, in the Wal-Mart Vision Center, it is an eternity. Like limbo - if limbo were filled with little frames delicately placed on little racks - in an order that mattered to someone.

So - the kids were great for the first five minutes. Then they found the display of glasses cases. There were pink ones, some with leopard prints, and some with cartoon characters on them too. Julia started nagging me to get her a pink glasses case. I explained in my proper mommy voice that we were not there for a glasses case. "But moooooooooom...I aaaaalways lose my glasses. This would heeeeeelp me." Just for the record, in five years, Julia has never lost her glasses. I insisted that there would be none, and so she stomped off to the corner of the room to sit on the floor and pout and sulk and mumble comments about me. No biggie. I can ignore that.

Where was Zeke in all of this? Zeke was too busy realizing, with great delight, that the glasses cases could make a cool slamming noise if you push them together with force. Picture angry oysters. He also discovered that he could put his old tissues inside the glasses cases and then return them to the display case for the next customer to find.

Can you picture it? Norman Rockwell, eat your heart out.

I told Zeke to stop, which sent him into grouchy, temper tantrum mode. He decided to walk through the Vision Center punching all of the mirrors on the walls and knocking tiny frames off their tiny stands. I quickly excused myself from the table, stepping away from Our Lady of Perpetual Waiting with the Wandering Eye, and scolded him up close. He talked back to me, "No, YOU stop." Oh yes, he said it.

At this point, the other couple in the store (too old to remember being parents, but not old enough to be grandparents) is staring at me like I have "Mommy In Training" printed on my forehead.

Never mind that there were literally children walking through the store with bare feet, eating McDonalds, in nothing but a diaper. At that moment, I was the worst mother in the world. I felt guilty. Feeling the weight of that guilt, that my children were disturbing the beautiful oasis of peace which was Wal-Mart, I launched into a sermon. I had three points and everything. With more notice, I could have had a power point presentation. Desperate to achieve the illusion of control, which apparently ended once my children moved to solid food, I did it. I offered up my purse to the gods of chaos and moodiness.

The gum did the trick. But, oh the guilt. I am still beating myself up, five days post Columbus. Why do we do this to ourselves? Michael says that I judge myself so harshly because I judge others too. I must admit, I have given mental parenting notes to many desperate moms I have seen over the past several years, when I should have given a kind, understanding look instead. Or maybe offered their children gum. I guess the key here is to "do unto others as you WOULD HAVE THEM do unto you." In other words, don't dish out the dirty, questioning looks, if you don't want to get them.

Because, one day, you might be the family leaving the Wal-Mart Vision Center, looking like you have been through a battle - with a disappointed 2nd grader determined to lose her glasses at the next opportunity...and a four year old boy, too busy chomping on eight pieces of gum to talk back.

Happily, the rest of the holiday was great. We decorated Halloween cookies, ate a picnic on the living room floor and watched Halloween Mickey Mouse together.

And, as far as I know, the Vision Center is still standing. I only wish I could be a fly on the wall when some poor, unsuspecting customer opens their brand new glasses case to find...

My (Very Short) Preaching Job

Three weeks ago, on a Friday afternoon, I got an email from our Administrative Minister at Bering. Our interim preacher had to leave the country on business, and we had to figure out what we were going to do on Sunday morning instead. The order of worship had already been prepared...even printed. But, as it happened, I had just finished preparing a three week series for our Women's Bible Study on "The Heart of Worship". I offered to preach the first week's lesson as that week's sermon. Don graciously agreed.

Bering has been my home church since the fourth grade. Over the past 20 years, our congregation has gradually become more and more gender inclusive. Women and men serve Communion, side by side, nearly every week. Women and men lead prayer. I lead worship with a mixed worship team, from the front, every week. Women and men serve on the Pastoral Team and the Administration Team, together. Still, although a woman preaching is "allowed", it has only happened once before on a Sunday morning.

As I prepared to walk up to the podium, I felt a pang of nervousness. I have been up there many times before as the worship leader. This time felt different. There is a huge responsibility in the proclamation of God's Word. I knew that the weight of this moment was greater than anything else I had done before. Michael squeezed my hand and leaned over to whisper to me, "Enjoy it!"

And, it was wonderful. And I did enjoy it. I felt at ease. I was very prepared, but I felt an empowerment that went beyond preparedness. The time went very quickly. And then, it was over. This morning I finished the series. And today was even more fun than the first time.

I must say, I have a whole new respect for those who do this every Sunday, week in, week out. It took me HOURS to write each one of the lessons. Another couple of hours for the presentation materials - power point, props, etc. And each one was over in less than half and hour. It reminded me of preparing for Thanksgiving dinner. You stand on your feet in the kitchen for hours preparing the food - which is gobbled up in a matter of minutes. I cannot imagine preparing Thanksgiving dinner every week! And, as a preacher, I cannot imagine the pressure to have something fresh every week. But, when God has your ear, it can be done.

Now that it is over, I must say, it is a bittersweet feeling. I am so happy that my daughter had the opportunity to hear her mom preach. However, I am sad that my Little Granny wasn't here to see it. Thankfully, one of my grandmothers will have the chance to hear the recordings. Certainly both of them would have been great preachers, if they had been given the chance.

God created us all in his image - male and female. There is much beauty in hearing both perspectives. We each have something different to offer. Incidentally, the lesson this morning was more emotional than most that I have heard from male preachers. But, there is a place for that - for a mother's heart, as it relates to God. Sadly, most churches are not "there". And I believe they are missing out on the other half of the picture.

During the past three weeks, I have received emails of encouragement and blessing from D'Esta Love at Pepperdine University and many other female believers throughout the country. That has been cool. I didn't set out to "make a statement" or anything like that. I stepped up as a substitute, just to share what God taught me in my life and my personal study. It has been an amazing opportunity and a tremendous honor.

And now, my preaching job is over.

For now.