Friday before last, I had a really bad day.
Any where I went in my little New England town, I came across the same vehicle. Not once in my errand running of 2 hours, but four times. What are the chances? At a stoplight. Twice. Pulling out and driving behind. Across the intersection from.
I know the vehicle well. A silver minivan with a license plate bracket declaring the driver to be a Philadelphia Eagles fan. Yes, I am very familiar with the van. I thought I was familiar with the driver, once upon a time, but unfortunately, it was only the facade I was given that I was familiar with, not the real person.
I made my way home feeling desperately crushed. Anywhere I went that day it seemed I could not escape the past.
Then I remembered that I had to bake a pumpkin bread for my children's school that evening. I am on the PTO Baking Committee, too. And I didn't have all that I needed for the bread. Damn. I would have to go out again. And risk seeing the van. Again.
I thought about not baking, but I felt my responsibility sitting on my shoulder, reminding me, prodding me. So I heaved myself off the couch, and went off to the store.
I bought only what I needed for the bread. Plus a big box of Famous Amos chocolate chip cookies, which I planned to consume most of while the bread baked in an effort to soothe my sorrows.
As I was walking out of the store, and elderly gentleman stopped me.
"Have we met?" he asked. We had not, but not only was he elderly, he was a World War II vet. I have a soft spot for veterans, a thank you to my grandfather. I was only just beginning a true friendship with my grandfather when he passed away when I was 19. Talking with veterans reminds me of him, connects me to him. A connection I could use a hug from every now and then.
The gentleman then asked me if he could just "enjoy my beauty" for a moment, and he gave me a squeeze on my hand. We parted ways and started walking away, and then he said something that stopped me in my tracks.
As he was walking away he said to me that I am a good Christian woman. That people could talk what they want to about me, think what they want to, do what they want to, but they could never take Jesus Christ away from me. That if I keep with Him, we will have everything we need, and those people will be taken care of, too.
That made me tear up. I thanked him, told him I needed to hear that, and told him that I hoped God blessed his day. He said He already had.
As I drove home, of course I cried. What 6.5 month pregnant woman wouldn't? I thought that day of a lot of people.
The friend who used to pray with me for my best friend, over both their cancers, who now blamed me for a church's demise. Had I acted alone?
The friend who once hugged me, expressing her gratitude that my first missions trip was on the very same team as her daughter's first missions trip, who now exiled me publicly on a social networking website.
The friends who once celebrated holidays and birthdays in my home who now walk blindly past me when we meet in public.
The friend who promised me wonderful things, and then covered up those promises with lies.
The minister who let us turn to her in confidence, only to turn away from one and then the other, and what she was told as an avenue for gossip, in a manner most unbecoming.
The six-year-old Sunday School classmate who had told my seven-year-old at a birthday party that her mommy said she wasn't supposed to talk to my children.
The friend who once played a role as work supervisor, who attended not only wedding showers but a wedding, baby showers and visited in the hospital after each birth of a child; attending birthday parties and celebrations, ballet performances and plays, who now shuns with disapproval and judgement.
The friend who felt it right to broadcast her unhappiness with me on the same social networking site by calling me names.
The friends who took part in those conversations, never standing up for me or championing me the way I had hoped even just one of them would.
The friends who do stand by me, beside me, holding my hand and my head high when I can't, or won't, or forget how. My husband.
I've seen the van again since, but, suddenly, it doesn't seem to make my day so bad anymore. And I did eat a lot of cookies that day. Not because I was wallowing, but because they were damn good!
Wednesday, November 3
Tuesday, September 21
Four
I fail to understand how I was so difficult towards my mother as a child that I am to receive four little girls in return. I did not drink, I did not party, I did not steal. I was a good girl, a church youth group groupie, Sunday School teacher. Sure, I was moody and hormonal. What 13 year old isn't? I may have said a few not nice things to my mom (and dad), but really, I just wasn't bad enough to be getting four of me in return!
Each time I have been pregnant, I have been positive that I was carrying a boy. This time is no exception. But this time we did something a little different. At the 20 week ultrasound, we asked the technician to tell us the gender of the baby. We have never wanted to know before.
After having three girls, we wanted to be prepared if we were, in fact, adding a little boy to our family. After all, this is completely unplanned!
It is kind of fun knowing who this little person is flipping around inside of me. I love all my girls more than life, and loved them regardless of not knowing who they were as they were growing inside. But this time, I feel a little different. Like I am bonding in a different way with this little girl now. I know more about her already than the others. But I am still just as curious about all the parts of her that I don't yet know.
Having four girls growing up in our tiny yellow house is going to be a sight to see. But, God doesn't give you what you want. He gives you what you need.
Each time I have been pregnant, I have been positive that I was carrying a boy. This time is no exception. But this time we did something a little different. At the 20 week ultrasound, we asked the technician to tell us the gender of the baby. We have never wanted to know before.
After having three girls, we wanted to be prepared if we were, in fact, adding a little boy to our family. After all, this is completely unplanned!
It is kind of fun knowing who this little person is flipping around inside of me. I love all my girls more than life, and loved them regardless of not knowing who they were as they were growing inside. But this time, I feel a little different. Like I am bonding in a different way with this little girl now. I know more about her already than the others. But I am still just as curious about all the parts of her that I don't yet know.
Having four girls growing up in our tiny yellow house is going to be a sight to see. But, God doesn't give you what you want. He gives you what you need.
Friday, September 17
A Different View
Yesterday we celebrated my husband's birthday a few days early, and took a little day trip from our quiet New England town down to New York City. I had arranged a tour for him of Fox News Studios, as he is a big fan. And what a wonderful tour we did have! We got to see the ins and outs of the network, saw all the sets of the shows he watches, and got to see a few of the network stars, too. Round that up with lunch in a little out of the way pub and being caught in a tremendous thunderstorm, and it was a magnificent day.
Usually we take the train to the city, but as he has been feeling unwell, and I am still experiencing morning sickness and some of the other fun that comes with pregnancy, we decided to drive. The storm came as we were heading back to our car, so it delayed our return home with massive amounts of traffic. We decided to exit the Henry Hudson Parkway, and try our luck on some of the West Side's city streets.
After a while we realized that we were approaching the 125th Street Metro North Train station. In the middle of Harlem. When we are riding the train, this stop always looks dismal. Tenement houses, run down buildings. Degredation.
But being in the middle of the neighborhood offered us such a different view. The buildings looked like homes. There were parks, children playing. Shops that we wanted to go in, restaurants that looked inviting, delicious.
My husband commented how different things look when you are down in the middle of them. What we look down on from above really isn't so bad when we are part of it.
Different indeed.
Usually we take the train to the city, but as he has been feeling unwell, and I am still experiencing morning sickness and some of the other fun that comes with pregnancy, we decided to drive. The storm came as we were heading back to our car, so it delayed our return home with massive amounts of traffic. We decided to exit the Henry Hudson Parkway, and try our luck on some of the West Side's city streets.
After a while we realized that we were approaching the 125th Street Metro North Train station. In the middle of Harlem. When we are riding the train, this stop always looks dismal. Tenement houses, run down buildings. Degredation.
But being in the middle of the neighborhood offered us such a different view. The buildings looked like homes. There were parks, children playing. Shops that we wanted to go in, restaurants that looked inviting, delicious.
My husband commented how different things look when you are down in the middle of them. What we look down on from above really isn't so bad when we are part of it.
Different indeed.
Tuesday, September 7
Disconnected
Over the course of the last few months, a new lifestyle has evolved in our house. It is less technological, more personal, quieter even, dare I say?
It's not been spoken about, but somehow my husband and I have reached an agreement, a commitment to each other. From 5:00 in the evening, we are not online. And that extends to the weekends, too. (All weekend.) No email, no chat boards, no blogging, no news reading. More family time, more playing, more couple time, more togetherness. More meaning.
Sure, we occasionally break the "agreement" to do a little shopping online, or respond to an email we anticipate receiving. But it always feels as though we are doing something contraband, and we tend to the task as quickly as possible so we can return the laptop to its quiet corner of the dining room and get back to the fun we are missing.
Our evenings have been quieter. The children (usually) have been nicer. They, and we, are getting to bed earlier (which is starting to garner more and more importance as we prepare for the number of months where sleep will evade us by something other than our own doing! Er.... You know what I mean...)
Weekends have been more fun. We've had the time to spend with each other doing things that families need to be doing: riding bikes, playing in the pool and the yard, fostering healthy friendships, going to the park. We've noticed that for 2 weekends in a row, our telephone didn't ring! They just so happen to be the best two weekends that we have had as a family in many, many years.
Coincidence? I think not.
It's not been spoken about, but somehow my husband and I have reached an agreement, a commitment to each other. From 5:00 in the evening, we are not online. And that extends to the weekends, too. (All weekend.) No email, no chat boards, no blogging, no news reading. More family time, more playing, more couple time, more togetherness. More meaning.
Sure, we occasionally break the "agreement" to do a little shopping online, or respond to an email we anticipate receiving. But it always feels as though we are doing something contraband, and we tend to the task as quickly as possible so we can return the laptop to its quiet corner of the dining room and get back to the fun we are missing.
Our evenings have been quieter. The children (usually) have been nicer. They, and we, are getting to bed earlier (which is starting to garner more and more importance as we prepare for the number of months where sleep will evade us by something other than our own doing! Er.... You know what I mean...)
Weekends have been more fun. We've had the time to spend with each other doing things that families need to be doing: riding bikes, playing in the pool and the yard, fostering healthy friendships, going to the park. We've noticed that for 2 weekends in a row, our telephone didn't ring! They just so happen to be the best two weekends that we have had as a family in many, many years.
Coincidence? I think not.
Tuesday, August 3
First Communions
We have recently begun visiting churches in our town as we try to find a new church home for our family. Our current church does not fulfill the needs of our family with the right attitudes, love and Christianity that a church should provide.
It has been a while since we have been at a church service where communion was served. This Sunday, our children each had their first communion.
This particular congregation partakes in communion as a whole, not by dispersement from the pastor. The trays of bread and wine were passed, and each of our girls sat patiently holding their little cube of bread and tiny cup of grape juice.
"What is this for, Mommy?" asks my middle child, with all the innocence of a 5 year old.
"This is called Communion. When we eat the bread and drink the juice we say a prayer asking God to forgive us for the things that we have done wrong."
"Does He do that?"
"Absolutely, sweetheart. He forgives us. All we have to do is ask."
I don't know if she truly understood what I was telling her. For that matter, do most grown-ups? Perhaps she was thinking that God really would forgive her for hitting her older sister, talking back to me or breaking something. Perhaps she thought it was just a little snack. Whatever she thought, I was glad to be sitting with her, sharing communion, praying to my God.
And being forgiven.
It has been a while since we have been at a church service where communion was served. This Sunday, our children each had their first communion.
This particular congregation partakes in communion as a whole, not by dispersement from the pastor. The trays of bread and wine were passed, and each of our girls sat patiently holding their little cube of bread and tiny cup of grape juice.
"What is this for, Mommy?" asks my middle child, with all the innocence of a 5 year old.
"This is called Communion. When we eat the bread and drink the juice we say a prayer asking God to forgive us for the things that we have done wrong."
"Does He do that?"
"Absolutely, sweetheart. He forgives us. All we have to do is ask."
I don't know if she truly understood what I was telling her. For that matter, do most grown-ups? Perhaps she was thinking that God really would forgive her for hitting her older sister, talking back to me or breaking something. Perhaps she thought it was just a little snack. Whatever she thought, I was glad to be sitting with her, sharing communion, praying to my God.
"As far as the east is from the west, so far does He remove our transgressions from us." Psalms 103:12
"I, I am He who blots out your transgressions for My own sake, and I will not remember your sins." Isaiah 43:25
"There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." Romans 8:1
And being forgiven.
Tuesday, July 20
Today Could Be a Birthday
Today could be a birthday.
It is something that will be a part of me for a long, long time. A haunt, a what-if, a why that will always be here. A reminder of good or bad, evil or graciousness, right or wrong. A penance.
My penance.
And I am so, so sorry. For so much.
It is something that will be a part of me for a long, long time. A haunt, a what-if, a why that will always be here. A reminder of good or bad, evil or graciousness, right or wrong. A penance.
My penance.
And I am so, so sorry. For so much.
Wednesday, July 14
Brave Girls, Brave Mom
Summer vacation is in full swing, and after a nice week of being lazy at home, I've been packing up a picnic lunch everyday and heading out to the lake with my three little blondes for swimming lessons. Not being a beach person, this has been just a little bit harder this year since I am also dealing with the full throes of morning sickness. Pregnant is not something I do well.
My oldest wanted nothing more than to swim out to the diving board dock. From the first second she saw it at the beach. One day the first week of lessons I indulged her, and swam with her out to the dock. It's a far swim for a 7 year old, but she did it. I had to wait in the water for her as she climbed the diving board, and jumped in. She loved it.
I hated it. Mama Bear was watching her cub grow. I watched her jump into the water, and waited for what seemed like an eternity for her little head to pop back up from under the water. And then she did it again.
I realized that while we were out there, I did very little breathing. It was time to head back to shore. But my little one was so proud of herself.
The next day she wanted to go again. But she had to wait for Daddy to go with us. The following week, out they swam. This time it seemed much quicker for her to reach the surface after her jump. Of course, I was watching from the shoreline, and did not swim out to the dock. That is what Daddy was for!
The next day, my middle one wanted to swim to the dock. Donning life jackets, they swam out to the dock together, as we waited on shore. Jumping from the dock, they took several turns before heading back in, proud as can be of their accomplishments.
When they reached the shore, we both breathed.
My oldest wanted nothing more than to swim out to the diving board dock. From the first second she saw it at the beach. One day the first week of lessons I indulged her, and swam with her out to the dock. It's a far swim for a 7 year old, but she did it. I had to wait in the water for her as she climbed the diving board, and jumped in. She loved it.
I hated it. Mama Bear was watching her cub grow. I watched her jump into the water, and waited for what seemed like an eternity for her little head to pop back up from under the water. And then she did it again.
I realized that while we were out there, I did very little breathing. It was time to head back to shore. But my little one was so proud of herself.
The next day she wanted to go again. But she had to wait for Daddy to go with us. The following week, out they swam. This time it seemed much quicker for her to reach the surface after her jump. Of course, I was watching from the shoreline, and did not swim out to the dock. That is what Daddy was for!
The next day, my middle one wanted to swim to the dock. Donning life jackets, they swam out to the dock together, as we waited on shore. Jumping from the dock, they took several turns before heading back in, proud as can be of their accomplishments.
When they reached the shore, we both breathed.
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