"The stars at night, are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas."
They are from the swing in my back yard tonight, anyway. A cup of tea, a fleece wrap and Chequers at my feet make for a quiet hour. The pool pump hums just a little, not loud enough to cover the night birds, the wind in the ivy or the neighborhood settling.
The stars are very bright. And I've made a list of my wishes...
I wish my brother and sister-in-law the fulfillment of their hopes.
I wish my friend health and wholeness.
I wish my co-worker success.
I wish my family and friends sweet dreams or a wonderful day, depending on the side of the world they live on.
I wish everybody everywhere had enough of everything.
I wish every child had wonderful parents.
And that I had more faith.
I wish for world peace.
And that the continents hadn't drifted so far apart.
That time travel and significant weight loss were possible in seconds.
I wish that maybe January had a few more days in it.
I kind of wish I could be in charge for a little while. Of the world.
But I guess I am ok, just on my swing making wishes.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
one of these days
One of these days I am going to stop being surprised. Maybe.
I think my son is pretty awesome. I like everything about Stephen from his green eyes, snorty laugh and vague irreverences to the way he pauses, sometimes for a very long time, when you talk to him on the phone. I like his tender heart and his desire always for justice and to champion those in need of a champion. I like it that he does this without fear or much thought to the consequences. I like it that he invites learning and growth in his life, that he works hard at everything and that he has better boundries than me. Plus about a million other things.
From the time he was very young I have admired the way Stephen attracts, makes and keeps a really interesting, eclectic group of friends. As a student of child development I take this as a compliment of our parenting - it was probably just him, but I still like the credit. A sort of testimony of his ability to differentiate well. And maybe a tiny bit of a slam at those who told me years ago I would never raise emotionally healthy kids by educating them mostly at home. Take THAT, ye nay-sayers.
Yesterday some 50 of these friends held an Iron Chef competition, bought and cooked food, or came and paid to eat and judge the food. They sat and talked and laughed and ate. All in support Stephen's upcoming months in Africa.
It was fun to watch.
I overheard snatches of conversations concerning events and work and play. I saw looks and hugs and words exchanged that I know not the history or future of. There were jokes and stories and memories shared. Plans and dreams for tomorrow and next week and forever were discussed. I observed a community of thriving, creative, smart, fun, intense, passionate, authentic, diverse men and women in action.
I wasn't surprised. But I was surprised. Like maybe all parents are when they see what they've longed for happening and they realize it's time for the next season. (Insert a deep, cleansing breath here.)
At the end of the day these friends all cleaned up the kitchens together. At the end of the day they handed over an envelope with a significant amount of money inside. At the end of the day many surrounded him and prayed prayers of blessing, encouragement and hope.
At the end of the day Stephen had to sit down for a bit under the grateful weight of the honor of those blessings.
His mom did too.
I think my son is pretty awesome. I like everything about Stephen from his green eyes, snorty laugh and vague irreverences to the way he pauses, sometimes for a very long time, when you talk to him on the phone. I like his tender heart and his desire always for justice and to champion those in need of a champion. I like it that he does this without fear or much thought to the consequences. I like it that he invites learning and growth in his life, that he works hard at everything and that he has better boundries than me. Plus about a million other things.
From the time he was very young I have admired the way Stephen attracts, makes and keeps a really interesting, eclectic group of friends. As a student of child development I take this as a compliment of our parenting - it was probably just him, but I still like the credit. A sort of testimony of his ability to differentiate well. And maybe a tiny bit of a slam at those who told me years ago I would never raise emotionally healthy kids by educating them mostly at home. Take THAT, ye nay-sayers.
Yesterday some 50 of these friends held an Iron Chef competition, bought and cooked food, or came and paid to eat and judge the food. They sat and talked and laughed and ate. All in support Stephen's upcoming months in Africa.
It was fun to watch.
I overheard snatches of conversations concerning events and work and play. I saw looks and hugs and words exchanged that I know not the history or future of. There were jokes and stories and memories shared. Plans and dreams for tomorrow and next week and forever were discussed. I observed a community of thriving, creative, smart, fun, intense, passionate, authentic, diverse men and women in action.
I wasn't surprised. But I was surprised. Like maybe all parents are when they see what they've longed for happening and they realize it's time for the next season. (Insert a deep, cleansing breath here.)
At the end of the day these friends all cleaned up the kitchens together. At the end of the day they handed over an envelope with a significant amount of money inside. At the end of the day many surrounded him and prayed prayers of blessing, encouragement and hope.
At the end of the day Stephen had to sit down for a bit under the grateful weight of the honor of those blessings.
His mom did too.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
joy like swords
Just about every page of The Return of the King speaks to me on some level of heart, mind and soul.
There are times when the reading of certain passages brings out the warrior woman. Times when righteous anger wells up, then mercy. Times when I am reminded of duty and courage, of blessed rescue and laughter, of faithful friendship and trust above all.
But there's this one part ~ sort of at the end of everything ~ at a farewell banquet. The battles have been won, evil vanquished, the king is on his throne and the fellowship has been reunited...only to part again. Back to the destinies they've fought for the opportunity to fulfill.
"And all the host laughed and wept, and in the midst of their merriment and tears the clear voice of the minstrel rose like silver and gold, and all men were hushed.
And he sang to them, now in Elven-tongue, now in the speech of the West, until their hearts, wounded with sweet words, overflowed, and their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to the regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness."
hearts wounded with sweet words
joy like swords
pain and delight flow together
tears, the wine of blessedness
Are there any words better than these to describe the parting between loved ones?
Winter is a season of good-byes for me. Some anniversaries of good-byes and some present day ones. All the memories aren't awful, the soon to be good-byes are for the purposes of obedience and adventure and destiny. It's all good.
But I am keeping Tolkien handy.
And kleenex.
There are times when the reading of certain passages brings out the warrior woman. Times when righteous anger wells up, then mercy. Times when I am reminded of duty and courage, of blessed rescue and laughter, of faithful friendship and trust above all.
But there's this one part ~ sort of at the end of everything ~ at a farewell banquet. The battles have been won, evil vanquished, the king is on his throne and the fellowship has been reunited...only to part again. Back to the destinies they've fought for the opportunity to fulfill.
"And all the host laughed and wept, and in the midst of their merriment and tears the clear voice of the minstrel rose like silver and gold, and all men were hushed.
And he sang to them, now in Elven-tongue, now in the speech of the West, until their hearts, wounded with sweet words, overflowed, and their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to the regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness."
hearts wounded with sweet words
joy like swords
pain and delight flow together
tears, the wine of blessedness
Are there any words better than these to describe the parting between loved ones?
Winter is a season of good-byes for me. Some anniversaries of good-byes and some present day ones. All the memories aren't awful, the soon to be good-byes are for the purposes of obedience and adventure and destiny. It's all good.
But I am keeping Tolkien handy.
And kleenex.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Cyclists
I finished my Christmas shopping yesterday. This project necessitated a drive NW to SE through the city with two stops in between. It wasn't bad, I'd done my research, knew exactly where I was going - quick ins and outs - no opportunity for impulse buying or surprises.
Austin was beautiful, the sky was blue, the temperature was record-breaking high 80's, the cedar isn't terrible yet. So there were a lot of bikers on the road. This is nothing new, Austin is a cycling city. Terry rides his titanium-framed, very sleek and sporty bike to work many days and out in the hills for 80 miles or so on his days off. I ride my Granny's adult 3-wheeler (complete with front and rear baskets) sedately around the neighborhood sometimes. Whenever it won't embarrass my children. We have lots of bike lanes, Austin drivers are usually careful and polite. I am particularly attentive and watchful of cyclists. I learned this mostly from the gasps that come from the passenger seat when I am driving and, well, you-know-who is the passenger.
Yesterday I saw two quite interesting bikers. The first was male. It was easy to discern the gender of this cyclist because he was nude, save a slender thong. On a bicycle. In a busy urban area. He had a great build and fabulous tan. One assumes from cycling naked. The other was female and in a completely different area of town. She wore spandex shorts and top, gloves, helmet, windbreaker. She was a woman of a more significant, traditional build and all her clothing was pink. She was an impressive sight on a bike.
I had two wishes after encountering these brave and intrepid cyclists. I wished my expansive, wide, tractor-style 3-wheeler seat for both of them. And I wish they would somehow, in this enormous city, find one another. And have a ride through the hills together.
Austin was beautiful, the sky was blue, the temperature was record-breaking high 80's, the cedar isn't terrible yet. So there were a lot of bikers on the road. This is nothing new, Austin is a cycling city. Terry rides his titanium-framed, very sleek and sporty bike to work many days and out in the hills for 80 miles or so on his days off. I ride my Granny's adult 3-wheeler (complete with front and rear baskets) sedately around the neighborhood sometimes. Whenever it won't embarrass my children. We have lots of bike lanes, Austin drivers are usually careful and polite. I am particularly attentive and watchful of cyclists. I learned this mostly from the gasps that come from the passenger seat when I am driving and, well, you-know-who is the passenger.
Yesterday I saw two quite interesting bikers. The first was male. It was easy to discern the gender of this cyclist because he was nude, save a slender thong. On a bicycle. In a busy urban area. He had a great build and fabulous tan. One assumes from cycling naked. The other was female and in a completely different area of town. She wore spandex shorts and top, gloves, helmet, windbreaker. She was a woman of a more significant, traditional build and all her clothing was pink. She was an impressive sight on a bike.
I had two wishes after encountering these brave and intrepid cyclists. I wished my expansive, wide, tractor-style 3-wheeler seat for both of them. And I wish they would somehow, in this enormous city, find one another. And have a ride through the hills together.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
28 years
Spat. Sizzle. Spat. Sizzlesizzle. Spatspatspat.
Terry and I looked across our joined hands at quite a solemn moment - and tried to hide the giggles. The 'drip-less' candles weren't just dripping - they were regurgitating all over the spotless alter of a very formal, very poinsettia decorated, very borrowed, very Methodist church on the University of Texas campus - 28 years ago today. I tried to rein in the wide smile at the absurdity of that ridiculous sound at this life altering moment when my eye caught the twinkle in the eyes and grin, yes it was a grin, on the lips of my seconds-away-from-becoming, very unknown, very Southern Baptist preacher father-in-law.
I think he probably knew way more about the absurdity of life and solemn moments than we did. I learned much from that twinkle and grin in the next 25 years of his life and our marriage. Terry's Dad - who became mine too.
I learned that keeping some secrets is smart and keeping some isn't wise, at all.
That commitment isn't about sometimes and whenever, but about all the time.
That believing in someone, and being the someone someone can believe in means you spend a lot of time praying.
That learning to cook is a good thing, watching your husband cook is even better.
That the world still turns if the white load is quite strangely and suddenly pink.
That taking a bike ride is better than visiting the counselor, well sometimes.
That kids are a learning experience, but the one with the most pain and joy.
That some words shouldn't be said, ever, and some should be said every day.
That covers, closet space, burdens, almonds and the driver's seat are sweetest when shared.
That I am my best when grateful for the gifts of every day.
That the one one marries is the same and also very changed 28 years later, and how you've loved each another all those years is who you've both become.
That marriage is full of solemn and absurd moments - and both will make you smile.
I think that's probably it for this 28 years, I'm thinking there's more in the next 28 or so.
Happy anniversary, babe. You are the best.
Sizzle.
Terry and I looked across our joined hands at quite a solemn moment - and tried to hide the giggles. The 'drip-less' candles weren't just dripping - they were regurgitating all over the spotless alter of a very formal, very poinsettia decorated, very borrowed, very Methodist church on the University of Texas campus - 28 years ago today. I tried to rein in the wide smile at the absurdity of that ridiculous sound at this life altering moment when my eye caught the twinkle in the eyes and grin, yes it was a grin, on the lips of my seconds-away-from-becoming, very unknown, very Southern Baptist preacher father-in-law.
I think he probably knew way more about the absurdity of life and solemn moments than we did. I learned much from that twinkle and grin in the next 25 years of his life and our marriage. Terry's Dad - who became mine too.
I learned that keeping some secrets is smart and keeping some isn't wise, at all.
That commitment isn't about sometimes and whenever, but about all the time.
That believing in someone, and being the someone someone can believe in means you spend a lot of time praying.
That learning to cook is a good thing, watching your husband cook is even better.
That the world still turns if the white load is quite strangely and suddenly pink.
That taking a bike ride is better than visiting the counselor, well sometimes.
That kids are a learning experience, but the one with the most pain and joy.
That some words shouldn't be said, ever, and some should be said every day.
That covers, closet space, burdens, almonds and the driver's seat are sweetest when shared.
That I am my best when grateful for the gifts of every day.
That the one one marries is the same and also very changed 28 years later, and how you've loved each another all those years is who you've both become.
That marriage is full of solemn and absurd moments - and both will make you smile.
I think that's probably it for this 28 years, I'm thinking there's more in the next 28 or so.
Happy anniversary, babe. You are the best.
Sizzle.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Little Boys
So, all this week I've had little boys in and out of my office, my classroom, my life.
There was one who had a black eye.
One who wanted to talk about life. One who wanted to argue.
Three or four with missing front teeth.
One with eyelashes so long I thought for sure they were fake.
There were swimmers, basketball and soccer players, a gymnast and one fencer.
A curly headed one who assured me there is truly a Santa Claus.
Two who can't read and want to so bad they cried. One sat in my lap.
Two who looked exactly alike except one was born 2 minutes earlier than the other - they say you can tell which one is older if you look REALLY close.
One with his arm in a sling, one with just one leg, one with his middle finger in a splint.
One pretty much convinced me that there is a monster in his closet.
There were curls and cow-licks, buzz cuts and sticky-up hair galore.
Then there was this one. The one who 24 years 11 months and 20 days ago surprised me by arriving in my life and changing it irrevocably. That's the one.
There was one who had a black eye.
One who wanted to talk about life. One who wanted to argue.
Three or four with missing front teeth.
One with eyelashes so long I thought for sure they were fake.
There were swimmers, basketball and soccer players, a gymnast and one fencer.
A curly headed one who assured me there is truly a Santa Claus.
Two who can't read and want to so bad they cried. One sat in my lap.
Two who looked exactly alike except one was born 2 minutes earlier than the other - they say you can tell which one is older if you look REALLY close.
One with his arm in a sling, one with just one leg, one with his middle finger in a splint.
One pretty much convinced me that there is a monster in his closet.
There were curls and cow-licks, buzz cuts and sticky-up hair galore.
Then there was this one. The one who 24 years 11 months and 20 days ago surprised me by arriving in my life and changing it irrevocably. That's the one.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Women
I made a few good decisions as 19 year old who only had brothers and boyfriends, not many (any?) girlfriends. One of them was to choose to attend a women's college. I got a great undergrad education. I learned a lot about women - the kind I wanted to be, the kind I didn't want to be, the kind to choose for friends, the kind that didn't stay friends. I was a good friend to some and I was a pretty poor one to others.
But the seeds of what has become a deep and abiding appreciation for women was birthed in those turbulent years.
Within the last week I have laughed and cried as...
~ one woman friend had her children removed from her home and custody given to her estranged husband
~ I watched a red-haired woman friend push a grocery cart with her two blond toddlers in it - children doctors said she would never have
~ one woman friend handed me her 24 hour old baby to snuggle
~ one woman friend told me of the devastating medical diagnosis her child just received
~ one woman friend and I prayed for our young adult children
~ one woman friend hung up on me
~ I watched two women give finances sacrificially so that another can adopt
~ I talked over daily life and deep personal issues with two long-time women friends
~ my carelessness caused one woman friend to tell me how she wished I'd change
~ I watched a group of mommas and babies play on the floor together, swapping diapers and snacks and mothering thoughts
~ I talked to a woman friend who lives cross-culturally and we wept over the challenges she faces
~ I watched a young woman have a difficult conversation with a friend - just because she knew it was the way to best love her
~ one woman volunteered to teach a Sunday School class this busy season just so a friend's child would feel safe
~ I texted with one woman friend whose child's behavior is unexplainable
~ I passed an envelope full of cash from one friend to another so the one receiving wouldn't know the sender
~ I felt connected to a lonely woman I met in the grocery store
~ I went to the movies with my daughter and she put her head on my shoulder
I am humbled and filled with joy....somehow. I love women.
But the seeds of what has become a deep and abiding appreciation for women was birthed in those turbulent years.
Within the last week I have laughed and cried as...
~ one woman friend had her children removed from her home and custody given to her estranged husband
~ I watched a red-haired woman friend push a grocery cart with her two blond toddlers in it - children doctors said she would never have
~ one woman friend handed me her 24 hour old baby to snuggle
~ one woman friend told me of the devastating medical diagnosis her child just received
~ one woman friend and I prayed for our young adult children
~ one woman friend hung up on me
~ I watched two women give finances sacrificially so that another can adopt
~ I talked over daily life and deep personal issues with two long-time women friends
~ my carelessness caused one woman friend to tell me how she wished I'd change
~ I watched a group of mommas and babies play on the floor together, swapping diapers and snacks and mothering thoughts
~ I talked to a woman friend who lives cross-culturally and we wept over the challenges she faces
~ I watched a young woman have a difficult conversation with a friend - just because she knew it was the way to best love her
~ one woman volunteered to teach a Sunday School class this busy season just so a friend's child would feel safe
~ I texted with one woman friend whose child's behavior is unexplainable
~ I passed an envelope full of cash from one friend to another so the one receiving wouldn't know the sender
~ I felt connected to a lonely woman I met in the grocery store
~ I went to the movies with my daughter and she put her head on my shoulder
I am humbled and filled with joy....somehow. I love women.
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