Weird Moms

"The church exists to meet the needs of the world, not to build up the institutional church. People say "How can I get more people into the church" That's not your job. The job is, How do you meet the needs of the community." 

As Xman and I were driving recently, he began talking about the moms of various friends. Some of the moms "think they are 17," some of the moms "try too hard," definitely a lot of the moms "are really nice." So I asked, so what do the other kids say about me? 

To which he responded, "I'm sure they think you are the weird mom who writes the too LONG posts."

I've waited 45 years to be so incredibly comfortable as the "weird mom."

When my big kids were little, I desperately tried to find my mom people. 

If parenting were a political race, I'd be an independent all the way. 

You see the Mom game is as much a popularity contest as anything else in life. 

The independent never wins. 

And I refuse to play. 

I am (now) completely comfortable in my weird mom rule. 

I'm the mom who says NO when a lot of moms says yes. I'm okay with that. 

I'm the mom who misses a lot but I make the things that are important to my kids. I'm okay with that. 

I'm the mom who would rather drink tea and read a book than go on a noisy moms night out. I'm okay with that. 

I'm the mom raising kids who think for themselves and a lot of times that's messy. I'm okay with that. 

We start most of our school days with Peanut doing yoga. One of the many reasons I love to begin our day with yoga is because it teaches her how to center herself. How to breathe in deeply and connect with the core of you. 

The thing that makes you weird. 

And embrace it. 

Celebrate it. 

Mama Warriors, I know many struggle with not quite fitting in. 

My kids interests are VASTLY different than mine. I can't even speak the language of some of the things they love. 

The moms of the kids who love the same things as my kids - may not be my people. 

That's okay. 

Ever tried to make couple friends? My people and Sweet Daddy's people - VERY rarely the same folks :) 

That's okay. 

I encourage you to teach your kids this valuable lesson. 

Not everyone will be your person. 

That's okay. 

It's dangerous to raise people pleasing children because I worry that they will sacrifice the essence of who they are to be everyone's person. 

We can be kind and friendly to everyone. 

But we don't have to gift everyone with our friendship. 

We can wait for the people who think our weirdness is our greatest asset. 

Who love us not in spite of us being weird, but love us because we are weird.

Herdman Christmas

 “Jesus was born for the Herdmans as much as he was for us.”

Each year our family reads The Best Christmas Pageant Ever as we journey to Christmas. The culmination of this book always ends with a living room camp out, popcorn and snacks and a viewing of the 1983 television movie version.

Every year I cry when Leroy brings the ham to church. Every year.

In 2013 the Princess was an angel in a stage production. This was the first play that Peanut ever sat through.

Needless to say when Peanut and I first saw the trailer for the updated version - we knew we HAD to see it.

Yesterday we took our fuzzy blankets, bought the yummy popcorn, and settled in to watch what we were already sure was going to be our new favorite movie.

For those that haven't read this book, it takes place in the town of Emmanuel where the church puts on a Christmas pageant ever year. It's the same one every year. Mary. Joseph. Baby Jesus. Wise Men. Shepherds. Angels.

It's the time when the church "oohs" and "ahhs" over the adorableness of the church children.

Everyone knows what to expect.

Until this year. On this year in a conundrum of events, the church lady who runs the pageant is injured, Grace takes over and the Herdmans show up demanding the lead roles.

The Herdmans are a sibling set of unparented children known to be rough. They've never showed up in church before. Not once.

Once the Herdmans have secured the lead roles, play practice begins.

But the Herdmans don't know the story. They keep interrupting.

What do you mean Herod wanted to kill the baby? Who did something about that? What do you mean no one would let a pregnant lady stay in their home for the night? Who makes a baby be born in a barn?

The Herdmans are outraged by the story of the birth of Jesus.

They have to know more. They demand to know more.

They are inquisitive, they wrestle with the details, they engage with the scripture.

When the Herdmans take the stage the night of the pageant, they encounter Jesus.

It's that simple.

They have prepared for the birth of this baby.

They have grown in their faith.

They have experienced the Christmas story.

And they encounter Jesus.

The Herdmans are the unloved, the unwelcome, the unchurched, the dirty, the poor, the refugee.

Jesus is for the Herdmans too.

Mama Warriors, as I let Mo drag me around the neighborhood this morning, I thought about this idea of encountering Jesus.

Everyone who watched that Christmas pageant encountered Jesus BECAUSE of the Herdmans.

Not in spite of.

We've created churches where no one experiences Jesus because we aren't welcoming the Herdmans of the world.

As they are.

We aren't experiencing Jesus because we think we already know the story.

Mary. Joseph. Perhaps a donkey. An angel.

A tale as old as time.

Maybe this year you read the story as if you were a Herdman on the first day of the pageant.

Maybe you chase those "why's" and dig into scripture like never before.

Maybe you make space in your heart for the marginalized, the oppressed, the different.

And maybe, just maybe, when you show up on Christmas Eve to worship - you will experience Jesus as you have no other Christmas Eve.

"Shazaaaammmm!"

Alarms

 "You can survive on your own. You can grow strong on your own. But you can not become human on your own." Frederick Buechner

I am doing afternoon carpool with Peanut today and will be out in the time I usually prepare dinner.

Cue crock pot. Thank you for slow cookers.

I put a part of tonight's dinner in the crock pot, plugged it in, turned it on.

It immediately sparked, popped, caught fire. And burned my kitchen counter.

This morning is all "This is Us" vibes around here. #restinpeaceJack

What I would like to note is that my smoke detector, no less than 6 feet away with good new batteries in it, did not go off.

If you've ever been here while I cook, you have heard it go off.

You boil water. It alarms.

You turn on the oven. No need to even put food in it. It alarms.

You make french toast on a griddle. It alarms.

You have a fire in the kitchen. It apparently does NOT alarm.

Good to know I guess?

When it's actually something important, like let's say fire. No alarm.

I was thinking about this while I attempted to remove the charred mess from my builder grade countertops that already are on the struggle bus.

I thought about how often I react to things that aren't really a big deal.

Like Peanut changing shoes FOUR times before leaving this morning.

There was loud drama ("oh my gosh.......I don't like these..........this doesn't match...........this one doesn't fit right.........") - I felt tempted to engage but then remembered, Peanut is capable of putting on shoes.

"I'm confident you can solve this problem. I'm setting a timer for 10 min because that's when we need to be outside to wait for your ride."

Purely by removing myself from the room, I did not feed the drama.

I sent the message that Peanut is capable. So Peanut will believe that about herself.

Smoke Alarm off.

Mama Warriors, I firmly believe by turning off the alarm about all the things that aren't ours to carry - we can raise a generation of children who are problem solvers.

They don't need alarms about boiling water or turning on the oven.

We make space for the alarms about the fires.

When it's an issue of heart or character - then we can sound the alarm.

Because CONNECTION always comes before correction.

We can correct in times of fire if we have made space for connection in ALL the other moments.

If we've turned off the alarms.

Addition Over Division

 "Christianity has drifted from a faith of substance to a faith of perception." The Divine Commodity

One of the things I learned from the great gastro crisis is how important ALL the check ups are.

I have an auto immune disorder, a gastro disorder, and a body that endured a lot in the last decade.

I also have a genetics history that makes it irresponsible to avoid physicals. My mom and aunt have had breast cancer. My dad died of cancer. I have two grandmothers who had cancer. Diabetes runs deep. Addiction deeper.

I have a composition notebook that goes with me to every appointment. And a two pocket folder.

I've learned the only advocate for ME is ME.

I write down all my questions and concerns before I ever arrive at the doctor's office. I take notes while he/she talks. I ask for copies of things I can't access in portals online.

In May I went to a new doctor about some new concerns I have.

I shared my concerns and basically she said "Oh yeah......that happens." And then the appointment was over.

And I let it be.

I left there irritated.

Not with her.

But with ME.

Only ME knows how these symptons/issues affect ME. Only ME knows how my daily life is impacted by them.

So last week I took myself back to this office. I said "I'm sorry. I wasn't clear about how serious I feel these issues are. Or how they impact my daily life."

And she kindly listened, brainstormed, and sent me with referrals, medications, and suggestions. And a follow up appointment to make sure I was experiencing an improvement in these areas.

I felt seen and heard because I advocated for ME.

Over the last week, I've watched as ugliness continues to spread in our community. Gloating on one side. Mourning on the other.

And I've watched as our community has failed to make space for both. Equally.

I don't know when division became the more prominent operation in our community.

Maybe it was as my friends were dying and people were ridiculing those wearing masks.

Maybe it was as kids in our community were killing themselves and people were spewing hate to the LGBTQ community.

Maybe while I'm standing at funerals, others are at home being couch activists for hate.

And I've allowed it in the same way that I walked out of that doctor's office without speaking up about something that is important to me.

Maybe under the guise that we are each entitled to our own opinion.

And we are. You are.

But I am also worthy of being seen and heard. I'm worthy of the respect I gift others.

I feel a little like I'm looking at the parting of the Red Sea. I need to leave some environments I've been in. But going somewhere new is hard even if the old place was terrible.

Mama Warriors, what we allow, we advocate for.

It's really that simple.

Last Wednesday, the morning after the election, there were 3 bad accidents near my home. 3 times people were injured, people are going to have to struggle with insurance claims, people were afraid.

The most popular comment on the newspaper's thread about those accidents read something like this:

Those liberals can't see to drive today through all their tears. Followed by a laughing emoji.

Is that helpful? Necessary? Kind?

I feel like we all missed something in kindergarten.

So this morning I'm saying what I should have said a long time directly.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't clear about how serious I feel these issues are. Or how they impact my daily life."

You can say that too.

You can remove yourself from rooms, or the local newspaper site, where respect for humanity is not practiced.

On both sides, we can get off the couch.

We can serve one another.

We can sit with coffee and have the hard conversations.

We can show up in our community in ways that create the change we want.

On either side.

We can choose addition over division.

Assume the Best

 "Judaism doesn't ask its followers to take a leap of faith. It asks them to take a leap of ACTION.

First you do. Then you understand." Wendy Mogel

We start most of our days with a lingering routine that involves warm beverages, good literature and some fresh air.

Tuesdays are our exception.

On Tuesdays Peanut has to be at co-op classes first thing in the morning.

Despite the NUMEROUS times her mother has suggested packing the bookbag the day before - it is always a Tuesday morning activity.

We are in throes of early adolescence.

The "Oh my gosh my hair looks awful" kind of throes.

Lord help us.

By the time we got to the "Do you have everything in your backpack?" this morning Peanut was in full sass mode.

"UGH. I KNOW. I have it."

Let's all giggle as we know where this is going right?

On the drive to school I ask "Do you feel like sharing your reading response today in class?"

As I look into the rearview mirror for the answer, I immediately know that the reading response is not in the backpack.

Apparently she didn't "know."

Definitely doesn't "have it."

I'd like to say that I calmly said mistakes happen, let's think of a solution.

But rather I said "perhaps if when someone asked you if you were ready and was going to list what you needed - if you hadn't rudely interrupted and been unkind, you would have the reading response in the backpack rather than still on the printer."

And then I stopped myself.

Peanut already felt bad. She wasn't going to be prepared for class.

Me berating her for that wasn't going to help her have a good day.

There's this balance in relationships right?

Sometimes we offer grace and we help solve the problem.

Other times we allow natural consequences to happen (the bad grade, the missing assignment, the no lunch to eat) so that they learn. Rescues don't always happen. You live with the consequences of your decision.

Today I offered grace.

We pulled into the library and I told Peanut she could solve her own problem by going in, asking to use a computer, logging into her account, printing her paper, and PAYING for it.

I was confident she could ask the librarians for help and she could learn to do it.

And I went about looking for library books.

Peanut needed two librarians, and a little help from me, but she managed to get her paper printed. And we arrived at school prepared.

While she didn't learn the lesson of arriving to school without her paper, I felt like she did learn another valuable skill.

How to pivot.

How to problem solve.

And that even when you are right (I already knew it was likely she did not have everything she needed) - you be graceful.

You can swallow the "I told you so" and respond in kindness.

You can assume the best of the other person. Peanut wanted to be prepared for class. She had done the work. She made a mistake.

Mama Warriors, I feel like we have become a community that does not assume the best.

Everyone else's mistake is personal to US.

Peanut not having the paper had NOTHING to do with me. And everything to do with her worrying about how she looks, what the other kids will think, how she feels on a long school day.

It felt like it was personal because I asked.

But really, I wasn't even a factor in the equation.

There's no room for grace.

My mail carrier delivered my last package two doors down. I could rant on social media about how her ONE job is to deliver the mail. Or I can remember that Ms. Shirley works hard. She smiles when I see her. She made a mistake.

I could assume the best about Ms. Shirley.

We could assume the best about each other.

We could make space for mistakes.

We could extend grace.