A Celestial Birth Announcement

A Celestial Birth Announcement

“Exalt the Lamb,”

Speaks the Father

To a sun, to a star, to

His Star,

And joyful light bursts, expands, explodes,

Announces, declares and glorifies

From within—

To without,

Floods tiny Bethlehem,

Ancient promise of the coming Redeemer

Fulfilled in supernova,

Fresh and unusual stranger

To the night sky,

Created to announce

The birth of one tiny Baby,

Jesus.

                             ~Paige Tighe

                               Christmas, 2012

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A joyous Christmas to all--and may the God of Peace bring you contentment and abiding knowledge of His awesome Presence this year and forevermore.

                                                                                                        ~PT

A Charming Puzzle

One of my dearest loves has just been crowned Miss Hampshire High 2013.  I am proud of her drive and am utterly struck by her beauty and charm.  In fact, I have always felt this way.  When she was only 13-months-old, her dad and I were caught in a smooth and sun-drenched moment, a moment in which all things vanished from our world except this tiny, teeny, brown-eyed girl.  We stood, dumbstruck, entranced.  I don't remember the circumstances, and I do not think they're important.  I remember the moment; and I remember my words to her dad:  "Could she possibly know how charming she is?"  In some toddler way, I am sure she did.

I flash forward and ask myself the same question--could she possibly know?  When I was seventeen, I was funny and smart and adorable and very able to engage and manipulate the people in my world.  (I am not necessarily proud of this.)  But I was not charming.  At least, not this charming.  I have puzzled over my daughter's presence, over her character and the dazzle in her eye.  Over her confidence and her innate sense of social parameters.  Since I have never (EVER!) had a clear understanding of social parameters, and my husband's seem way too restricting to me, how did our child come to this place?  I guess she observed both of us and unwittingly embraced, combined, sorted, and tossed, and became herself.

In considering the outcome, and the other people we have raised, I can also say with confidence that you get out what you put in--a huge component.  Our children have never been our idols, but we do enjoy and include them.  We spend time with them and try to support them in reasonable endeavors.  We are not their pals, but we are also not the police.  We try and try and try and try.  We totally mess up in much of the trying, but have succeeded, I feel, pouring into each one the certainty of our love.

Perhaps that's where the confidence behind our daughter's charm comes in.  She knows that we love her and that her mother would stomp anyone who would treat her unjustly.  In closing, may we all learn to walk that oft' hazy line between building confidence in our dearest loves, and turning them into monsters.  

A Whirlwind of Hooligans (Part II)

When a three-year-old cups my face in his sticky little hands and whispers, most confidentially, "I am riding to church in your car because you...are...my...Nanny," I lose all sense of anything but his dreamy eyes.  When a two-year-old wakes in the night with boogies streaming out of his nose and cheeks as red as apples and wants only to lie across his Nonna (translation:  Nanny), I don't care what miserable toddler disease I catch; I only want to comfort him.  When I've been out of the house from moon-to-moon, and crawl in from another long day of teaching and chauffeuring, and a wee baby tears his toothless mouth wide because he's delighted to see me, I am energized.

It is pure foolishness to place two families under the same roof and expect an atmosphere of enduring peace.  Especially two passionate, hard-headed families with children spanning from tots to teens, a couple big dogs, a bunch of temperamental cats (some indoor/some indoor-outdoor) and one hermit crab.  We have very little peace under our roof, but much joy.  And our joy arrives in snippets, not streams. In bottles, not barrels.  But here's what we do have:  LOVE.  We have discovered that we love enough to forgive minor transgressions.  We love enough to stay relational in the face of anger and self-centeredness.  We love enough to keep our tongues when it would feel much more satisfying to loose them.

A Chinese friend told me many years ago that the Chinese symbol for "too much trouble" (pronounced:  mah-fwong)  is the image of two women under the same roof.  Time and experience have proven this again and again in my life--not, however, in this time or in this experience.  I am discovering that I can anticipate my adult daughter's responses because she is so much like me.  We parent similarly.  And we come up with the same kookie stuff for dinners.  She is a resourceful homemaker and understands how the house needs to look and feel when I drag myself in the door in the evenings.  She rarely snaps back when I am grouchy.  She knows what brings me snippets and bottles of peace.  I appreciate this child so much, and learn from her compassion toward me and her many kindnesses toward the whole mob of us.  Hats off to you, Cheryl--yours is not an easy path, but your grace and diligence make us all want to do better!  Big love to you!      

A Whirlwind of Hooligans (Part I)

Our children were lengthening their bones and leaving us at an alarming rate.  They were pursuing relationships and bachelor's degrees, they were buying cars and marrying.  They were raising families.  Our number had shrunk from eight to five.  I found myself crying over our lack of sippy cups in the cabinet and Matchbox cars wedged under the couch. Our vacuum cleaner never smoked from sucking up Polly Pockets and no Barbie hair clogged the bathroom drain.  Our youngest child was almost twelve, and no longer needed his hot dogs sliced down the middle, and our oldest spent most evenings sequestered in her room.   

Our house had become quiet, and to a mother used to hustle and flurry, the quiet was nearly unendurable.  How many times did I search the heavens for free-falling babies?  How much did I fuss and coo over babies in stores?  How many knowing smiles did I bestow on frazzled strangers at Walmart, frazzled female strangers with toddlers spilling from their grocery carts?  The answer:  too many and too much to be considered sane or, at the very least, polite.

Guilty.  Me.

When the phone rang one early August evening and the flat, angry tone in our daughter's voice came through the wires from far, far away, I reached back through them with comfort.  "Come to us," I told her.  "Pack up your three babies and your husband and make your home here until you figure things out."  I was dizzy with excitement; our home would be full of babies again.  We would grow to ten; and we would make it work.  Concerns, stifled, went unspoken. 

Convincing the current oldest child was a different story--she had only just last year made her way into the Circle of Trust and Favor.  As Number Four, she had arrived at oldest and was loathe to relinquish the title.  Plus, as we considered the logistics, we did not anticipate the living situation with great hope.  While we longed to squeeze our long lost and dearest loves, reality and experience dictate that the honeymoon wears off in time and that grown children really shouldn't move back home.  But there was a need, and it was our job to meet it.

We have been pleasantly surprised.

Grief

“to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.”
― Ellen Bass


Interestingly, this quote showed up on a friend's Facebook page yesterday.  And, here today, we grieve.  I sit in the wake of this ugliness in Aurora, CO, and the poem quoted, which seemed so knowing and haunting just a day ago in a removed sort of way, hangs heavier than it did yesterday, so much heavier.  I ache for those whose bodies have to withstand this unbearable, this weighted and raw agony.  I pray from some deep place for every family, even for James Holmes and his sad family.  I long, in that way we all do, for the impossible--the ability to turn back time and refuse to allow the event.


As a mother, this sadness is like a kick in the stomach.  I watched an interview this morning with a young man who had taken his little sister and his girlfriend to see the new Batman movie last night.  It's not that his story was chilling that made me hurt so much for him, rather, that he is not the same person he was when he walked into the theater.  And he never will be.


I ask everyone reading this to stop just now, and pray.  Pray for an unmistakable holiness in and around each person.  Pray that each broken heart would mend, and that each person will one day be able to take life between the palms and "say, yes, I will take you/I will love you, again."

Never A Dull Moment

To say that we run around like chickens with our heads cut off would be a gross understatement.  To say we fall into bed each night exhausted from a busy day at work and play would be one, as well.  It's more like we have been forced into an obligatory life-imposed Attention Deficit.  What happened to the lazy hazy days of summer we spent the colder months dreaming of?  I don't think they exist for any of us.  When I was a child, one glorious summer day blended with the next, and the next, and the next.  We got up early, ate breakfast, arrived at the beach before the lifeguards, left the beach long after the lifeguards, ate supper, played at the playground and went to bed.  Sprinkled in the middle were odd chores like walking Stormy (the favored pooch), playing with Matt (the favored baby brother) and gathering kindling for regular campfires.  For a child, life really doesn't get much better.

Sadly, my children have never experienced summer life in that way.  They pack for camp, go to camp, get picked up from camp, pack for camp, go to camp, get picked up from camp, and so on.  For most of the summer.  They have very, very few days to lie around and do nothing.  I feel bad for them.  For instance, our 17-year-old daughter went to Girls State (week-long mock government activities--so awesome!--sponsored by the American Legion) two days after we returned from our crazy little vacation in Williamsburg, VA, with another family (see previous blog).  After Girls State, we both spent a super intense week preparing for the Miss West Virginia's Outstanding Teen pageant to be held in Morgantown, WV.  She hit the pike for the pageant and I finished up the particulars.  A friend and four of her five children stayed with us and then we all headed for Morgantown.  Once home from the pageant, where our dear daughter made the top eight, she took a nap, re-packed and headed out to Bible camp in Pennsylvania for a week.  Hubby picked her up Friday evening and Saturday morning she and her younger sister went to a Pirates' game and concert with friends.  Yesterday, the girls unpacked from the game and concert, re-packed and joined two of their brothers and lots of others for a local week-long mission trip in Capon Bridge WV (sponsored by our church).  She is planning to attend another youth activity in Cumberland, MD, over the weekend.

While our daughter is running with her choke out, her parents and siblings are neither twiddling their thumbs nor lazing around.  Rather, we are working here at home and out in the cut-throat world of business, packing and unpacking for other camps, preparing for and performing at various storytelling events, harvesting vegetables, killing fleas (on the pets and in the house), teaching Boy Scout Merit Badges (okay, just one so far, but it's time-consuming), having babies (congrats on John Patrick's healthy birth, Cheryl and Bill!), holding an Eagle Scout ceremony, completing long-neglected writing projects, and trying to find a dependable cheap/free car.  There are lots of other things on all of our plates but there is really no need to continue.  Everybody's busy--cold, but true.

So, what do we do to reclaim the summer?  Well, as far as I can see, we finish up the last camp experience (Boy Scout Camp) and guard August jealously.  Unfortunately, our college student returns for R.A. training on August 8 and our daughter's Trojanette activities begin around the same time.  Grrr--to what do we say, "NO?!"  I wonder if you can imagine how happy I was when the power went out last week and did not return completely for five days.  The phone and Internet lines were damaged and stayed that way for eight days, and I wasn't one bit sorry.


A complete collapse of technology in our world?  Bring it on, at least until we get tired of having nothing to do.        

Sweet William-sburg!

When my dear Wendy was offered a suite at a resort in Williamsburg, VA, at a crazily low price, she decided to command me to join her...and five of her kids...with three of mine.  The dates fit perfectly within our very tight early summer schedule.  The price was certainly right.  The boss said I could go.  Win-win.  All the way around.  We were all really excited.

Our departure date crept up and bit us in the butt.  But, always champs in a crunch, we got ourselves together and made it out the door in time to catch the bus (i.e., Wendy's Suburban).  We made it to Williamsburg with only one pit stop at Walmart for a potty break, and already knew what we were making for supper.  We checked in without a hitch, chose our bedrooms without a fight, cooked and ate without so much as a spill.  Yessss.  We planned our meals, found both a Walmart and a Martin's close-by, shopped, and (finally!) hit the sack. 

Our week progressed in very much the same pleasant and orderly way.  But, after parenting eight children together for six days, we discovered that our households are quite different, as are our parenting styles.  While our children have all been raised to love and serve God, and while we take part in some of the same family-related church and social activities, and while we are roughly the same age, we are so different in the ways we approach certain behaviors in our kids.  I won't go into detail since Vegas rules apply in this situation, yet, suffice it to say, it was a week full of eye-opening wonders within our friendship.  Even though our youngest children are far from being babies, and our oldest children have flown the coop, I feel that Wendy and I have both taught and learned a few things in our sweet little suite in Williamsburg.  I believe it is a credit to our relationship both before God and before each other that we didn't take offense at  being shown other ways of doing things.  I don't believe we are ready to jump into another vacation right this second, but none of us came home vowing "never to go on vacation with those people  again." 

Our last night together, Wendy and I laughed until nearly 3:30 in the morning--I was really surprised one of us didn't have an attack of some kind.  That's how hard we laughed. 

All things considered, our vacation together was a wonderful time with wonderful friends.  We swam, rented a movie, got ferocious sunburns, went to the beach, made craft dough, saw a magic show, and bothered the front desk people relentlessly.  Most importantly, we put our busy lives on hold and simply went with the flow.  We do sometimes need to stop and smell the roses as we toddle through life, or, in this case, the magnolia blossoms.  Hats off to you, Princess Wendolyn!