The Cure For My Stinky Soul

I'm in the middle of some kind of season, for sure. Usually, the lull after the Christmas holidays finds me pretty content, happily catching up and reorganizing my thoughts and surroundings.

But work - and the continued activities of the kids as they get older - have really put a hitch in my days of relaxation and organization. I have always been extremely flexible, and not too obsessed with cleaning or tidiness. However, lately I feel suffocated and trapped by the sheer amount of Stuff in the house that is out of place, out of order, dirty or just generally needing attention. The house, in a word, is trashed.

I just feel swamped.

And I've not been coping too well.

I have learned, fortunately, to recognize the signs a bit earlier than I once did, and to identify the problem and search for a solution before my coping mechanisms move towards the dangerous or detrimental.

In the midst of all of last week's activities, I realized how busy I was - and yet, with all that was going on, I was also feeling pretty good about myself. Strange contradiction, I know, but bear with me. The tragic death of my friend's father led us to play music for the funeral on Wednesday. In the midst of this sorrow, we provided some amazingly beautiful music. I know that those present were blessed. My friends who sang and played guitar are gifted, and together we crafted something to help those who were grieving in that moment.

It felt good to be needed, and to do something in front of others. One thing about funerals, though: unless you are in a traditional funeral home, where they put the musicians behind a curtain, it's a pretty stark place to play. I did all of the pre-service music alone, which consisted of 40 minutes of piano improvisation. I pulled from familiar hymns that would be comforting to the audience of small town, rural farm folks. I enjoyed playing - but in a church, with the open casket in front of me as I sat at the piano, it's a little disconcerting to feel all eyes me. At a funeral, especially one where the death was sudden and unexpected, people don't visit much before the service starts. They tend to sit quietly, avoid looking at the body in the casket, and - in my experience - stare at the pianist, because there's not much else to look at. It was nerve-wracking. Although I am comfortable on a stage, this felt way too vulnerable. I'm not as secure as I think I am.

We went on from that to a small mini-conference of about 90 folks. Our 'Innovative Church Network' seeks to connect folks who are trying to negotiate the culture as it changes and intersects with the church. We heard from a terrific speaker who shared about 'Serving Values'. Having heard her before when she came to our church specifically, I had already implemented a lot of her ideas on my arts team. They work - they are hard-line, focused on accountability, unity and full-blown commitment to God (not much wrong with that, eh?). As we dialogued later in our breakout groups, it was easy for me to share what I'd learned and experienced. And as I did so, I kept thinking how good it felt to be the one in the group who looked like she had it all together. I felt like I was really all that. Other churches, arts leaders, worship pastors - they were struggling with musicians who didn't come to rehearsal, bad vocalists, etc. Me? I have this awesome, commited, large team. We do killer, innovative services. We got it going on.

It felt good.

(Can you smell my ego yet?)

And I went from there to a gathering of folks trying to start a new church in a county about 30 miles from our own. They have asked us to mentor them, to help out - they envision something that looks like what God has built here through our church, and for sure they want the quick numerical success that we have seen. They seem a bit stuck in their forward motion, due to reasons I don't quite comprehend. But when it comes to service planning, building a music team, I found myself declaring, with confidence, all I thought was necessary and needed. There is a lack of vision that will decimate this dream before it begins, and I stressed the importance of coordinating the vision before moving forward. I talked, a lot, and passionately.

If felt good. I felt important.

On top of that, our church is enjoying a season of massive growth. Services have been powerful, inventive, creative, with dead-on music and sharp messages. Attendance is steadily increasing, with more and more visitors checking us out and inviting friends when they return. People's lives are changing - one of several notes I read recently said, "Thank you for creating a church that I want to be a part of. It is making a difference in my life and for my family." We're talking about adding staff. We're building. People are supportive. (If you care, you can read more here.)
So. It feels good.

But something was wrong, something inside of my soul. Too much 'feeling good'. My continuing hormonal challenges made the entire week a challenge, along with sheer busy-ness, but there was a different thing nudging me. Something I could not readily identify - but it felt viral, like a small illness. Insidious.

Sunday morning, as I got ready to leave, I knew I had to do something before I led worship. My standard, "Lord, this day is yours. Move through me...." prayer didn't seem sufficient.

I got on my knees on my bathroom floor - my dirty, needs-to-be-mopped bathroom floor. Honestly, I don't pray on my knees much, but I felt stuck. I had to do something. Something different.

I asked God to forgive me for being so full of myself, for thinking myself so high and mighty. For allowing my ego to get so inflated. For thinking I was all that.
I said that I was struggling, that I couldn't say why or what was going on. That I didn't know how to fix it.

"Jesus, please forgive me for thinking I am so special."

And then...

There are times in my life when I know that God is literally speaking to me. This morning, it could not have been clearer.

Jesus spoke to me. I saw his face in front of my own, as best I understand what his face to look like. And the condemnation that my human nature has come to expect - the chastising reminder to 'humble yourself', 'pride goeth before a fall', 'you are SO full of yourself' - none of that came. My plea for forgiveness was answered quite simply, and in my soul I saw the face and felt the heart of God quite clearly as he replied.

"You are special. To me."

And from that, I extrapolate this: because I am special to the one in whom I place faith, I don't have to get so stressed over how special anybody else thinks I am. I can just let all that go. Sure, my ego got away from me - though I don't think I did anybody else any harm. I just beat myself up because I knew my soul was getting stinky. But it's a slippery slope, and dangerous and rocky road when your focus and your worth comes from all the good you think you are doing in your own little corner of the world. Been there, done that. Don't want to be there again, for the cost is great.

Say what you will about humanity's need for religion, or how and why people believe as they do. All I can say is that the reality of my faith in Jesus continues to be lived out on a daily basis, in a way that has relevance. It matters. It is real and personal, and it heals - beyond the encouragement of friends or self-help books. Past the hormone high of exercise or the pleasure of good food or a cold Corona.

And today was a very good day.

Amen.

It's snowing here in Virginia, which means it's panic time for the weather boys and girls. Yesterday I heard one TV weatherwoman say, "And tomorrow, it appears that we will be having a weather event."

Sounds exciting, doesn't it? I guess this is the 'weather event': IT'S SNOWING!!!!!

It's pretty and the air feels crisp and cold. The clouds are hanging low and heavy, burdening the sky.

I'm sitting in the midst of a house that appears to have been the scene of a weather event itself - or perhaps a party event - but, in truth, it's just the home of five busy, rambunctious kids. Who are all gone. But they've left a trail behind; homework, cereal bowls, shoes, Wii controllers, mail, books, shoes, more shoes, and look - over there! - more shoes!!!

The youngest four are spending the weekend with their dad, having a lot of fun, I'm sure.

The oldest...

Gulp.

I just returned from putting Sarah and Elijah (boyfriend) on a plane bound for Cleveland. His birthday gift to her. His mom and I drove together, got them checked in, watched them make their way through security, waved one last time and then watched them disappear. I did okay, until she turned and walked beyond my sight.

And then I felt my heart crack.

Sarah is at the stage in life where more and more things will occur that she will navigate alone, and I will simply have to stand back quietly and watch. Pray. Breathe deeply. Hold my tongue. Today was one of those. It's a challenge to imagine her on the plane (her first flight), a little nervous, wondering what she's hearing and feeling and experiencing, without me there to explain it all and reassure her. And keep her safe.

And here come the tears...

My children, my greatest joy, occupy the softest part of my heart. The part that didn't even ripen until their birth. And sometimes it feels as though the past 17 years have been nothing but slow and steady growth, a careful maturation of beauty and confidence, a fragile bloom that turned into a firm fruit, still on the vine.

Watching my daughter walk down the runway to airplane with her boyfriend provokes a major tugging on the vine, that still-existent umbilical cord that binds me and bids me watch over her.

My daughter is far, far away, above me even as I type this. What a feeling. I'm not sure I like it so much, but I welcome it, I suppose. The whole point of having them is to raise them up, empower and equip them to be decent, independent humans. Right?

I miss my girl already.

Hacked

I'm gaining a new appreciation for the internet.

A few weeks ago, I started using Bloglines to check on my favorite blogs. It was getting so ponderous to check and double check websites for new updates. Christine mentioned using a feed and gave a little 'how-to' on her blog, so I tried it out.

Whoa. I know that many of you are doing this already, so it's old news for you - but, hey - it was new to me. And it is so cool. The drawback is that it takes an extra click or two to leave a comment, and I've noticed that I'm more inclined to read and navigate away, rather than comment. But at least I'm keeping up.

Bloglines made suggestions for feeds, and I took them up on a few offers. One of them - I am not exaggerating - has been lifechanging.

Lifehacker.

It's updated like every 10 minutes, and it's a collection of ways to use technology - specifically, your computer - to really improve your life. As someone who finds hours sucked out of my free time while mousing around on my trusty Dell, this is good news for me. Improve my life. Please.


Here's what I've discovered, thus far, reading Lifehacker feeds:

• Circa notebooks from Levenger. I read about these, watched a few videos, ordered a starter kit. It came today. I cannot tell you how excited I am about this. Somebody read my mind and made exactly what I needed for my life. These notebooks allow you to put various sizes of paper in them - and it's all removable. Interchangable. The plastic cover and pocket folders are sturdy. It's not a spiral - it's all connected by little plastic discs that clip into the paper. Oh. My. Word. As my 17-year old says, "You have no idea." This is good. Really good. It will revolutionize my work life, organize my life and make me happy forever. No kidding.
  
• iGoogle. A front page that works. Shows me if I have mail in my gmail account; has a fast click to Bloglines. The current weather is front and center. News clips. Yahoo without the annoying ads that take way too long to load. My calendar, front and center, which is handy because Outlook has become demon posessed...


• Google calendar. Oh, yeah. It gladly welcomed my Outlook calendar file - opened the door, invited it in to have a drink and sleep over. Now they're playing Guitar Hero together. Okay, not really - but it's good. It does what Outlook does, at least to the degree that I need Outlook - but it's just...well...cooler.
• Right now, I'm checking out a piece of software that supposedly analyzes your music library and helps you identify songs by the beat per minute - enabling you to put together a good, consistent workout playlist. I just started training for the 10k, and I'm tired of clicking through my iPod workout list, because what I thought would be a good track for running ended up being ridiculously slow. I also read about a band called LCD Soundsystem that has a track called 45:33, designed to give you just that - 45 plus minutes of perfect beats per minute for working out. Cool. Check out the link - groovy music.

It's like this whole new world opened up to me. What can I tell you?

I'm going to go play with my new notebook.

He's Only Eight Years Old

Before school today, David and I were cuddled on the couch watching a bit of the morning news. One of the hot topics was the New Hampshire primaries.

A picture flashed of Barack Obama. I asked David if he knew who that was on the screen.

Uh....Bara...Bar somebody..."

And how about the lady? Do you know who that is?

"Yeah. Isn't that George Washington's wife?"

It Is What It Is

I mentioned, a few posts back, that I intended to reunite all members of the nativity ensemble for a gigantic birthday party for Jesus. I did just that, although the blue ceramic group as well as the clear glass gang all sat out this event and had their own gathering in other rooms of the house. Above, you see a fine reprensentation of the various members of our nativity sets.

As I cleaned up yesterday, which included taking the ornaments off of the tree, hauling the tree out to the back deck, wrapping and packing Christmas dishes and picking up scattered decorative things sitting around the house, I gave myself a moment when I got ready to clean off this shelf. The implications of this tattered, diverse group gazing at baby Jesus (actually, there are TWO baby Jesus's here...) touch me in a significant way.

First of all, our family nativity sets are all damaged in some way. Headless shepherds, broken pieces, missing parts. Damaged goods. I often feel that way about my life, or perhaps more specifically, about the fullness of my life. Some parts are in good shape, or at least appear to be highly functioning. Other aspects are disorganized, missing, chaotic. Broken. It's somewhat reassuring to think that - like this gathering - it's okay to simply gather up whatever you've got and lay it out, in full view. It is what it is.

Secondly, it's a diverse group here. Various styles, different ways that artisans have chosen to represent the people gathered at the birth of Jesus. From the cloth, stuffed set (created years ago by my mom, when the kids were younger and the danger of breakage was greatest), to the simple, clean lines of the wooden Mary. The tiny fellows in front are from my own childhood; I always loved the deep black skin of the shepherd looking skyward, and the bald guy with what looks like a wash basin.

All are welcome. We take everybody.

Interesting, too, that out of all these different sets, only two Jesus figures remain. Jesus tends to get lost, buried, set aside. We've never broken a Jesus figurine - just misplaced or overlooked him.

There's a metaphor that needs no explanation.

As we glide into a new year, I hope that my life looks more like this during the coming months. I'd like to say that my heart becomes more open, less judgmental. I hope that my kids learn to see more than what's in their frame of reference; that they are able to witness the fullness of the kingdom of God, in spite of the limitations of their culture.

I think this mishmash nativity is the metaphor I'll cling to today, rather than make any grandiose resolutions that I probably won't keep anyway.

(Although I did start the day with 50 crunches and 20 pushups, something I'd like to continue - daily - for the next 364 days!)

Happy New Year!

Rock and Roll, Dude...

Judging by the level of use, this seems to be the hit of the Christmas gifts this year. It was hard to find, but thanks to my friend/coworker, Susan H, we got hold of one, and here we are.

It was on Daniel's list and he freaked out. Was thrilled. Overjoyed. And has played for approximately four hours today. When somebody else gets a chance to play, Daniel plays drums on the floor along with the song, which, actually I find rather helpful...

I think this is the guitar hero...


I gave it a try, early in the morning. Yes, that's me. Don't I look lovely? I was pretty good and even beat Daniel, but of course, that was four hours of practice ago....

This is what Daniel looks like when he's concentrating on 'Barracuda'.

This is Shannon, concentrating on 'Hit Me With Your Best Shot'...

This is the reaction to a letter from Santa, left alongside a few half-eaten cookies. Along with encouraging words and an admonition to clean the kitchen, Santa informed them that the elves hadn't quite finished with one of their gifts (darn that amazon.com!) and that although he couldn't tell them what it was, the initials were 'D.D.R.' For the uniformed, that's 'Dance Dance Revolution' - another Wii game. Fun, fun, fun.

It'll be here Saturday.

Note the matching Christmas pjs...

Christmas Day 2007

One of the best and most powerful traditions of our family Christmas is the sibling gift exchange. After checking out the stockings and seeing what Santa brought, we eat breakfast. Afterwards begins the gift-giving. One by one, starting with the youngest kid, they hand out the gifts they purchased, youngest to oldest. We all watch together as the gifts are unwrapped and revealed. I honestly think it's more fun (and heart-warming) to watch the giver during these exchanges, rather than the recipient. It's a meaningful and important time, as they usually put a great deal of thought and effort into the gifts they give one another.

Each exchange is followed by a hug, which is, in itself, a beautiful thing on Christmas morning.

Up until midnight on the 24th, we focus on Jesus - his birth, the angels, the traditional story, the interaction and worship with our community of faith and our neighbors. Last night all of us participated in some way in two consecutive services for our church family and the surrounding community. Drama, music, dance, teaching; we designed a service that would reflect the heart of the mission of our church while at the same time giving all in attendance a meaningful Christmas Eve worship experience. It was exhausting and stressful, but fulfilling. It's become integral to our family life; up until the late hours of Christmas Eve, it's simply what we do. My kids accept the responsibility (and the difficulties) without complaining or grumbling.

After church is finally over, we come home. We eat late - ham, rolls, green beans. We share time with our neighbors. We talk excitedly about the day to come.

Then we open one gift - something preselected by me. It's always - ALWAYS - new pajamas, which are promptly donned in anticipation of Christmas morning.

I have to play the Charlie Brown 'dance music' for them, and they all do the Charlie Brown dance. Silly, bopping up and down, they dance until I stop.

Then we sing together. Always 'Silent Night'. This year, David - precious, eight-year old, ever-more-trusting David - began the song himself. I tell the story of holding Sarah to my chest in 1990, one week old on Christmas Eve, while I picked out the melody of that same old carol on my ancient upright piano and cried, full of wonder and awe at the gift of the child in my arms.

Then we read the Christmas story, from Luke. They take turns. This year David read, too, in a voice clear and loud and confident. Praise God.

Syd lights a candle, the blue 'Christmas candle' we save for the occasion each year. The wick did not cooperate but the sentiment remained the same.

We pray together.

And then they go upstair, to sleep together on the floor in the same room (they told me today that they intended to do so until they were married with kids of their own). They know that they cannot get up until 6:00 a.m., and so they lock themselves in and cuddle up, fully expecting to be unable to sleep at all.

But they do sleep, and at 6:00 somebody wakes up, and they rush down the stairs and I wake up to the sound of shrieking and laughter and shouts of, "Look what I got!"

This morning it was, "I got a Shuffle!"

"Look at these awesome boots!"

"My hoodie that I wanted!"

"A transformer!"

"My drum pad!"

And, of course, Guitar Hero...

Following are a smattering of shots, in no particular order, from both my house and my mom's, where the frenzy of gift-giving and receiving continued....

Sarah gave David a battery operated chocolate milk maker and some syrup. I think he was moo-ing for the camera here...


David informed me later that the Bionicle was his favorite gift of all, courtesy of his grandmother.

David gave Grandma some dark chocolate...yum...

And Sarah gave her grandpa some turtles, another yearly tradition...

My bohemian, hippy girl loves this purse...

No explanation needed....

Syd's a diet Pepsi addict....Sarah thought she needed this bag...

Uncle Jonnie and Aunt Juanita are doing mission work in Mexico. They managed to send some awesome gifts for the kids, including about eight shirts apiece for the boys. In this pic, they are wearing them all at the same time...

Another one of the hugs....

Happy about the new hoodie...

Daniel got an entire cube of Mountain Dew....and a Browns jersey....

At the end of it all, this was the fate of each of us; everybody needed naps.

It was an awesome, wonderful, blessed day.