The Cracks That Make Us Whole

Love is imperfect. It is the sharing of love that makes it whole. I’d like to say that my love for my husband is perfect, but there are many things through our history that make it feel like others are looking through shattered glass. My love for my kids also has the same appearance. Amazingly enough, when you view the big picture, it looks whole.  And for a good reason. 

Where would I be without these great people to write about? In some corporate office, ruling people’s lives, making them miserable, ordering takeout, and living alone for $50,000-75,000 a year?  Instead, I get to do it for free. My house feels crazy all the time, especially when I try to instill order. I feel like the one person in the house that no one listens to. But where would I be without them? 

I know. I’ve been there. It’s a fishing trip, where you pull in the biggest fish you’ve ever seen, with only your dog to witness it. It’s a beautifully clean house with no one to walk through and mess it up or appreciate it: the clean or the house. Yes, when I say my house is wrecked, perhaps it’s wrecked for the good of my soul. 

It’s a place where my kids are kids, learning responsibility and respect that good parents give. It’s the place that my husband comes home to enjoy the crazy after a quiet day. He loves it… God love him…. Because he truly does enjoy it and our life together. 

As a stay at home parent, I sometimes loathe the smile of bliss that comes home with my husband. Then I realize that he just loves to come home to our family, to the crazy, that I take for granted. How humbling, when I think that I am so much smarter than that. He loves to come home and be my hero every day. Who could ask for more than that? 

Is there more? I tried to take a picture of some earrings that were given to me out of love. I could not acquire the supermodel look that my friends do on their blogs. Is it enough? It is. Because the love that came from that work of art was worth displaying. My mom worked hard to make the person that I am to display that art. It may not be the Facebook quality we all want or wish to present, but it is me. It is the person my mom raised and loves and is proud of too. It's the person that my friend wished to grace with her talent.

That man of mine, who comes home to the crazy is only looking for me, for my love, for my approval, my appreciation. He doesn’t care that I’ve gained weight, or didn’t do the dishes… he just wants to come home…. to us, in our imperfect state, because together, we make it whole. 

That should be enough for me. For someone to love me so much that they don't look at the tiny cracks in the picture or the character, that make up me. I saw those cracks in the kid who resembles me the most today. It inspired me to take a different route, perhaps the same route that my mom took with me. Love is a bridge, it makes the impossible seem possible. It brings reason to an unreasonable situation. It comforts, it heals and it sustains.

It makes my relationship with my mom stronger, as I understand so much more what she went through raising me. It makes the love for my husband grow, because I'm not sure anyone could love me as much as my own parents, and appreciate the quirks that came from that, more. Love isn't perfect, it's just pieces put together.

Like a Drum, My Heart Keeps Beating

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, but as with most of my posts, sometimes there is just someone who needs it or a piece of my life that deserves mention. My family and our weekend deserves this.

Some days are picture perfect; you just want to frame them. Then a song comes along and frames it in your memory and writes a message in your heart.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GV2yMnzWkkc

I was watching three extra kids the other day and to my dismay, two of the three were stung by bees. To make my embarrassment even worse, none of the three were mine. We have a play area for the kids. That is their part of the yard, the rest is ours. The kids are great about staying in it and playing there. We’ve never had a problem with our kids getting stung.  I felt horrible. 

After the incident, I noticed my oldest daughter asking one of them after they had been treated for it, “Does it hurt?” In my motherly frustration I told her, “Please don’t ask if it hurts, ask if it is getting better. If you ask if it hurts, it makes it hurt worse, if you ask if it’s getting better, usually, it is. If you don’t make a big deal out of it, it will disappear unless it is a big deal.” I didn’t realize what a huge lesson I was teaching myself, much less my kid and the rest of them, at the time. 

I’m a gardener… hope always springs eternal in the gardener’s world. We invest in the future through perennials and starts. We constantly say the words, “Next Year.”  I didn’t realize as I carefully transplanted my roots from Washington to Oregon, that I was planting something that would sustain me from year to year. Not in ’97 when we moved and passed a ghost town on the way, or when we’d been here for years and I offered to support a friends’ mom through marketing.  But the friendships and addition of family built in our transitional period has sustained me through all of the craziness this last year. 

I wasn’t sure what would happen when things changed as we shut down and moved church to home group, but guess what? We’re okay. We’re doing better. And no one has asked if we’re hurt. The ones who care ask if it’s getting better. My book might be on hold, but I know that when I release it, it won’t be from a position of hurt. I won’t be another pastor’s kid made into a statistic. Because my heart, my faith and my family have been carried by so many who tended my garden while I neglected it. And though I didn’t realize it, they healed my heart. 

I thought that the church held my family together, but the truth is, my family held the church together. And my friends who were like family made up the support to hold our family together while we held the church together. We all made it through this tumultuous time intact. As the dust settles, my friends and family are still there. Some still encourage us to grow our faith and the rest still get pulled with us through the momentum.

When my faith has been broken, there has always been someone there to carry it for me and direct me back to my roots. Oddly enough, they may or may not have been connected to my actual roots. They carefully tuck my heart away and carry it, like a treasure to be released later.  Family is amazing, something that reaches out and pulls you back from the edge. Family takes on many different characteristics.  It’s investing in history, because that’s what your family has always done. Though not the same way, just as valuable. And it’s what we know.

As a pastors’ kid, I always wondered what a “normal” family looked like. Day by day, I’m finding that it looks like mine. It looks like the ones that I’ve been adopted into as well. They are the people you miss, the ones you send a text message to, the ones you stop in to see, because when you don’t see each other weekly, it feels like you stop breathing. That thing that so many people want and are so hesitant to give: right in front of my face. Sometimes it feels so suffocating that it makes it hard to breathe, but so missed when it isn’t there. 

It’s the people who know that the quarter you put into that carousel out in front  of the Wal-Mart is ending and they still hold on… riding it til the end. Just for kicks, they will buck and snort, just to make it look like the thing is still moving. They are the ones that embarrass you and you realize that your life wouldn’t be the same without them. 

Don’t ever stop appreciating the kids with their finger in their nose, the ones you think are cute or the ones you think are annoying. There will always be those who you wish you could do without, because they are just plain embarrassing. And, if you are really special, there will always be the ones who will take the time to air pet you invade your space and give you awkward hugs even when they know you don’t want them. Family doesn’t always look the same as you, but the heart is still the same and beats with the same rhythm. And like a drum, it won’t stop beating for you.

A Bird's Eye View

“What’s it like to be a pastors’ kid?” they ask. As if it was something crazy, unique or forbidden. It’s glamorous when you see it week to week as I sneak into my drum cage.  There’s a lot that you don’t see. Like my dad, pacing the front, looking at the clock and the attendance wondering if that is it, or my mom, looking out briefly before she hides behind her keyboard. What you don’t see are the years leading up to it. 

I watched them all those years that they carried you. I saw them put your hearts back together through counseling, marriage, divorce, court, mediation, illness, custody battles, even burying your loved ones. I heard them leave in the middle of the night to join you at the hospital. I saw them patiently pour into you while they tucked you under their wing protecting you. I heard them rejoice in your victories and cry with your sadness. The hours that they put in for you, with others, while taking care of a family of their own. Sometimes, we shared our family meals with you, just because you had nowhere else to go.  My mother always had a soft spot for people who didn’t have family to spend the holidays with. 

But that wasn’t enough. I saw how you took for granted the freedom that they gave you. I watched as you used their pulpit for your own attention, for your own power. I know about that meeting where you sat and gossiped about what was happening instead of doing the study. And I saw when you finally cleared out half of their congregation. All your loyal friends followed you as you went out the door. Some of you even started your own church where you could use your selected gospels, principles and gifts.  I watched as you hungrily milked their connections for something better to come along, or when you didn’t find that, God magically called you somewhere else to be. I know that you told anyone who would listen that our doctrine was off. Or that you ran a GOOGLE search to see if the church was New Age. I also know that after telling them what a great preacher they were, you turned around and told them because they were divorced, one was a woman or they believed in love instead of public humiliation, or that they didn’t pray enough, they were no longer qualified to lead you. It didn’t matter how many times you had gone to lunch, spent quality time with our family or told us how much you loved us. 

So why does it matter you ask? Every time one of you left, I heard the whispers. I saw the tears and I heard the “I don’t want to do this anymore” and I would ask God why people would do that to my parents. Why would my parents do this when they don’t get paid for it and they work so hard?  How could people just throw away all of that time that they spent with them? Their ministry consumed their lives enough to move all of us away from our extended family. That wasn’t your fault. The other stuff was. And guess what? Sometimes I knew it would happen by just looking at you.

I watched as we danced around your mood swings in worship practice during that low spot you had. You never really recovered from that and it was a relief when you left. I remember how short your temper was and watched you walk out when you got tired. I heard how you didn’t feel connected, but you stayed home to watch the ballgame. And I saw you drain every intelligent looking person in the room of their pity as you tried to recover from your divorce, then ditched us to play the dating game at a church with a larger amount of singles. I know that you wanted more programs to take care of your kids, but you didn’t have the heart to contribute elsewhere, so you left and went to the highest bidder. 

They didn’t have to include me in their conversations for me to know better. It was obvious in the way that your kids ignored us or told us we couldn’t be friends anymore. My favorite is when they would give us the cold shoulder or glare icily at us whenever we saw them at school, the supermarket or at the mall. When you and your friends never came back, it was a pretty good indication too. My favorite was the meetings. Usually when my parents were exhausted and at the end of their rope, you would tell them it couldn’t wait. Then you sat down and ate them like a breakfast burrito. My dad has this vein that sticks out under pressure. I know it really well, and it took it a long time to go down after these things. Don’t lose respect for them. You can totally hate me for this and then see if you still respect yourself. I have twenty years of experience in this and I have been keeping track since I was ten. One thing all of you had in common through the years was your selfishness.

There were a lot of times when we just weren’t feeling your company, but we sure as heck never made you leave, nor did my mom ever think not to invite you to stuff. Some holidays, I would have rather poked my eyes out than sit through you talking all the way through dinner, and then play games. You took advantage of any one on one free counseling time you could get. Sometimes you’d even come back for seconds and thirds at potlucks- for counseling… not just the food. It wasn’t enough to keep you from leaving us in a lurch. Oh… a lurch in church… there’s been lots of those.  I know you didn’t think about how it affected everyone else. Or take the time to realize maybe that we did love you and appreciate you, even though you never really made yourself available to us; especially since the relationship seemed fairly one sided.  By the way, we knew which ones of you were really crazy and who didn’t leave the fan in the bathroom on. I have a pretty good guess of who the toilet paper stealers were, too. 

I was really relieved when you took your creepy family and their crew, thinking that it was punishment to us. I hope you have a great time finding someone with as much patience to minister to them after four years of trying. We tried; maybe you will have better luck at the next congregation to find someone to save them. Since we consider everyone saved to begin with…

How am I supposed to draw the line, being in a church where the pastors are also mother and father, and recognize that God is good all the time, church people just suck? It was worth it to them, to love you, to nurture you… you were their son, their daughter, sometimes more than that, their friend. They were passing on a legacy and had dreams of building it with your help. Something so great, greater than them; they didn’t count the cost. They say we need to keep on loving. Do you keep on loving after you leave? I see them struggling still while you have moved on. What am I supposed to find fair in watching twenty years go down the tube? It’s not my battle, they say. No, it’s not, but it affects the quality of life for my family. When you are done stomping stuff to the ground, we’re still here, picking up pieces, trying to stretch more to fill in more spaces. 

Do I still believe in God? Yes. Is it his mandate to love one another? Yes. But we never had a choice in who we could love, because we have always supported my parents’ ministry. We were stuck with you. Most people, when they get tired and fed up with other people’s church crap get to find another location. That’s never been our luxury. I bet you are really savoring that now. Why you still remain a “friend” or a “fan” I never know why. You think that in our busy schedule we still want to interact with you outside of that relationship that we used to share. My parents might want to, since it feels like they assisted you to that greater place, but I don’t really care. Their effort wasn’t enough for you to continue to share it firsthand. 

Love God, Love people, they say. I’m working on it… but it feels a lot easier to love the people who contribute to my every day comfort: the clerks at the grocery store, the people who pump my gas, the people in my neighborhood who enjoy the everyday interaction.  We made sure every Sunday that there was a church for you to go to, whether you felt that connection or not. Did you ever consider what would happen if we decided we didn’t feel like worshiping or speaking? Probably not, you told yourself that you would teach us with your absence… how valuable you were… how much we were missing. But you forgot how much we give up giving you that option. And in the end, it’s not you that makes it worthwhile… its God… He shows up when we gather together… no matter how big, how small the sacrifice may be. And that’s what keeps motivating me to go back too.

From One Mom to Another

I know we haven't met, but as I sit here, snuggling my son and his faithful dog, I think about you and your grown son. There are so many things I would like to think I know about you based on the kid you released into the world. I imagine a mom who loved to have a houseful of kids, because it meant that they were safe, under your roof. I know that your family laughs a lot and takes pleasure in just being together. I know that you sat around the dinner table as a family. Later, there were brownies for dessert, for the belly that never seemed to stay full.

The other night when we sat down to dinner, my kids thought he should say grace. And he did with the same eagerness and thankfulness I see in my own children. As the heads were bowed, my husband and I exchanged a glance, both thinking of how we encourage our kids to pray something sincere and new each night. His manners remind me that even though I feel impatient with the constant reminders to my kids, it still is leaving an impression.

Every week he comes with a bagful of laundry. I may feed him, but he always takes care of his own chores. I've watched him sort and wash his clothes in awe, remembering the fight the other night for the kids to put away theirs.  As he carefully puts them back in his tote, folded and ready to go again for the week, I think, someday my children will do that, too.

I'll never forget how excited he was one day in class to find out that I had three young kids. I've never seen a kid, much less an almost grown man, ask so earnestly to babysit. It always warms my heart when they ask for him, even more, to see all of them piled on my couch watching a movie. When my little guy is tormenting his sisters, your son always tells mine that he needs to take care of his sisters, making him apologize. Because family is important. I grin, as he reminds the girls of the same thing, too. As I watch him talk and listen to my husband about four wheeling and fixing things, I see a kid whose parents took the time not just to show him how to live, but also teach him how to live. Your love of family shines through, deeply instilled in a kid who cherishes not only his, but also other's. 

I know it was hard to see him move away and go to college. But when he moved, you shared your heart with many people. You reminded me that the time I have to snuggle my kids while they are small is important. All of those repeated reminders to clean up after themself or be kind to each other are not in vain. One day, my kids, too will be spreading their wings to fly. Always, their roots will guide them to a place to call home, even when home is far away.

Most importantly, I see how much he loves his mom.  The honor and respect he shows for the people that nurture him is endearing and a true testament of the environment he was raised in. As we finish Spring term, I know new changes and challenges come as he, again, sets off to new places. My kids will ask for him, acknowledging the empty spot on the couch, place at the table and extra dessert left after he’s gone. The lessons they learned and the time spent will hold his place in our family.

We know our kids are doing well through their grades, through their awards and through recognition in other aspects. But sometimes, the unremarkable is just as important as the remarkable. When they are young, people easily compliment you on their behavior, their manners and how they treat each other. After eighteen, the rest of the things you worked so repetitively to instill goes unspoken, but is often appreciated.

Some days the job as mom seems endless, but when I see your son with my kids, I realize just how fast it will go. It reminds me to take the extra time and do things right, even though it seems tedious or slow. All of the effort you put into shaping his life shows through the relationship he builds with others while out on his own. Thank you so much for sharing your kid, your life and your love, making an impression through the grown son we had on loan.

A Yarn of Thought