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

The Glass May Be Cracked, But It's Full

There’s nothing like change to knock you off your beaten path. I’ve been struggling for a couple of months to find something to write about for my blog. In the back of my mind, the same words have been bouncing around “appreciating the joy set before you.” I’ve tried really hard to focus on the beautiful things that are in front of me, the ones that are going right and make me smile every day.  There have been a lot of things going right for us, but I’ve been struggling to get my heart to feel the joy that I know I should be feeling. 

My heart has been heavy with my grandma approaching the end of her life. I see my dad unwavering in his faith, working through the tears as he deals with it. It’s not just about losing my grandma; it’s about losing a time period, about being reminded about how much time we have with our loved ones. When you are growing up, your parents and grandparents are constants, a sturdy framework of a home, telling you where you are from, that you will make it, just as they’ve made it through the years. The awareness that things in our lives are changing leaves an edge that we just kind of flirt with until the end is finally here. Then you’re launched into making sure those memories aren’t forgotten and who we are, is passed on. I know that I’ve had my grandparents for longer than some of my friends or even my family members have. But to me, it’s a reminder that we are reaching the age of change. I worry about my parents.  The speed with which my kids are growing makes me uncomfortable, realizing that the beginning of our family is now into the next stage of being a family. I’m realizing that unlike before, I don’t know it all and sometimes that itself scares me.  

It also brings to mind that my sister has settled and built a home in another state far away. Though we chat often, I miss just being with her. The loss of my sidekick has brought new value to friendships with others but there is still a part of me grieving the times that we thought were infinite.  It was a stage of growing up that I never really thought we would approach. All the sudden we are grownups and things look a lot different than they used to. Life just kind of seeps through the cracks of visits,  not captured at its fullest through chatting and repeating the story. 

These changes loom with permanence, unlike seasons which pass away; a reminder that it’s time to adapt and to grow. Sometimes that growth hurts. It’s easy, sometimes more soothing, for me to just shove everything down under the surface and continue with my busy schedule.  What isn’t easy is to sit down, dissect it, taking time to process and accept the change. It is a reminder of how important it is to let the people around me know how much they are appreciated and loved. Just as faith has to be exercised to be useful, love and joy require effort in order to be effective too. The season of love is around us. There is joy set before us. These days can be filled with a thankful attitude for the fullness or we can look at what is no longer “perfect” and see that the glass in front of us is cracked and half empty. The love that binds us together mends those cracks and fills those spaces when we share what is on our hearts and our minds.    

Today, my joy is finishing my homework so I can go pick my kids up from the bus stop. After we get home, I think we’ll all snuggle on the couch and watch a movie. Then we’ll have dinner as a family. And before I go to sleep tonight, I will think about what an amazing growing work of art life is, from beginning to end.