Both Mine, for Today

My two boys,

A spring Saturday with Daddy on call on Louisville’s most accident-prone days, I knew it was a day for the three of us. I indulged myself with a 6:45 am alarm. You slept in enough for coffee to be made, eggs to be scrambled, and my eyes to open enough to greet the day happy at its arrival. I vowed that this Saturday, I would try to truly honor a Sabbath. I would not attempt to accomplish anything other than be with the two of you.

This is not to say being your mother is a restful task. You failed at sharing within moments of playing together and you squealed when things didn’t go your way. As I make my way through this journey with you as your mother, I give of myself, my personhood and my body, my daily tasks and my daily worries as means to grant you life, sustain that life within you, and nourish its growth.

Weightlifting

On the treadmill, I set the time and increase the pace. Music pumps in my ears as I propel my legs on the machine to keep up with its demands. I push my boundaries and test this body of mine. I measure its output and assess its progress in preparation for the half-marathon in April.

Weight-lifters bend and stretch and grunt in front of mirrors. Trainers roam with their clients. People everywhere are trying to care for the bodies they’ve been given. Some work with desire to change it, to tweak it, to reach after some satisfaction. Some work with the desire to recover, to return to health, to make their tired bodies work another day. Some are living to make it work and some are making it work to live. The irony abounds as we stand next to one another on the treadmill. Continue reading

Ain’t that Good News

Ain’t that good news? Ain’t that good news.

I received it as good news. I still had it together. This community was holding me together. The choir’s words washed over me, a tired mother covered in my ministerial robe as if that could hold me together. And yet here I was, I was making it. Ain’t that good news.

Raising Men

On a rare beautiful sunny January Saturday, we pour out the back door with a short window of Drew home amidst a busy call-weekend. In the garage, the oldest climbs aboard his “racing bike.” I help him around the car and through the driveway. Drew settles the youngest into the wagon and wrangles the dog on the leash. I place the helmet on the head of my little bicyclist and wait for the snap of the clasp under his little chin.

With one inaugural push, he pedals as fast as he can do the sidewalk. The farther he gets away from me, the more my heart begins to pound. It is as if my body is on overdrive as I begin to panic a bit. My eyes focus on the driveways to watch for cars backing out. My voice raises to attempt to slow him down, unsuccessfully. My feet can’t help themselves and I run after him. He’s five houses away from the intersection with Wilmington Ave and yet I’m sprinting full speed.

Does he really know how to stop when going so fast? I forgot to remind him to stop at the intersection before he took off, will he remember? Is he old enough for this? ~~He’s not ready~~. I’m not ready. Continue reading

Rushing, Rushing, Rushing… then it’s there… alleluia

Pushing the cart around Kroger at 5:00 p.m. and I think to myself – no one moves as fast as a mom squeezing in an errand before picking up the kids. Coffee filters. Eggs. Yogurts. The fuel that keeps this family running day to day. The next morning I find time FINALLY to sit down in the silence. The house is quiet. Yesterday has been cleaned up. Today is before me.

Rushing, rushing, rushing… and then it’s there…alleluia.

Standing in my closet, I frantically debate back and forth on the shoes before me. I first choose the bronze flats but soon reverse course. It’s a cold day and they won’t quite cut it. I place them back and pull out the red clogs. I think back to my college-self that wouldn’t be caught dead in the clogs. I place them on the ground and slip my feet in. I come downstairs and I remember who I am – one who is not defined by the choices I make in my closet.

Rushing, rushing, rushing… and then it’s there… alleluia.

Rounding the circle loop on the way to daycare, the sky shocks me out of my routine. Pink has broken out and splattered across the sunset. As my hands shift on the steering wheel and I slow down to take it in, it seems radical and extravagant. It seems like a extravagant painting that is being wasted on a busy mom rushing to get boys picked up and home for dinner.

Rushing, rushing, rushing… and then it’s there… alleluia.

Baptized in Muddy Waters: This Journey of Calling

The day has begun with the early summer sunrise. A cry woke me earlier than usual, so I find myself with time to spare. I prepare my mind for the day ahead, but I can’t get past the next hour. My day depends upon what I find in the crib… crusty-eye that daycare nurses will label pink-eye? Or a clearer eye that has already been cured enough by the eye-drops from the previous night to allow us to pass by without detection? Continue reading

Invitation to Breathe

The door creaks as I slowly open it. Light floods the dark room as I carefully tiptoe towards his bed. I reach for the toy flashlight and turn it off. I take away the plastic light-up turtle and place it quietly on the bedside table. Pulling his covers up, I let my eyes pause on his face and it hits me like a ton of bricks. Love. Continue reading

At her feet…

My movements were quick and frantic. The minutes raced by. I rushed around the locker room as I cleaned up after a run at the gym. The countdown was on to pick up the boys from daycare.

Her movements were slow and cautious. The minutes slowed down as she worked to get dressed and faced the task of getting her feet covered for the winter weather. Her walker stood next to her but it was of no help in this moment.

As she brought out the tool she used to help get her socks on, I turned off the hair-dryer and set it down. “May I?” I asked. Continue reading

Embracing my calling as HOMEmaker

On my day-off from work, I look ahead at the day… the sticky messes, tall laundry piles, empty pantry, and long to-do lists to make home for my family. It is a day that is mundane and yet it is one of the most important I have all week. My resume says I am a Minister to Youth. My paycheck and our daycare bills tell that I am a working mom. And yet, at the heart of it, I am first and foremost a HOMEmaker.

For some, my calling as a HOMEmaker will be perceived as traditional and predictable. Some might assume it to be old school or even a role of gender discrimination. My previous-self would judge my current-self. I would reject this calling for I am a supporter of women’s rights and daughter of the modern age.

Life has a way of changing you. Parenthood has a way of changing you. Continue reading

Dancing in the Tension

Snow blankets the streets. I hold him close to me as I dance him around the rug, dodging Legos and Little People which litter the room. Cheek pressed against his cheek, I hum and try to quiet the stubbornness that fights sleep within him.

Out the window, beyond the falling snow, a house nearby smolders from an early morning fire. News reports tell that the fire ended a man’s life. Time stands still and I imagine his mother standing next to his crib, dancing around the room as she feels the breath rise and fall from his chest. Where is she now…the day he breathed his last? Continue reading

pause.give.thanks

the practice of paying attention

Shifting Perspective