Last weekend, several of us had a good chuckle over our 20-year-old's tub of stuff. This is the stuff I collected over the years and stuffed into a tub with his name on the lid.
Here's the question: Was I collecting for him, or for me? Because I really believe that Me Then knew somehow that Me Now would desperately need to experience my very little boy again. There was something so dreamy and so baby-powder sweet about going through this tub with my big, grown puppy. As we drew sock after block after rattle after blanket (ginky) from the place it had been so tenderly laid many years ago, my heart hummed with a happiness only these sorts of sweet memories can call forth. He was brand new, and four, and seven, and twelve--all at the same time.
Briefly, I believe it was the same for him. He has only ever experienced himself in a linear way, in chronological fashion, where one event leads to another as the first vanishes behind. Like a car trip that seems to go on forever, but doesn't really. I believe my grown boy sensed, during our sweet journey, what I have been trying to tell him for years. I have told him again and again, "While you experience your own life in a line, to me your life is on a canvas stretched out in front of me. Everything is happening at once for me, yet the same events for you are coming along one at a time."
I wonder if this is why emotions run so high when things go on with our children. When he hurts, I still want to comfort the little boy. When he soars, I want to run along the beach holding his hand, chasing seagulls. When he skins his knee, I want to kiss it better. When a policeman pulls him over for doing 50 in a 35, I want to give that cop a piece of my mind.
It's good for me, I think, to keep tubs of stuff, and to go through them once in awhile. It keeps my perspective where it belongs, and helps me resist every urge to call the time my grown boy spends with his friends a play date. It helps me allow all of them to grow and stretch and leave.
I can't decide if I'm pathetic, or if all mom's are like this...
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Show Me Your Friends
Any one of my kids, and any of the kids in our youth group at church, are able to complete this sentence when my husband says the first part: "Show me your friends--".
"and I'll show you your future."
Sounds like a blanket assessment, doesn't it? All of the young people in our lives, both past and present, have tried every which way from sideways to prove that statement false. Here's the problem: they can't. If you hang around with people long enough to call them FRIENDS, their behavior becomes the norm for the group and for the individual within the group.
My wise husband offered these examples: if all the people in your group of friends uses four-letter words, using four-letter words becomes the norm. No one thinks anything of it because everybody does it. If all the people in your group of friends inject heroin into their veins, shooting up drugs becomes the norm. Likewise, if all of your friends commit to purity, it is the norm to stay pure. And if the norm in your group of friends is to abstain from alcohol, you will probably not all get together and tie one on.
There are certainly good reasons for parents to keep a watchful eye on their kids' friends. Most parents are not passing judgment on the families of the children their kids are drawn into relationship with. It is simply wise to know where your dearest loves are going, who they will be spending time with, the conditions at the home where they will be sleeping over, and the adults who will be supervising them.
Believing this way does not make me one bit popular with my kids or their friends, and sometimes I question our need to know important answers before our kids leave for a friend's house, but our caution has not cost our children. And we know several sets of parents whose lack of it has cost their children dearly.
"and I'll show you your future."
Sounds like a blanket assessment, doesn't it? All of the young people in our lives, both past and present, have tried every which way from sideways to prove that statement false. Here's the problem: they can't. If you hang around with people long enough to call them FRIENDS, their behavior becomes the norm for the group and for the individual within the group.
My wise husband offered these examples: if all the people in your group of friends uses four-letter words, using four-letter words becomes the norm. No one thinks anything of it because everybody does it. If all the people in your group of friends inject heroin into their veins, shooting up drugs becomes the norm. Likewise, if all of your friends commit to purity, it is the norm to stay pure. And if the norm in your group of friends is to abstain from alcohol, you will probably not all get together and tie one on.
There are certainly good reasons for parents to keep a watchful eye on their kids' friends. Most parents are not passing judgment on the families of the children their kids are drawn into relationship with. It is simply wise to know where your dearest loves are going, who they will be spending time with, the conditions at the home where they will be sleeping over, and the adults who will be supervising them.
Believing this way does not make me one bit popular with my kids or their friends, and sometimes I question our need to know important answers before our kids leave for a friend's house, but our caution has not cost our children. And we know several sets of parents whose lack of it has cost their children dearly.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
All You Need Is...
It seems fitting to write on L-O-V-E this week. For a couple of reasons.
First, the obvious consideration for writing about LOVE is because we are right in the middle of February, and so is something else: VALENTINE'S DAY! Hearts are everywhere in all of their beautiful pink and red and white glory. I would ask anyone reading this to cast off the glittery trappings of an over-commercialized date in the middle of this month, and instead, just LOVE. Walk around for the next few days treating the people in your world as if you love them.
This brings me to the second reason I am writing about LOVE this week. Our pastor bestowed on us a challenge last Sunday morning: choose one person in your sphere of influence (circle of friends and acquaintances), and for the next year, simply LOVE that person. To be devoted to loving a person means to be devoted to selflessness and purity in that relationship, no matter what. As we consider the people who have traipsed into our lives, who have been born into, or married into, or were thrust into our lives, we are challenged to do this thing that is actually pretty foreign to our thinking. (What a terrible thing to say! I am outraged at myself for suggesting that LOVE is foreign to my thinking.)
I love my husband and my children (and perfect grandboys!). I love my mother and my siblings and their families. I love my friends and I love people, in general. I wonder--do I love any of them selflessly, or in purity? I mean to. But in thinking about what it means to truly, truly love a person, I wonder if I don't attach a few strings (even teeny, tiny, wee strings) to the people I believe I love. For me, to love someone is to allow him (or her) to be, to be exactly who God designed him to be; to not manipulate or influence him in any way that would benefit me; to discipline with my eye and my heart trained on godly wisdom; to give selflessly, to hold tirelessly, to listen endlessly, to defend boldly, to pray for radically, to honor constantly.
What a tall order! Does anyone really love like that? I believe my pastor's challenge, which seemed sweet and fluffy to me at first, is perhaps the hardest thing I have ever considered doing. But in the immortal words of one of our dearest superheroes, Yoda: "Do or do not. There is no try." So, in closing, and with much, much more to say but not nearly enough time and space to say it: Today, I will LOVE. (There is no try.)
First, the obvious consideration for writing about LOVE is because we are right in the middle of February, and so is something else: VALENTINE'S DAY! Hearts are everywhere in all of their beautiful pink and red and white glory. I would ask anyone reading this to cast off the glittery trappings of an over-commercialized date in the middle of this month, and instead, just LOVE. Walk around for the next few days treating the people in your world as if you love them.
This brings me to the second reason I am writing about LOVE this week. Our pastor bestowed on us a challenge last Sunday morning: choose one person in your sphere of influence (circle of friends and acquaintances), and for the next year, simply LOVE that person. To be devoted to loving a person means to be devoted to selflessness and purity in that relationship, no matter what. As we consider the people who have traipsed into our lives, who have been born into, or married into, or were thrust into our lives, we are challenged to do this thing that is actually pretty foreign to our thinking. (What a terrible thing to say! I am outraged at myself for suggesting that LOVE is foreign to my thinking.)
I love my husband and my children (and perfect grandboys!). I love my mother and my siblings and their families. I love my friends and I love people, in general. I wonder--do I love any of them selflessly, or in purity? I mean to. But in thinking about what it means to truly, truly love a person, I wonder if I don't attach a few strings (even teeny, tiny, wee strings) to the people I believe I love. For me, to love someone is to allow him (or her) to be, to be exactly who God designed him to be; to not manipulate or influence him in any way that would benefit me; to discipline with my eye and my heart trained on godly wisdom; to give selflessly, to hold tirelessly, to listen endlessly, to defend boldly, to pray for radically, to honor constantly.
What a tall order! Does anyone really love like that? I believe my pastor's challenge, which seemed sweet and fluffy to me at first, is perhaps the hardest thing I have ever considered doing. But in the immortal words of one of our dearest superheroes, Yoda: "Do or do not. There is no try." So, in closing, and with much, much more to say but not nearly enough time and space to say it: Today, I will LOVE. (There is no try.)
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
When the Party's Over
First, let me say that our holiday season was a bumpy one.
Whoever said that parents are busier and their hearts--and wallets--are stretched more when there's a slew of ankle biters running around the house lied. And should be spanked. Either that or said person didn't stick around until the kids became adults and almost-adults.
I know alotta things. I know what to do with a fever, a sore throat, a twisted ankle, an earache, a mean teacher, a fresh mouth, and sibling rivalry. I can serve up the Brat Diet, Nature's Penicillin, Magic Mouthwash and the best whipped cream icing ever. I am resourceful beyond words, can stretch a buck as if it was rubber, and can make a gourmet souffle out of cardboard.
But, for the life of me, I do not understand the college student.
The big boys finished up their semester finals in mid-December and graced us with their precious presence for the entire holiday season. I was able to spend hours talking at them while they texted and stopped up their ears with something called ear buds. I learned that I am stupid and that they are smart because they attend college. At first, they spoke to me gently, as if I was a small child who did not understand. By Christmas, they had become a little testy in their constant reminders. By New Year's Eve, one of them had bugged out in favor of laying up at a friend's house, and the other was barely speaking to me.
May I just say here that my heart hurt more than I imagined it could have? I used my best reasoning skills and purposed with everything I had in me not to incite them to wrath. But they were still wrathful.
And the girls, my beautiful teen princesses, who play sports at opposite ends of the county, informed me that if their coaches called practices, I would certainly be driving them to these practices. I stammered: "But what about Christmas? What about family time? What about caroling, and tree lighting and visits with family? What about those things, huh?" Again, even the kids who still live under our roof, spoke to me as if I just didn't get it--slowly, and with small words.
And maybe I don't get it. I have always despised injustice, yet have come to reside under its cruel authority. I imagine a fantasy family in which the children come home from high school and college without their own agendas, with no more trouble attached to them than a sackful of laundry sporting stubborn stains. They tell me I just need to go with the flow. What? Turn a blind eye to bad manners and a deaf ear to potty mouth? Turn a clogged nose to the showerless and smoke-filled? Not a chance, I say! Oh, where are the diapers and drool cloths, the playpens and playgrounds? Where have my ankle biters gone?
Whoever said that parents are busier and their hearts--and wallets--are stretched more when there's a slew of ankle biters running around the house lied. And should be spanked. Either that or said person didn't stick around until the kids became adults and almost-adults.
I know alotta things. I know what to do with a fever, a sore throat, a twisted ankle, an earache, a mean teacher, a fresh mouth, and sibling rivalry. I can serve up the Brat Diet, Nature's Penicillin, Magic Mouthwash and the best whipped cream icing ever. I am resourceful beyond words, can stretch a buck as if it was rubber, and can make a gourmet souffle out of cardboard.
But, for the life of me, I do not understand the college student.
The big boys finished up their semester finals in mid-December and graced us with their precious presence for the entire holiday season. I was able to spend hours talking at them while they texted and stopped up their ears with something called ear buds. I learned that I am stupid and that they are smart because they attend college. At first, they spoke to me gently, as if I was a small child who did not understand. By Christmas, they had become a little testy in their constant reminders. By New Year's Eve, one of them had bugged out in favor of laying up at a friend's house, and the other was barely speaking to me.
May I just say here that my heart hurt more than I imagined it could have? I used my best reasoning skills and purposed with everything I had in me not to incite them to wrath. But they were still wrathful.
And the girls, my beautiful teen princesses, who play sports at opposite ends of the county, informed me that if their coaches called practices, I would certainly be driving them to these practices. I stammered: "But what about Christmas? What about family time? What about caroling, and tree lighting and visits with family? What about those things, huh?" Again, even the kids who still live under our roof, spoke to me as if I just didn't get it--slowly, and with small words.
And maybe I don't get it. I have always despised injustice, yet have come to reside under its cruel authority. I imagine a fantasy family in which the children come home from high school and college without their own agendas, with no more trouble attached to them than a sackful of laundry sporting stubborn stains. They tell me I just need to go with the flow. What? Turn a blind eye to bad manners and a deaf ear to potty mouth? Turn a clogged nose to the showerless and smoke-filled? Not a chance, I say! Oh, where are the diapers and drool cloths, the playpens and playgrounds? Where have my ankle biters gone?
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
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
_______________________________________
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
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
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!
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!
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